By: Biodun Durojaiye
Lara burst into Michael’s apartment the next morning without knocking—something she had perfected since childhood. Michael barely looked up from the kettle on the stove.
“You look tired,” she said, dropping her handbag on the nearest chair.
“I was at a fundraiser,” he replied. “Rich people pretending to care about orphans. You know the drill.”
Lara folded her arms. “And you talked to her.”
Michael paused. “Talked to who?”
“Don’t insult my intelligence,” she said, brushing past him to pour herself water. “I saw the pictures online. You and Adesuwa Cole, standing like two actors in a trailer for a scandal.”
Michael frowned. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Exactly,” Lara said sharply. “It’s never ‘like that’ at the beginning.”
He sighed, leaning against the counter. “Lara, it was small talk. Five minutes, maybe.”
“Well,” she said, lowering her glass, “five minutes is more than enough time for a curse.”
Michael blinked. “A what?”
“A curse,” she repeated, stepping closer, voice low and dramatic. “Adesuwa Cole has a reputation, you know. Every man she’s dated ends up dead, broke, or—”
“Missing,” Michael finished dryly. “I’ve heard the gossip.”
“It’s not gossip.” She pointed a finger at him. “It’s documented tragedy.”
Michael chuckled despite himself. “Documented? Lara, this is Lagos. People document rumors the way scholars document history.”
Lara stared at him, unimpressed. “Fine. Let me enlighten you, since you want to behave like you’re immune to foolishness.”
She perched on the arm of the sofa like a prosecutor preparing her case.
“One,” she said, raising a finger. “Her ex-husband, that billionaire—died suddenly. People said heart attack. Others said poison.”
Michael rolled his eyes.
“Two,” she continued, undeterred. “Another boyfriend lost everything. Everything, Michael. Investments, property, reputation. The man practically evaporated.”
“That could’ve been bad luck.”
“Three,” she said, leaning forward. “And now the latest one, Tunde Balogun—missing.”
The apartment went quiet.
Michael stood still, jaw tightening. “You’re connecting dots that have no business being on the same page.”
Lara scoffed. “This is Lagos; everything is connected. Even madness has a source.”
“People disappear all the time,” Michael argued, but his voice lacked conviction. “It doesn’t mean she did anything.”
“She doesn’t have to do anything,” Lara said. “Some women carry storms in their shadows.”
He gave her a look. “You sound poetic. That’s a bad sign.”
She ignored him. “Just be careful. I saw the way you were looking at her in those pictures.”
Michael stiffened. “And how was I looking at her?”
“Like a man who thinks he’s the exception,” Lara said softly. “Men like that end up in the obituaries.”
Even though he brushed the warning aside, Michael felt something unpleasant crawl up his spine.
He had stood across from Adesuwa Coleman for only five minutes, and already she was lodged somewhere in his thoughts—like a puzzle missing its corner pieces.
He didn’t believe the curse nonsense. Never had, never would. He believed in numbers, patterns, transactions. Not superstition.
But he couldn’t forget the way she’d looked at him last night—the kind of look that flickered with fear before turning to ice.
Read: The Lekki Widow: CHAPTER 1 — The Disappearance
He couldn’t forget how her voice tightened when he mentioned the police. Or the too-quick denial. Or that she’d seemed like two different women in the same evening.
“Look,” he said finally, “I’m not getting involved in anything. I just talked to her.”
“Good,” Lara replied. “Keep it that way.”
Michael nodded, but his eyes drifted to the silent city outside the window.
Because deep down—beneath the logic, beneath the skepticism, beneath everything he told himself—something was beginning to whisper.
Something is wrong.
Something is very, very wrong.
