Chapter 1: Midnight Wahala
Midnight for Lagos. Rain dey drum for zinc roof, generator hum for backyard.
My fiancé secretary just send me one hot, suggestive photo.
"We spend four hours together today."
I no even get time to reply.
Because, right then, the soul of my old enemy—dead for ten years—suddenly show face.
"Na your fiancé be that?"
"Tsk... Why e resemble me small?"
As I see that message, my body cold like I pour iced water for skin, even as sweat dey my palm. The sharp yellow of my phone screen blind my eyes small, but na the ghost of Musa wey shock me pass. My chest lock like padlock wey key loss, but I still bone, pretend like say na normal night. Na so for Naija, wahala dey enter as you dey try manage another one.