Steve's POV
The power cut was sudden—like the city itself had been swallowed whole by darkness. The safehouse, usually a fortress of cold concrete and harsh fluorescent lights, now felt like a tomb. Shadows pooled in every corner, and the silence pressed heavy against my eardrums.
My gun hung loosely in my hand, but it was the weight of the silence that cut deeper than any bullet could.
Jomiloju sat rigid in the far corner, her delicate frame framed by the faint glow of a dying streetlamp filtering in through the cracked window. Her wide eyes searched the darkness as if willing the light to return, or maybe just to find a way out.
She was every inch the queen they all thought she was—the daughter of a powerful Lagos politician—but stripped of all the armor, she was just a girl. A fierce, unbroken girl with a spark in her eyes that refused to be snuffed out.
I leaned back against the wall, the cold concrete grounding me even as my mind spun. This wasn't supposed to be personal. I was supposed to keep her alive, unharmed, a bargaining chip in some political war. But since the moment she had stared me down like a challenge, something inside me had shifted.
I wasn't a pawn. I was a king, but kings had scars too. And I was starting to see her scars—hidden beneath layers of silk and pride.
She didn't flinch when I took a slow step closer, the gun at my side lowering just a fraction. Her gaze was steady, unblinking.
"Don't move," I warned, my voice low and rough, like gravel scraping over steel.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Why am I still here?" she asked, voice steady, but laced with a quiet fire.
Because no one harms what's mine.
I hated that thought. I hated the possessive edge in my gut. But she was mine now—whether I liked it or not.
The city's power grid groaned in the distance, and for a heartbeat, a flicker of lightning from the streetlamp illuminated her face. Soft, vulnerable… fierce. A flame burning in defiance of the night.
I swallowed hard, the weight of what I was doing sinking in.
The brush of her hand against mine was accidental, barely a touch—yet electric, setting my nerves alight like gunpowder.
I didn't pull away.
Not yet.
For one long, breathless second, the war inside me paused. The darkness was no longer suffocating—it was alive, and it pulsed with something dangerously close to hope.
But outside, the city still roared with threats. And I was a king trapped by his own code, caught in a war where loyalty meant death.
Jomiloju's POV
The blackout turned the world upside down. The sharp edges of the safehouse softened under the cloak of night. The air was thick with heat and fear and something else I couldn't name yet.
His presence was overwhelming—the scent of leather, the steady beat of his heart against the silence, the cold gun pressed casually against the table. I could hear his breath, steady and controlled, like a predator watching his prey.
But I wasn't prey. Not anymore.
My body tensed, every muscle ready to spring, but my mind raced faster.
"You're so cold," I whispered into the darkness. My voice broke the silence like a cracked mirror.
His eyes flickered with something I didn't expect—something raw, almost human.
"I don't want to hurt you," he said, his voice rough but honest.
And then—his hand brushed mine. A touch so light, so delicate, I wondered if I imagined it.
Heat exploded where our skin met, spreading like wildfire through every nerve ending.
I jerked my hand back, heart pounding, but I couldn't stop the flush rising in my cheeks.
I hated him. I hated everything he stood for.
But I hated even more that I needed him.
The city's chaos pressed in from beyond the walls, but in this stolen moment, the two of us were the only ones alive.
Could a rose bloom in the darkest soil?
Maybe it could.
Steve's POV
Her anger was like fire—wild and unpredictable. I'd faced gunshots, betrayals, and bloodshed, but this anger was different. It was real. It was raw.
I wanted to protect her from everything, even myself.
The blackout was a blessing and a curse. It gave us privacy, but it also stripped away the distractions, forcing us to confront what simmered beneath the surface.
I could see the storm in her eyes. She was fighting to hold on to herself, to the life she had lost. But I also saw something else—vulnerability. A crack in her armor.
My mind flashed back to my own scars—the orphaned boy left to rot in the underworld's gutters, the blood spilled in the name of loyalty, the betrayal that had shaped me into the man I was.
She was different. She wasn't broken.
I wanted to be better for her.
But how do you save someone when you're barely surviving yourself?
I took another step closer, closing the distance. The gun was forgotten on the table.
"Jomiloju," I said, voice rough like gravel, "you're worth more than the war they're fighting. More than the lies they tell you."
Her eyes locked on mine, searching, desperate.
I reached out, fingers trembling, and brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
Her skin was warm, soft beneath my calloused hands.
She didn't pull away.
The heat between us was a wildfire waiting to burn everything down.
Jomiloju's POV
His touch was electric. A shock running through my veins, waking parts of me I thought were dead.
For the first time since I'd been taken, I felt… seen. Not as a hostage or a prize, but as a person.
But fear clawed at my throat. Could I trust him? Could I let my guard down?
"Why are you doing this?" I whispered, voice trembling.
He looked away, jaw tight.
"Because I see you," he said softly. "Not the daughter of a politician. Not a pawn. You're a storm."
A storm.
I wanted to believe him. To let go.
But the night was far from over.
Steve's POV
The first distant crackle of thunder echoed outside. The storm was coming.
It felt fitting—this night of darkness and heat was just the beginning.
I couldn't promise her safety. Not from the mafia. Not from the past.
But I could promise I wouldn't let her face it alone.
I stepped back, the gun back in hand, but my heart wasn't in it.
Because something fragile had begun between us in the darkness.
And the war was only just starting.