The morning of the feature launch arrived with thunder in the air—literal and figurative.
Amaka's startup had just announced its next evolution: a partnership with Tunde, merging art, digital storytelling, and commerce in a limited campaign called "Unmasked." It was bold. It was intimate. It was dangerous.
And it had already gone viral.
"The CEO and the artist. Lovers, rebels, architects of the new elite. Are they building an empire—or playing with fire?"
— Lagos Mirror, front page.
Inside the conference venue, reporters buzzed like hornets. Amaka's team prepped her backstage while Tunde stood off to the side, adjusting his cuff and ignoring the cameras.
"Do you want a statement prepped?" Rita asked.
"No," Amaka said. "I want to speak like I'm not afraid."
"Are you?"
Amaka glanced at Tunde.
"Terrified."
Then she stepped onto the stage.
Her voice didn't shake.
"I didn't fall," she told the crowd. "I chose to land. Publicly. Loudly. And yes—with someone who reminded me that vulnerability isn't weakness. It's proof I'm still human."
Applause. Flashes. Questions.
One hand shot up. A male reporter with cold eyes.
"Some claim this relationship is a brand strategy. A distraction. What do you say to that?"
Tunde stood then, walking to the podium uninvited. Calm, quiet, steel in his spine.
"I say love doesn't need PR," he said. "But courage does. And Amaka's had it long before I ever met her."
The room fell into silence.
Then thundered with applause.
Later that night, they returned to her apartment, breathless from the high.
Tunde leaned against the kitchen counter, watching her pull off her heels. "That was electric," he said.
"I'm exhausted."
"I can tell," he said, smiling. "Your eyes twitch when you're overstimulated."
She raised an eyebrow. "Do not shrink me down to my micro-expressions."
He crossed the room. "Never. I'm learning your full scale."
Just as their laughter faded into stillness, her phone lit up.
A single text from a blocked number:
"Tell your artist to stay in the background. Or we'll put him there permanently."
Amaka froze.
Tunde saw her expression before she could hide it.
"What is it?"
She handed him the phone.
He read the message. Twice.
Then he looked at her, eyes steady. "You think this is real?"
"I think someone's scared. And scared people don't bluff."
The next morning, their story was everywhere.
Not just love story. Not just power move.
Now: Threat. Intrigue. Sabotage.
And somewhere, someone was watching.
Waiting.
Because not everyone wanted them to rise.
Some wanted to see how they'd break.