My Husband Faked Memory Loss To Avoid Divorce. So I Made His Life A Nightmare – Ty

Femi Adanuga was exactly 5 minutes away from losing half his empire. The divorce papers were sitting on the leather seat of his Maybach, waiting for a signature. But then fate intervened. A crash, a blackout, and a plan. He woke up in that hospital bed with a brilliant, desperate idea.

If he couldn’t remember the last 5 years, he couldn’t remember the divorce. So he looked his wife in the eye and lied. He pretended she was a stranger. He thought he had hit the reset button. He thought he was safe, but he made one fatal mistake. He underestimated Tiniola. She saw the tiny twitch in his jaw. She felt the spike in his pulse when she touched his hand.

She knew instantly that he was faking it. And instead of exposing him, she smiled, a smile that should have terrified him. She didn’t call the lawyers. Instead, she decided to play a game of her own. She brought him home to a life that never existed. She stripped him of his phone, his company, and his control, all under the guise of being a devoted, loving wife.

She whispered lies into his ear, tortured him with a seduction he wasn’t allowed to respond to, and dared him to break character. She turned his fake amnesia into a very real prison. And just when he thought he could outsmart her, she dropped the evidence right in his lap. A simple blue phone that proved he was caught. He faked amnesia to save his money.

She played along to steal his soul. You just watched the trailer and if that tension gave you chills, you are not ready for what is about to happen. We are diving into a world of highstakes power, dangerous secrets, and a marriage that looks a lot more like a battlefield. Femi thinks he’s the master manipulator, but he has no idea that Tiniola is holding all the aces.

This is going to be messy. It’s going to be spicy, and it is going to be absolutely addictive. But before we jump into the main story, I need you to join the family. Smash that subscribe button right now and turn on the notification bell. We are uploading the full series right here. And trust me, you do not want to be the last one to know how this ends.

So, quick question before we start. Are you rooting for the husband trying to save his empire or the wife who is teaching him a lesson? Type team Fei or team Tiniola in the comments down below. Now, let’s begin. The air conditioning in the back of the Mercedes Maybach was set to 18°, but Femi Adanuga felt like he was burning alive.

It wasn’t the Legos heat that was sealed away behind tinted bulletproof glass. It was the woman sitting next to him, Tiniola. She was looking out the window at the stagnant traffic on the Third Mainland Bridge, her profile cut from glass and diamonds. She wore a dress the color of midnight, silk that clung to the curve of her hip and spilled over her thigh in a way that made Femy’s mouth go dry.

She had dressed for war. Specifically, she had dressed for the meeting with Barrister Cole, where she intended to strip Femi of half his empire, and more importantly herself. Femi shifted his legs, the wool of his bespoke suit straining against his thighs. He hated that he still wanted her.

They hadn’t shared a bed in 6 months. They hadn’t spoken a civil word in three. Yet, sitting this close, smelling the intoxicating blend of oud and jasmine she always wore, he felt a magnetic pull so strong it was physical pain. He wanted to reach across the leather console, grab her by the waist, and kiss the arrogance right off her perfectly painted mouth.

Instead, he checked his Rolex. “We’re going to be late,” he murmured. His voice was deep, rougher than he intended. Tiniola didn’t turn. She watched a hawker selling plant and chips weave between the cars. Does it matter, Fei? Her voice was low, vibrating through the quiet cabin. The outcome will be the same whether we arrive at 10 or 10:30. You sign.

I leave. We stopped pretending. Femi clenched his jaw. Is that what we’ve been doing? Pretending? Finally, she turned. Her eyes were dark, heavy-litted, and filled with exhaustion that looked dangerously like indifference. I have been pretending to be happy, she said softly. And you have been pretending to care.

I care about my reputation, he shot back, the lie tasting like ash. I care that my wife is about to make me the laughing stock of the Aoy club. Tinola laughed. It was a dry, humorless sound. She shifted, and the silk of her dress slid against the leather with a sound like a whisper. The slit in her skirt rode up an inch, revealing smooth cocoa butter skin.

Femy’s eyes tracked the movement against his will. Tiniola caught his stare. She didn’t cover her leg. She let his gaze linger, her expression challenging. “Take a good look, Fei,” she whispered, her voice dropping to a smoky purr that tightened his chest. “It’s the last time you get to look at this for free.

Tomorrow, I’m just another woman you used to know.” The cruelty of it and the truth of it pierced him. “You’re enjoying this,” he growled, leaning closer. The space between them crackled with static. You think you’re winning? I’m not winning, Fei. I’m escaping. She leaned in too, closing the gap until he could see the gold flex in her irises.

She smelled like danger like the home he was kicking down with his own two hands. Driver, Fei barked, his voice cracking, needing to break the spell. Move this car, sir. The traffic is The driver never finished the sentence. A tanker speeding down the wrong lane to beat the traffic lost its brakes.

The screech was the sound of the world tearing open. Femi saw it before he felt it. He saw Tiniola’s eyes widen in terror. Instinct faster than thought took over. He lunged across the console, throwing his body over hers, shielding her with his own frame just as the world spun violently. Metal screamed. Glass shattered.

The heavy luxury car was tossed like a toy against the concrete median. Femi felt a slam against his skull, hard, final, and blinding. The last thing he felt was the silk of Tiniola’s dress under his hand and the frantic pounding of her heart against his chest. Then darkness. Waking up was a slow, heavy process.

It felt like swimming upward through crude oil. Femi became aware of his body in stages. His legs were heavy. His ribs achd, but his head his head throbbed with a rhythm that matched the beeping of a machine nearby. He opened his eyes. The light was harsh, fluorescent, and unforgiving. Hospital.

He blinked, trying to clear the grit from his vision. He was alive. He took a deep breath, testing his lungs. Sore but working. He turned his head to the side. She was there. Tiniola was sitting in a plastic chair by the bed, her legs crossed. She looked impeccable, even in the sterile ugliness of the hospital room. Her dress was wrinkled, and there was a small bruise on her collarbone that made Femy’s stomach clench with guilt.

But otherwise, she was untouched. She was watching him. Her gaze was unreadable. Not relieved, not angry, just assessing. “You’re awake,” she said. Her voice was flat. Femi opened his mouth to speak, to ask if she was okay, to maybe even say something stupid like, “I’m glad I protected you.” But then his eyes drifted to the side table.

His briefcase was there. The lock was sprung open from the impact. The divorce papers were peeking out. The bold black letters of petition for dissolution of marriage visible even from this distance. Reality crashed down on him harder than the tanker had. He was awake, which meant the pause button was released, which meant they would leave this room, go to the lawyer, and she would leave him.

He looked back at Tiniola. She was checking her phone now, probably texting Barrister Cole that the delay was over. She looked so cool, so ready to be rid of him. panic, cold and sharp, pierced through Femi’s chest. It wasn’t about the assets. It wasn’t about the house. He looked at the curve of her neck, the way a stray curl fell over her forehead.

She stopped. She didn’t kiss him. Instead, she brushed her nose against his, a soft, intimate nuzzle that was somehow more maddening than a kiss. “Rest up, husband,” she whispered against his mouth. “You’re going to need your energy. I’m taking you home, and I’m not letting you out of my sight.” She pulled away, turned on her heel, and walked to the door, her hips swaying with a hypnotic rhythm.

Femi watched her go, his body hard, his mind racing and a terrifying realization settling in his gut. He had started a game of chess with a grandmaster, and he had no idea if he was about to checkmate her or if she was going to eat him alive. The door clicked shut, leaving him in the silence. Femi brought his hand up to his lips where she had almost kissed him.

His hand was trembling. Game on, Mrs. Adanuga,” he whispered into the empty room. “Game on.” The silence in the Maybach on the way to Banana Island was different from the ride to the hospital. Before, it had been the silence of a graveyard. Now, it was the silence of a hunt. Femi sat stiffly, every muscle in his body coiled tight.

Tiniola’s hand was resting on his thigh, just resting lightly, her manicured nails tracing indistinguishable patterns on the wool of his trousers. It was an act of possession and it was driving him insane. He needed to check his email. He needed to call Bolanel, his secretary, to tell her to cancel all meetings without giving a reason.

He needed to ensure the stock price hadn’t tanked because of the news of his accident. His hand drifted instinctively toward his breast pocket where his phone usually lived. It was empty. Looking for this? Femi turned. Tiniola was holding his iPhone 15 Pro Max between two fingers, dangling it like a piece of raw meat. “My phone,” Femi said, forcing a confused smile.

“I should I should tell my family I’m okay. I’ve already handled it,” Tiniola said breezily, dropping the phone into her Airmes Birken bag. The clasp clicked shut with a sound like a prison door locking. “I told your mother you need absolute quiet, no visitors, no stress, and definitely no business calls.

” But shu, she pressed a finger to his lips. Her skin was cool. Dr. Balagan was very specific, darling. No shocks. Do you know what the Lego stock exchange does to your blood pressure? You turn purple. I won’t have you dying on me just when we found each other again. She leaned in, her eyes dancing with a terrifying mixture of mockery and lust.

Besides, she whispered, you promised me a digital detox. You said, Tenny, I want to focus on my queen. Don’t you remember? Femi stared at her. He had never called her my queen in his life. He called her Tenny or Mrs. Adanuga when he was being formal. I I said that you did. She lied, her face the picture of sincerity.

Last week in the shower, right before you bent me over the She let the sentence hang, her eyes dropping to his lap. Femi felt the blood rush to his face and elsewhere. He shifted uncomfortably, the car suddenly feeling very small. She was weaving a web of lies so intricate, so steeped in the intimacy they didn’t have that he couldn’t disentangle himself without admitting the truth. Right.

He choked out. The shower. The Adanuga residence in Banana Island was a fortress of glass and concrete overlooking the lagoon. As the heavy gates rolled open, Fei felt a pang of relief. Home. His territory. He could retreat to his study, pour a scotch, and think. But as the car pulled up to the entrance, Tiniola tightened her grip on his arm.

“Ready to go to our sanctuary?” she asked. The front door opened, Isaac, the head steward, stood there, flanked by the cook and the cleaner. They looked anxious. “Welcome back, sir.” “Madam,” Isaac greeted, bowing low. “Fe” stepped out, wincing slightly as his bruised ribs protested. “Thank you, Isaac. I’ll be in my SD. He’ll be in the master suite, Tiniola interrupted, her voice ringing clear across the marble foyer. Isaac blinked.

He looked from Fei to Tiniola, confusion etched all over his face. The staff knew the arrangement better than anyone. They knew Oga slept in the guest wing. They knew Madam locked the master suite from the inside. “The master suite, madam?” Isaac asked, hesitant. “Yes, Isaac?” Tinola beamed, looping her arm through Femy’s. “Mr. Adanuga is home.

Fully home. Move his things from the guest wing immediately. All of them. Femi felt a bead of sweat trickle down his back. She was dismantling his safe zones. Darling, Femi tried, keeping his voice low. Maybe I should stay in the guest room so I don’t disturb your I mean our sleep. I might be restless. Tiniola turned to him, her face a mask of wounded affection.

Disturb me? She cooed loud enough for the staff to hear. Femi, you haven’t slept a night without holding my waist in 3 years. You say you can’t breathe if I’m not the last thing you see. She turned back to the staff. Chop chop, Isaac, and bring ice water to the room. My husband needs to be undressed. Femi watched Isaac scurry away. He was trapped.

The master bedroom was a space Femi hadn’t stepped foot in for 6 months. It was vast, dominated by a California king bed and Florida ceiling windows that looked out over the water. It smelled entirely of her. Jasmine, vanilla, and expensive fabric softener. It felt like entering a lion’s den.

Tiniola closed the door behind them and locked it. The click echoed. “Finally,” she sighed, kicking off her heels. She turned to face him. “You look tense, baby. You need to relax.” “I’m fine,” Femi said, backing up until his legs hit the edge of the bed. “I just need to sit down. You need a bath,” she corrected. She walked over to him, her hips swaying with a hypnotizing rhythm.

She stopped inches away, her eyes locking onto his. “Let’s get this suit off. It’s too restrictive.” She reached for his tie. Femi grabbed her wrists. “I can do it. Don’t be silly,” she murmured, pulling her hands free with surprising strength. “Your ribs are bruised. Let your wife take care of you.

” She undid the knot of his tie, sliding the silk from around his neck. She tossed it onto the floor. Then her fingers went to the top button of his shirt. Femi stopped breathing. Her fingers were warm against his neck. She undid the first button, then the second. She was taking her time, her eyes never leaving his face.

She was studying him, gauging his reaction. You’re breathing hard, she noted, her voice dropping to a whisper. The pain, Femi lied. H. She undid the third button, exposing his chest. She flattened her palm against his skin right over his heart. It was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. “Your heart doesn’t sound like it’s in pain, Fei,” she whispered.

“It sounds like it’s running a marathon.” She stepped closer, invading his personal space completely. Her knee brushed against his thigh right between his legs. Femi groaned, a low sound of frustration and desire he couldn’t suppress. “Is that a memory coming back?” she teased, her eyes dropping to the bulge in his trousers that he could no longer hide.

She looked up, a smirk playing on her lips. I told you your body remembers me, even if your stubborn head doesn’t. She peeled the shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall. Femi stood there bare-chested, feeling more vulnerable than he ever had in a boardroom negotiation. Tenny, he warned, his voice rough. We should stop. Stop. She looked innocent.

We’re just getting changed, darling. Unless, she trailed a finger down his sternum to his belt buckle. Unless you want to do what we usually do on Tuesday afternoons. Femi swallowed hard. What? What do we usually do? We role play, she lied, her eyes gleaming. You play the bad billionaire who forgot to sign the divorce papers.

And I play the vengeful wife who seduces him into submission. Femy’s eyes widened. It was too close to the truth. It was terrifying. And God help him. It was the hottest thing he had ever heard. I I don’t think I’m up for that, he rasped. Tiniola laughed a low throaty sound. She stepped back, releasing him from her immediate orbit.

“Pity,” she said, turning and walking toward the massive walk-in closet. “Get undressed, Fei. I’ll run the bath and don’t even think about looking for a laptop.” I had Isaac sweep the room for electronics while we were at the hospital. She paused at the bathroom door, looking back over her shoulder. Oh, and Femi, yes. Don’t wear pajamas.

You haven’t worn clothes to bed since 2021. I’d hate for you to break our streak. She disappeared into the bathroom. Femi sank onto the bed, burying his face in his hands. He was hard. He was confused. And he was absolutely terrified. Two hours later, night had fallen over Legos. Femi lay in the massive bed.

The duvet pulled up to his chest. He was wearing boxer briefs. He had refused to go fully nude, claiming a chill, and he was wide awake. The room was dark, lit only by the moonlight filtering through the sheer curtains. The bathroom door opened. A cloud of steam rolled out, followed by Tiniola. Femy’s breath caught.

She was wearing a silk slip that was more concept than clothing. It was the color of champagne, thin as water, and it clung to her damp skin. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. She walked to the bed, pulled back the duvet, and climbed in beside him. The mattress dipped. The heat radiating from her body was immediate. Come here, she whispered.

I, Femi. Her voice had that steel edge again. Come here. Reluctantly, Femi scooted closer. She turned on her side, pressing her back against his chest. She grabbed his arm and draped it over her waist, pulling him flush against her. They were spooning. Her ass was pressed firmly against his groin.

His hand was resting on the soft skin of her stomach. The scent of her lotion filled his nose. It was torture. Pure, unadulterated torture. Comfortable, she murmured, wiggling slightly to get settled. The movement sent a jolt of electricity straight to his brain. Very, he lied through gritted teeth. Good. She placed her hand over his hand on her stomach, interlacing their fingers.

Femi lay there in the dark, trying to recite the multiplication table to calm himself down. 12 * 12 is 144. 13 * 13 is Femi. Yes, darling. I almost forgot to tell you the good news. Femi stiffened. What news? About the company? Femi stopped breathing. What about the company? Well, she yawned, snuggling deeper into him.

Since you’re going to be out of commission for a month, and since you couldn’t recall the passwords to the main frame, I had to make an executive decision. Fei lifted his head off the pillow. What did you do? I called Gay, she said sleepily. and and I told him he wanted him to handle the Zenith oil merger.

I told him to do whatever it takes to close the deal, even if it means liquidating the tech division. Femi shot up in bed. What? The tech division was his baby. It was the future of Apex Holdings. Liquidating it would be suicide. You let Gay near the tech division? He shouted, forgetting to be confused. Tiniola didn’t flinch. She just turned her head on the pillow, looking up at him in the darkness.

Her eyes were wide and innocent. Why are you yelling, Fei? You hate the tech division. You told me last month it was a money pit, and you wished you could burn it down. Femi froze. He hovered over her, his chest heaving. He had never said that. He loved that division. But if he argued, if he showed he knew the value of those assets.

I I said that, he whispered, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. Yes, she whispered back. So I helped you. Gday is signing the papers tomorrow morning. She reached up and patted his cheek. Now go to sleep, baby. Don’t worry, you’re pretty empty head about business. You’re retired now. She rolled back over, pulling the duvet up to her shoulder.

Femi stared at the back of her head. His hands were shaking. He wanted to scream. He wanted to run to the office and tackle Jed, but he couldn’t. He was Fei Adanuga, the amnesiac. He slowly lowered himself back onto the pillow, staring at the ceiling. The woman beside him was asleep within minutes, her breathing soft and even.

Femi lay awake, listening to the clock tick, realizing with dawning horror that the sexual torture was just the appetizer. She wasn’t just breaking him. She was dismantling his life piece by piece and daring him to break character to stop her. The digital clock on the bedside table read 2:14 a.m. Femi lay rigid in the darkness, staring at the ceiling.

The only sound in the room was the low, expensive hum of the central air conditioning and the rhythmic soft breathing of the woman wrapped around him like a python. Tiniola was fast asleep. Her arm was heavy across his chest. Her face pressed into the crook of his neck. Every few minutes, her warm breath ghosted over his skin, sending a confusing mixture of irritation and arousal shooting through his nervous system.

But Fei couldn’t focus on the woman in his bed. He was focused on the man destroying his legacy. Ged. The thought of his incompetent vice president liquidating the tech division at 9:00 a.m. made Femy’s blood boil. That division held the patents for the new fintech payment rail he’d spent two years developing. If Gay sold it, likely for pennies on the Naira to some rival firm, Apex Holdings would be gutted. He had to stop it.

Femi turned his head a fraction of an inch, checking Tiniola. She didn’t stir. She was deep in REM sleep or she was the world’s greatest actress. Given the last 12 hours, he wouldn’t bet against the ladder. But he had no choice. He began the slow, agonizing process of extraction. He lifted her arm millimeter by millimeter.

It felt heavier than a bag of cement. He held his breath, sliding his body out from under her limb. The mattress, imported from Italy and costing more than a Toyota Corolla, absorbed his movement silently. He slid to the edge of the bed. He paused. Tiniola made a small sound, a soft whimper. Femi froze, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

Was she waking up? M. Don’t stop. She mumbled into the pillow, shifting her hips. Femi stared at her in the gloom. She was dreaming and apparently it was a good dream. He felt a flash of jealousy he had no right to feel. Pushed it down and swung his legs off the bed. He stood up, the marble floor cool against his bare feet.

He was wearing nothing but his boxer briefs. He felt exposed, vulnerable. He crept toward the bathroom. Tiniola had said she swept the room for electronics. She had taken his iPhone. She had cut the landlines. She was thorough. But Femi Adanoga was paranoid. Three years ago, after a kidnapping scare in Abuja, Fei had taped a burner phone, a Nokia 3310, virtually indestructible and untraceable inside the access panel of the Jacuzzi tubs motor.

He kept it charged and powered off. He reached the bathroom door and slipped inside, closing it until it was just a hair’s breath from latching. Terrified the click would wake her. The bathroom was a cavern of white marble and gold fixtures. Femi dropped to his knees beside the massive whirlpool tub. His fingers fumbled with the magnetic latch of the maintenance panel.

It popped open. He reached into the dark, dusty void. His fingers brushed against PVC pipes, wires, and then the smooth, cold plastic of the Nokia. Yes. He pulled it out. He pressed the power button. The screen lit up with a blindingly bright blue light. He winced, covering it with his hand. The classic Nokia startup tune began to play.

Doo doo. Femi frantically smothered the phone against his chest, muffling the cheerful jingle. He squeezed his eyes shut, listening for movement from the bedroom. Silence. He exhaled. His breath shaky. He checked the signal. Two bars. Enough. He dialed Bulan’s personal number. He knew it by heart. It rang. Once, twice, three times.

Pick up Bolanel. For the love of God, pick up. Hello. A groggy, irritated voice answered. Who is this? It is 2 a.m. Protocol zero, Femi whispered, his voice barely audible. There was a pause on the line. The rustling of sheets stopped. Protocol zero was the nuclear option. The code phrase that meant I am compromised. Lock everything down. Sir.

Bolan’s voice was instantly awake. Sharp. Terrified. Mr. Adanuga, is that you? We heard. The news said you had brain damage. Listen to me closely. Femi hissed, pressing the phone so hard against his ear it hurt. I do not have brain damage. I am detained, but I am cogent. Detained, sir. Should I call the police? No.

No police? Femi snapped, then lowered his voice again. If you call the police, she will. It will complicate things. Just listen. Gay is going to try to sell the tech division this morning. Yes, sir. Mrs. Zadanuga sent the authorization. She has your medical power of attorney. You need to activate the dead man’s switch on the server. Femi commanded.

Override Gay’s signature. Freeze all assets for 48 hours pending a biometric audit. Do you understand? The dead man switch. Sir, that will crash the stock price. The market will think you’re dead. Better the stock crashes than Gday selling my life’s work for scrap metal. Femi growled. Do it, Balanel. And tell no one I called. Not even your mother. Done.

I’m logging in now. Sir, are you safe? Femi looked at the bathroom door. Beyond it lay a woman who had rewritten his reality, stripped him of his power and was currently sleeping in the middle of the bed like a starfish. I don’t know, Femi whispered. Just freeze the assets. He hung up.

He powered down the phone and shoved it back into the dark recess of the tub panel. He clicked the magnetic cover back into place. Adrenaline was coursing through his veins. He felt alive. He felt like himself again. He had struck back. He had one around. He stood up, checked his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were wild. He needed to calm down.

He splashed cold water on his face, dried it quickly, and opened the door. The bedroom was still dark. Tinola hadn’t moved. Femi crept back to the bed. He moved with the stealth of a cat, lifting the duvet and sliding back into the warmth. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, a triumphant smile touching his lips.

Try selling that tomorrow, Gday. He closed his eyes, ready to finally sleep. Suddenly, the mattress dipped. Tiniola rolled over. She didn’t just roll. She slid over him, her body covering his like a blanket. Her leg hooked over his and her head came to rest on his chest, right over his pounding heart. Femi stiffened. “You’re cold,” she murmured.

Her voice was thick with sleep, heavy and slow. I I went to the bathroom, Femi whispered. H. She nuzzled his chest. Her hand slid up his torso, her palm flat against his skin. She stopped when she reached his heart. It was still racing from the call, thumping a frantic rhythm against his rib cage. Tiniola went still. For a long, terrifying moment, she didn’t move.

She just lay there, her hand monitoring the erratic beat of his heart. Then she lifted her head. In the darkness, her eyes were pools of shadow, unreadable and deep. She looked at him, her face inches from his. “Your heart is beating very fast, Femi,” she whispered. “It wasn’t a question. I told you.” Femi lied, his throat tight.

“The accident? I get panic attacks.” Tiniola stared at him. She shifted slightly, her silk slip riding up, the friction of her skin against his creating a spark of heat that shot straight to his groin. She wasn’t moving away. She was moving closer. “Panic,” she asked softly. Her hand moved from his heart to his neck, her thumb resting on his pulse point.

She was checking him like a doctor or a lie detector. Or is it something else? She lowered her head. Femi thought she was going to lay back down. Instead, she pressed her lips to the hollow of his throat. She kissed him there, slow, wet, and deliberate. Femi gasped. His hands clenched the sheets.

You smell like adrenaline, she murmured against his skin, her lips moving up his jawline. And you taste like secrets. Femi stopped breathing. She knows. She has to know. Tenny, he warned, his voice shaking. Sh. She kissed the corner of his mouth. If you’re panicked, husband, I should help you relax.

Isn’t that what a good wife does? She moved her hips against him. It was a subtle grinding motion, but the effect was nuclear. Femi was hard instantly. Painfully so. The adrenaline from the heist was mixing with the arousal, creating a volatile cocktail in his blood. He wanted to push her off. He wanted to flip her over and take her.

He was paralyzed by the war between the two urges. Tiniola sensed his conflict. She relished it. “Does your body remember this?” she whispered, her hands sliding down his stomach, dangerously low. “Does it remember how to want me?” Femi couldn’t speak. He could only naw at a jerky, involuntary motion.

She smiled against his lips. Good. She didn’t go further. She didn’t touch him where he was aching for her to touch him. Instead, she simply stopped moving. She rested her head back on his chest, draping her arm over him like a heavy chain. “Go to sleep, Femi,” she said, her voice suddenly cool and final. “We have a big day tomorrow.

You’ll need your strength to watch the news.” She closed her eyes. Femi lay there, his body vibrating with unfulfilled need and lingering terror. She knew something. He was sure of it. But had he stopped Jeday? Or had he just walked into another trap? Sunlight streamed through the floor to ceiling windows, blindingly bright.

Femi woke up alone in the massive bed. He sat up blinking. The space beside him was cold. Good morning, sleeping beauty. Femi turned. Tiniola was sitting on the Sha’s lounge by the window. She was dressed in a sharp white powers suit, holding a tablet in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. She looked like the CEO of the world.

Tenny, Femi croked. What time is it? It’s 10:00 a.m., she said, sipping her coffee. 10. Femi scrambled out of bed. Why didn’t you wake me? You looked so peaceful and exhausted. She smiled over the rim of her cup. Besides, there was a lot of excitement this morning. I didn’t want to worry you. Femi froze. Excitement. The dead man switch.

Balanel must have done it. He tried to hide his smirk. excitement. Did something happen? Tiniola tapped her tablet screen. Oh, just a minor hiccup at Apex Holdings. It seems the internal servers went into a frantic lockdown around 2:15 a.m. A biometric override was triggered. She looked up at him.

Her eyes were sharp as glass. It’s very strange, she mused. Only two people have the clearance to trigger that. You and me. Femy’s heart stopped. He stood there in his underwear trying to look confused. I I don’t understand these technical terms, he stammered. Of course you don’t, Tiniola said soothingly. She stood up and walked toward him.

But here is the funny part, darling. Since the system thought you were incapacitated, and since the override came from an unauthorized mobile signal, she stopped in front of him, her smile widening. The system flagged it as a hacking attempt, a cyber attack. Femi felt the blood drain from his face. A hacking attempt. Yes, Tiniola beamed.

So, purely for security reasons, the board of directors held an emergency vote at 8:00 a.m. to protect the company assets from the hackers. They voted to transfer temporary full executive control to the person holding your power of attorney. She poked him in the chest with a manicured finger. Me? Femy’s knees buckled.

He sat heavily on the edge of the bed. He hadn’t stopped the sail. He had triggered a security protocol that handed her the keys to the kingdom. He had played himself. So Fei whispered, his voice hollow. You are in charge. Complete control. Tiniola confirmed. And don’t worry about Gay. I fired him. Femi looked up surprised.

You fired Gay? Oh, immediately. He was annoying me. She shrugged. And the tech division? I didn’t sell it. Femi blinked. You didn’t? No, it’s your baby, Femi. I wouldn’t sell your baby. She leaned down, bringing her face close to his. The scent of her perfume was suffocating. “I kept it, but now I own it. I own the tech division.

I own the real estate arm. I own the fleet.” She kissed his forehead. It was the kiss of a mafia dawn. I own everything, Fei. Including you. She straightened up and walked toward the door. “Now get dressed. We’re going to church. Pastor Ada Boy is preaching and we need to thank God for your recovery.” Dot. She opened the door. then paused.

“Oh, and Femi.” “Yes,” he whispered. She pulled a small object from her pocket and tossed it onto the bed. “It bounced once and landed by his hand. It was the blue Nokia 3310. You dropped this in the bathroom last night,” she said, her eyes gleaming with wicked amusement. “You really should be more careful with your toys, darling.

” She walked out, leaving the door open. Femi stared at the little blue phone. He realized then with absolute clarity that he wasn’t playing a game anymore. He was serving a sentence wondering what happened next. Let’s meet in the next