The black SUV pulled up in front of Zaria's compound just after 8 p.m., just like Darius had promised. The driver stepped out in a crisp uniform, expression unreadable, and opened the back door without a word.
Zaria hesitated on the front steps, her small suitcase at her feet.
Her roommate, Amaka, had asked where she was going. Zaria lied. Said it was a temporary job in Ikoyi. Amaka had raised a brow, but didn't press. Everyone in Lagos was chasing something—jobs, money, miracles. No one had the time to unpack someone else's struggle.
Now, as she slid into the leather interior of the SUV, Zaria wrapped her arms around herself and exhaled. The scent of the car—a soft, expensive blend of sandalwood and clean leather—calmed her nerves just a little.
But only just.
Because she was leaving behind everything she knew. Her familiar chaos. Her predictable struggle.
She was stepping into a stranger's world.
Darius's mansion was not the kind of place you found even in the glossy real estate magazines.
Perched on a quiet street in Banana Island, surrounded by palm trees and discreet security cameras, it looked more like a private resort than a home. The gates opened with silent efficiency, revealing a modern architectural masterpiece—glass walls, warm stone accents, soft lights glowing along a paved driveway lined with hibiscus flowers.
Zaria's mouth went dry.
She thought she'd seen luxury before—at the weddings she worked, at the banquets for oil tycoons and politicians.
But this… this was another world entirely.
The car stopped at the front entrance. A housekeeper greeted her with a polite nod and took her bag.
"Madam Zaria, welcome," she said, her Yoruba accent warm and proper. "Oga is inside."
Madam. The word sounded foreign in her ears.
Zaria stepped inside and froze.
The living room was vast, decorated in a mix of earthy tones and minimalist elegance. Soft lighting bathed the high ceilings. A waterfall wall feature trickled quietly in the corner, and soft classical music played somewhere in the background.
And then she saw him.
Darius stood near the stairs, sleeves rolled up, phone in one hand. He was speaking in French—fluent and fluid—then ended the call and turned to her.
Their eyes met.
Neither spoke for a moment.
Then he walked over, not slowly, not hurriedly—just with that same unshakable calm.
"You came," he said.
She nodded.
"You didn't bring much."
"I don't have much."
He didn't comment. Instead, he gestured gently. "I'll show you your room."
They walked through a quiet hallway until they reached a suite on the second floor.
The room was bigger than her entire flat.
The bed looked like it had never been touched. A full wardrobe lined one wall, and the bathroom gleamed like a luxury spa. There was even a small balcony that looked out onto a private garden.
"This is too much," she whispered.
Darius stood in the doorway, arms crossed. "It's the bare minimum I want for the mother of my child."
She turned to face him, arms wrapped around herself. "So what now? I just… stay here? Like a guest?"
"You're not a guest," he said simply. "This is your home for the next few months."
"And after that?"
His gaze didn't falter. "We'll cross that bridge when we get there."
Zaria felt the unspoken rules hanging in the air between them. No touching. No sleeping in the same bed. No pretending this was something it wasn't.
He was giving her comfort. Control.
But not closeness.
Still, the exhaustion of the day was catching up with her.
"Can I rest?" she asked.
He nodded. "There's dinner if you want it. Just call down. You don't have to see me unless you need to."
She didn't reply.
He lingered a second longer, then left.
The door clicked softly behind him.
---
That night, Zaria lay in the massive bed, staring at the ceiling. She ran her hand over her belly. Still flat, still small. But there. A heartbeat. A promise.
This wasn't a fairy tale.
She wasn't falling into a prince's arms.
She was here for survival.
And for this tiny life growing inside her.
But deep inside, a quiet part of her whispered:
Why does he hide so much?
Because even with all this money… all this silence… Darius Okechukwu was a man running from something.
And soon, Zaria would find out what.