Mira stared at the socks on Daniel Hudson's bed and her brain short-circuited.There were three pairs. Brand new. Still with tags. But intentionally mismatched. One blue, one yellow — exactly like the ones she was wearing right now. One pink, one green. One black, one white with tiny cactuses.On the cold, perfect, nobody-touches-my-bed of the most feared man in Lagos."Explain," he said again.His voice was low. He was sitting with his elbows on his knees, looking up at her from that chair in the middle of his dark room. The AC was blasting. The room was still too cold, too grey, too empty. And he was looking at her like she was a puzzle that was annoying him.Mira's mouth opened. Nothing came out for two seconds. That was a record for her.Then: "Sir... are those... socks?""Obviously.""For me?"He didn't answer. He just kept looking at her. His grey eyes were doing that thing again where they look dead and curious at the same time.Mira took one small step inside. Her rubber shoe
Última actualización : 2026-09-22
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