Steve's POV
The quiet moments were the worst. When the guns silenced, the city's roar faded into a distant hum, and the adrenaline slipped away, the memories came crashing back—sharp as broken glass.
I leaned against the cracked wall, feeling the weight of the past pressing down on my chest. The safehouse was cold, but my mind was a furnace burning with ghosts.
I was just a boy when they took everything.
My father's blood spilled in an alley I'll never forget. Betrayed by the very men who called him brother. The orphaned son left to rot in the shadows of Lagos' underworld.
Pain taught me to be ruthless. Survival meant hardening every part of me, even the pieces that wanted to break.
Jomiloju was far from this world—soft, protected, innocent. Yet somehow, she had found her way into the darkest corners of my soul.
She reminded me of what I'd lost—and what I could never have back.
The bruise on my knuckle throbbed—a souvenir from last night's fight with Koleosho's men. A warning that my choices were dangerous.
But for her, I'd risk everything.
Jomiloju's POV
I watched him from across the room, the shadows playing tricks on his face.
There was something fractured about Steve—something raw and broken beneath the tough exterior.
He didn't speak much about his past, but the scars on his knuckles, the haunted look in his eyes, told stories no one else dared ask.
I wanted to reach out. To touch those scars, to offer comfort. But fear held me back.
Who was he really? The man who kidnapped me? Or the boy haunted by memories no one should carry?
I rubbed my wrist where the bracelet lay warm—a fragile link between us.
"Steve," I said softly, breaking the silence.
He turned slowly, eyes dark.
"You don't have to carry it alone."
For a moment, the cold wall he built around himself cracked.
He swallowed hard, then nodded.
"Not many get to see this side."
I wanted to see more.
Steve's POV
Trust was a luxury I couldn't afford. But with her, something was different.
I told her the story once—the night my family was destroyed, the blood that stained my childhood, the betrayal that made me who I was.
Her eyes didn't waver.
"Why tell me?" she asked quietly.
"Because you're not like the others," I said. "You fight. You don't break."
Her strength surprised me.
And for the first time in a long while, I felt… hopeful.
Maybe this war wasn't just about survival anymore.
Maybe it was about redemption.
Jomiloju's POV
The more I learned about Steve, the more tangled my feelings became.
He was danger. Darkness. And yet, beneath it all, I saw flickers of light.
He protected me fiercely, but he also fought his own demons.
One night, when the city outside screamed with gunfire, he let me see his vulnerability.
His hands shook as he lit a cigarette—a small rebellion against the chaos.
"I'm not a monster," he whispered, eyes searching mine.
"I'm just a scarred man trying to survive."
I reached out, placing my hand over his. The heat of his skin was startling.
"I don't believe in monsters," I said.
In that fragile moment, something shifted.
Steve's POV
The first scar isn't the one you see—it's the one that never fades.
Jomiloju was becoming my reason to fight. My anchor in the storm.
But the mafia never forgets. Koleosho's shadow loomed closer, and betrayal lurked at every turn.
I promised her safety, but promises in my world came with a price.
As dawn broke, I prepared for the next move.
Because in this war, only the ruthless survive.
And I wasn't about to lose her.