Chapter 6: Death by Design
Somewhere on the outskirts of Ibadan.
The room was cold. Not from air conditioning — but from silence.
Hailey's eyes blinked open slowly. Her body ached. Her wrists were bound behind her back. Her head throbbed like someone had cracked it open and poured in confusion.
Concrete walls. One flickering lightbulb. No windows.
A prison.
She jerked in panic. "Hello?! Anyone?!"
No answer.
Then the door creaked open. She turned her head sharply.
James stood there.
Dressed in a fine grey kaftan, gold chain swinging from his neck, he looked exactly like the kind of man Lagos now worshipped — rich, dangerous, untouchable.
"Miss me?" he said with a smirk.
Hailey's lips parted, but her voice cracked. "You… you're insane."
"Maybe," he shrugged. "But at least I'm honest. Unlike your 'Jay'."
Her heart dropped. "What did you do to him?"
James's eyes darkened. "Let's just say… I gave him a proper billionaire's exit."
He stepped closer, crouched in front of her, his voice low.
"You chose him. After everything I gave you. After everything I did for you."
Hailey glared through tears. "You didn't love me. You owned me."
James slapped her.
Not hard. But just enough to remind her — she was no longer free.
"Don't get clever," he whispered. "You're not here to talk. You're here to learn how to behave."
He stood up, adjusting his shirt. "Welcome home, Hailey."
---
Meanwhile, in a private safehouse in Abuja...
Jason Royce was alive — barely.
He hadn't slept in 48 hours. His face was bruised from the staged crash. His mind a battlefield of rage and strategy.
Briggs stood across from him, arms folded. "We have footage of the van that took her. Unmarked. Plate switched."
Jason stared at the screen. "She's alive?"
"We believe so. We also traced James' financial activity to a warehouse estate north of Ibadan. Private security, paid in cash. No telecom signal in or out. Classic criminal holding site."
Jason nodded once. "Good. Send a drone. I want visuals. I want schedules. I want dirt on every man guarding that place."
Briggs hesitated. "Sir… if you walk this path, there's no turning back."
Jason looked up slowly. His eyes no longer carried the warmth of the man who once studied under mango trees and wore plain tees.
That man had died in the fire.
"Then let's not turn back," Jason said coldly. "Let's bury them all."
---
Four Days Later.
James paced the hallway of his villa. Hailey had been silent for the last two days — no tears, no begging. Just silence. That made him more restless than screams ever could.
"She's planning something," he told his right-hand man, Viper — a broad-chested ex-boxer with tattoos from neck to knuckle.
"Want me to break her?" Viper asked, deadpan.
"No," James said, sipping a glass of red wine. "Not yet. I want her to watch me build a world where Jason Royce no longer exists."
But James didn't know…
Jason wasn't just alive.
He was watching.
Through a hidden drone nestled in a coconut tree just outside the compound, Jason had eyes on the house. On Hailey. On every door and guard shift.
The feed ran into his laptop screen in real-time.
"She's in the south wing," Briggs confirmed. "Tied. Not drugged. Minimal contact. They've underestimated her."
Jason leaned forward, eyes locked on the grainy image of Hailey sitting on the floor, arms behind her back, eyes closed — but alive.
He touched the screen.
"Hold on, Hails," he whispered. "I'm coming."
---
That night…
James threw a party.
Strippers. Champagne. Guns on display like trophies. Criminals from the Vultures all gathered in celebration of Jason's "death."
But in the shadows, just beyond their reach, the real ghost of Lagos was taking notes.
Jason Royce wasn't done.
He was just getting started.
And if James thought he'd won…
He had no idea what revenge looked like when it came wearing silence.