After Office Hours

By five o’clock, the design studio had started emptying.

Machines fell silent one after another.

Designers packed sketchbooks into leather totes.

Someone shouted, “See you tomorrow!”

Another replied, “If Lagos traffic allows.”

Laughter filled the room before people drifted toward the elevators.

Zai remained at her desk, staring at the unfinished sketch in front of her.

Raymond’s invitation echoed in her mind.

“Stay back tomorrow.”

It had sounded innocent.

Professional.

Still, something about it unsettled her.

“You’re still here?”

Funke’s voice pulled her back.

“Oh. I’m just finishing this sketch.”

Funke rested a folded fabric on the table.

“You work hard.”

“I have to.”

“No.”

She smiled gently.

“You choose to.”

There was a difference.

Funke looked around to make sure nobody was listening.

“Can I give you one piece of advice?”

“Of course.”

“Talent will open doors.”

She paused.

“But wisdom tells you which ones to enter.”

Before Zai could ask what she meant, Funke picked up her bag.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Ma.”

The words lingered long after Funke left.

The next evening, Lagos rain arrived without warning.

By six thirty, thick drops hammered against the glass walls of LuxeThread.

Employees groaned as they checked weather apps.

“Traffic is finished today.”

“I should have left thirty minutes ago.”

Within fifteen minutes, the office was almost empty.

Zai watched the rain from her desk.

She looked at her phone.

No network.

Wonderful.

An assistant appeared beside her.

“Miss Adebayo.”

She looked up.

“Sir is asking if you’re still interested.”

Her stomach tightened.

She almost said no.

Instead, she heard herself ask, “Is he in his office?”

“Yes.”

She took a slow breath.

“I’ll come.”

Raymond wasn’t behind his desk this time.

He stood in the design room beside a mannequin dressed in an unfinished evening gown.

“I’m glad you stayed.”

“The rain helped make the decision.”

He laughed.

“I’ll thank the weather.”

The atmosphere felt different from the daytime.

No ringing phones.

No meetings.

No footsteps.

Only soft instrumental music played somewhere in the background.

Raymond handed her a tablet.

“I’ve been unhappy with this collection.”

She scrolled through the designs.

“They’re beautiful.”

“They’re expensive.”

He corrected her.

“There’s a difference.”

She looked up.

He continued.

“Luxury should tell a story.”

He picked up a piece of emerald silk.

“When someone wears this…”

He draped it over the mannequin.

“…they shouldn’t just feel rich.”

“They should feel unforgettable.”

Zai’s eyes lit up.

“I’ve always believed clothes carry memories.”

Raymond smiled.

“I knew it.”

She frowned.

“Knew what?”

“That you understand fashion emotionally.”

For the next two hours, they worked side by side.

Sketches covered the table.

Fabric swatches littered the floor.

They debated necklines.

Argued about colours.

Laughed over failed ideas.

Neither noticed how late it had become.

At one point, Zai reached for a measuring tape.

So did Raymond.

Their hands touched.

She pulled hers back immediately.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

For the first time that evening, silence settled between them.

A different kind of silence.

One neither knew how to break.

By the time they finished, it was nearly nine.

The rain had eased.

“You’ll never find a bus at this hour,” Raymond said.

“I’ll manage.”

“You live in Surulere, right?”

She looked surprised.

“I remember your file.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll have my driver drop you.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“It’s safer.”

She hesitated.

Everything her mother had taught her screamed that accepting favours from powerful men could become expensive.

“I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“You won’t.”

He picked up his car keys.

“I’m heading out too.”

The black SUV moved quietly through Victoria Island.

For the first few minutes, neither spoke.

Outside, headlights reflected off wet roads.

Street hawkers hurried between cars despite the rain.

Lagos never really slept.

“You’ve been designing for how long?” Raymond asked.

“Since secondary school.”

“And nobody discovered you?”

She laughed softly.

“This is Nigeria.”

He nodded.

“Fair answer.”

“My clients loved my work.”

“So why didn’t you grow?”

She looked out the window.

“Talent isn’t always enough.”

“What is?”

She answered without looking at him.

“Connection.”

Raymond didn’t respond immediately.

Instead, he watched the city through his own window.

Then he said quietly,

“Maybe that’s changing.”

The SUV stopped outside her compound.

Children still played under dim security lights.

A woman sold akara by the gate.

Life here felt worlds away from the glass towers of Victoria Island.

“Thank you,” Zai said.

“My pleasure.”

She opened the door.

“Zainab.”

She turned back.

“You earned this job.”

She smiled.

“I needed to hear that.”

He watched her walk into the compound before telling the driver to leave.

On the second floor of a luxury apartment in Ikoyi, another woman watched the same black SUV through her balcony.

She had recognized the number plate immediately.

She looked at her phone.

A message arrived from a private investigator.

Vehicle arrived at Surulere. Female passenger dropped off safely. Photographs attached.

She opened the images.

The first showed Raymond and a young woman standing over fashion sketches.

The second captured them leaving the building together.

The third showed Raymond opening the SUV door for her.

The woman zoomed in on Zai’s face.

Young.

Beautiful.

Completely unaware.

A faint smile appeared on her lips.

Not the smile of a heartbroken wife.

The smile of someone who had just confirmed what she already suspected.

She locked her phone and walked back inside.

On the dining table sat two untouched plates of dinner.

Raymond’s plate had gone cold hours ago.

She looked at it for a moment before calling the housekeeper.

“Please clear the table.”

“Madam, should I warm Sir’s food?”

“No.”

Her voice remained calm.

“He won’t be eating at home tonight.”

The housekeeper lowered her eyes.

“Yes, Ma.”

Alone in the quiet dining room, Adanna picked up a leather notebook.

She wrote one sentence.

Everyone eventually mistakes patience for weakness.

Then she closed the book.

Engagement Question

If you were Adanna, would you confront Raymond immediately, or would you quietly gather more evidence before making your move?

To be continued…