CHAPTER 2: THE BODYGUARD

Zara didn’t sleep.

How could she? There was still blood on her skirt from yesterday. A creepy voicemail from Chief Obasi sitting in her phone. And that damn pregnancy test in her bathroom she was too scared to even look at.

What if it’s positive? What if it’s not? God.

4am. Lagos was too quiet outside. Her sister Tolu was snoring softly on the couch. The old fan kept making that annoying clicking sound every few seconds.

Zara just stared at the cracked ceiling. Every time she closed her eyes she saw Marcus’s hands shaking. She saw Damian’s expensive shoes with someone else’s blood on them.

I just wanted a job that paid the rent. That’s all.

Her phone buzzed on the floor beside her.

Unknown number.

Be ready by 7am. I’m assigning you security. - D.C

Damian Cole. Of course it was him.

She started typing back: I’m fine. I don’t need—

Deleted it.

Typed: Okay.

Sent.

Coward.

---

7:03am.

A black G-Wagon waited right outside her compound in Ajegunle. Not just any one. The one. Tinted windows so dark you couldn’t see inside. Driver in a crisp suit.

And leaning against it like he owned the street? Marcus Okafor.

He had a fresh bandage peeking from under his black shirt. Black jeans. Sunglasses. He looked like walking trouble.

Zara stopped at the gate, heart thumping.

Do I get in? Do I just run?

Marcus spotted her. No smile. He just pushed off the car and stood straighter.

“Morning,” he said.

“Morning,” Zara answered.

Awkward silence.

He opened the back door. “Get in.”

“I can sit in front,” Zara tried.

“No.” Marcus’s voice left no room. “Back.”

She slid in. The car smelled brand new. And like him. That same cheap cedar soap.

Marcus got behind the wheel himself. Not in the passenger seat. The driver’s seat.

“You’re driving?” Zara asked, surprised.

“I’m assigned to you,” he said, pulling into morning traffic. “24/7.”

24/7. God.

“You should be resting,” Zara said quietly. “Your side—”

“It’s fine,” Marcus cut her off. “Four stitches. No big deal.”

Zara looked out the window at the crowded streets. “Damian sent you?”

“Damian ordered it,” Marcus replied. “I volunteered.”

Zara turned to stare at the back of his head. “Why?”

He kept his eyes on the road. “Because yesterday you almost died on my watch.”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“Felt like it was.”

Oh.

The radio played some old love song low in the background. Zara hated how it made her chest feel tight.

---

Cole Group. 8am.

The boardroom was spotless. No broken glass. No blood. Like yesterday never happened.

But everyone was staring at her.

Whispers followed her down the hall.

“That’s the girl he covered.”

“The one with the bodyguard.”

“They say Chief Obasi called himself.”

Zara kept her head down and went straight to her desk. Her laptop was there. The Q3 report still open. Saved.

Thank God.

“Ms. Bello.”

She jumped.

Damian.

He looked perfect. Crisp suit. No dark circles. Like he’d slept eight full hours. Only a small bandage on his hand gave anything away.

“You’re late,” he said.

“It’s 8:01,” Zara replied.

“I said 8:00.”

She bit her tongue. “Sorry, sir.”

Damian’s eyes flicked to Marcus standing behind her. “You. My office. Now.”

Marcus didn’t budge. “She’s with me.”

“I’m aware,” Damian said coolly. “Which is why I want to know why my head of security is suddenly playing chauffeur.”

Marcus’s jaw tightened. “Because she’s safer with me.”

“Safer?” Damian let out one short laugh. No humor in it. “In a G-Wagon? Alone? With you?”

Zara stepped between them before it got worse. “I’ll just go to my desk. Both of you, please.”

They both looked at her.

Shit.

Damian turned first. “My office. Ten minutes. Both of you.”

---

Ten minutes later.

Damian’s office on the 30th floor felt like another world. Glass walls. A view of the whole city. It smelled like money and power.

Damian was behind his huge desk. Not sitting. Pacing.

“Shut the door,” he ordered.

Marcus closed it.

“Sit,” Damian told Zara.

She sat. Marcus stayed standing by the door like a statue.

Damian stopped pacing and looked at her. “You’re pale.”

“I’m fine,” Zara said. Probably the tenth time today.

“You’re not.” He crossed his arms. “Paramedics said your blood pressure was high. You were cramping.”

Zara froze. “How did you—”

“I have eyes,” Damian said. “And a company to run. I can’t have my staff collapsing.”

My staff. Not me.

“Thank you for the concern,” Zara muttered. “But I’m okay.”

Damian walked around the desk and stopped right in front of her. Too close.

“You were under him,” he said, nodding toward Marcus. “When the bullets started.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Zara glanced at Marcus. He was staring hard at Damian.

“Because he pushed me down,” she said. “He saved me.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed. “Did he.”

The room went dead quiet.

Marcus finally spoke. “Is there a point to this, Cole?”

Damian smiled. It didn’t touch his eyes. “Just making sure my secretary knows exactly who she works for.”

Zara stood up fast. “I know who I work for. Can I go now?”

Damian didn’t answer right away. He picked up a file and dropped it in her lap.

“New role,” he said. “Personal Assistant. Starts today. You’ll handle my schedule, my meetings, everything.”

Zara blinked. “What? I’m just—”

“You’re promoted,” Damian cut in. “Congratulations.”

It didn’t feel like a congratulations. It felt like a trap.

Marcus stepped forward. “No.”

Damian raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“She can’t,” Marcus said. “It’s not safe.”

“Since when do you make HR decisions?” Damian asked.

“Since yesterday,” Marcus shot back.

Damian walked right up to him, stopping inches away. “You’re her bodyguard, Okafor. Not her father. Not her boyfriend. Guard her. That’s it.”

Marcus didn’t flinch. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

Zara stood. The file slipped to the floor. “Stop. Both of you.”

They turned to look at her.

“I’ll take the job,” she said. “But I’m not a prisoner. And Marcus stays with me.”

Damian studied her for a long moment.

“Fine,” he said at last. “Penthouse tonight. We prep for the gala.”

Zara frowned. “What gala?”

“The one you’re attending with me,” Damian said. “As my date.”

Zara let out a nervous laugh. “I’m not—”

“You are,” he replied. “Unless you want to explain to the board why the girl who was with me during the attack isn’t standing at my side.”

Saved your life? I just hid under a desk.

Zara looked at Marcus. His eyes said don’t.

But rent was due. Her sister needed her meds.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Damian smiled. A real one this time. “Good girl.”

Zara hated how that made her stomach flip.

---

8pm. Penthouse. 40th floor.

Zara had never been somewhere like this. Marble everywhere. Expensive art. A view that made her head spin.

Damian stood by the bar in a sharp suit, no tie, whiskey in hand.

“You’re late,” he said.

“The traffic—”

“I don’t care.” He set the glass down. “Get dressed.”

A red silk dress waited on the couch. Expensive. Dangerous.

Zara picked it up. “I don’t—”

“Put it on,” Damian said. “We leave in twenty.”

He walked away.

Zara went to the guest room and closed the door. The dress fit too perfectly. It dipped low in front. Showed too much.

I look like I belong here. But I don’t.

A knock.

Marcus.

“You okay?” he asked. His eyes moved over the dress.

“I’m fine,” Zara said.

“You don’t look fine.”

She crossed her arms. “Can you not—”

The main door opened.

Damian stepped in. Stopped. His eyes went dark when he saw her.

“Perfect,” he said.

Zara felt sick to her stomach.

Then Damian’s phone buzzed. He checked it and his face changed.

“Change of plans,” he said. “We’re not going to the gala.”

“Why?” Zara asked.

He held up the phone. Text from an unknown number.

If you bring her, she dies. - O

Obasi.

Zara’s blood turned to ice.

Marcus moved fast, stepping in front of her. “Get behind me.”

Damian set the phone down slowly.

“Looks like,” he said, “we have a problem.”

The lights flickered.

Once.

Twice.

Then the whole penthouse went black.

Somewhere in the darkness, glass shattered.

Shit.