VACANCY! VACANCY!! Barnksforte group
Service Delivery Manager

Location: Lagos & Abuja

Description
Our Exciting Opportunity:

We are now looking for a Service Delivery Manager who will be responsible for ensuring the correct and proper delivery of customer support services to our customers.
In this role, you will be responsible for the Technical and financial performance of delivered customer support services.
You will also ensure that agreed margins are achieved whilst delivering Service Level Agreement fulfillment and customer satisfaction.
The role also includes leading the customer network support engineers’ team and working closely with the competence centers, global support, and product line maintenance teams.
Responsibilities
You will:

Responsible for the financial and commercial as well as environment, health and safety (EHS) performance of delivered customer support services
Collaborate and maintain relationships
Active contributor in the Sales process, identify new business opportunities and drive Add on Sales, in cooperation with Account team
Manage the contractual requirements towards the Customer Support organization
Distribute information to internal partners and call out delivery Issues
You will stay up to date with financial data
24/7 support in emergency situations
Requirements
To be successful in the role you are:

Minimum of Graduate Degree in Engineering (Telecommunication or IT preferred) or Equivalent
Minimum of 10 years of working experience and at least 5 years of Service Delivery Management experience.
E2E knowledge of Telecom Network including Cloud, Core, RAN and Revenue Management Nodes
Financial analysis skills
Negotiation and argumentation
Change and improvement management skills
You will promote knowledge sharing and mentoring
Delivering Results & Meeting Customer Expectations
Presenting & Communicating information
Responsible for delivering results & meeting customer expectations
You will drive Entrepreneurial & Commercial Thinking
Leading & Supervising
Deciding & initiating action
You are capable of coping with pressures & setbacks
You should also have:

Very good leadership and management skills
Excellent social skills and strong customer orientation
Self-motivated and teammate.
Ability to adapt to change
Ability to work under pressure
Trade compliance knowledge
Persuading & Influencing
Relating & Networking.
Suitably qualified candidates can submit their CVs to : [email protected] with the job title and location as the subject.


400k-700k

Expected Start Date: 01/07/2025

Zenith Bank Plc, Nigeria’s biggest bank by Tier-1 Capital, has assured shareholders and investors of its readiness to satisfy all relevant conditions to exit the Central Bank of Nigeria’s (CBN) regulatory forbearance by June 30, 2025. The bank also expressed confidence in meeting shareholders’ dividend expectations in the 2025 financial year.

FIFTY MILLION NIGHTS
PART 5
The black dress felt stiff and wrong. Like a uniform for a prisoner. Olivia stood behind the long, shiny bar at Malik’s nightclub, *Eclipse*. Loud music pounded through the floor. Bright lights flashed. People danced and laughed. It was too loud, too bright, too much.
Two big men in dark suits stood right behind her. Kola and Dapo. Malik’s men. Her shadows. They watched everyone, especially men who came near her. Always watching. Never letting her forget she belonged to Malik now.
Olivia moved like a robot. Ice in the shaker. Pour vodka. Pour cranberry. Shake. Pour into a glass. "Fifty thousand Naira." Again and again. She kept her eyes down. Don’t look at the men staring. Don’t see their hungry eyes.
"Hey, new girl." A man leaned on the bar. His shirt was too open. His smile was nasty. "Why’s a pretty thing like you stuck pouring drinks? Need some fun?" His breath smelled sour.
Olivia wiped the counter hard. "What drink do you want, sir?" Her voice was flat.
He leaned closer. "What’s your special, sweetness?"
Before Olivia could speak, Kola moved. He didn’t say a word. He just stood huge and silent right behind the man. His face was blank. But he felt dangerous. Like a wall of cold stone.
The man’s smile vanished. He looked scared. "Uh... just a beer. Cold." He threw money down and hurried away.
Olivia breathed out shakily. She got his beer. Kola went back to his spot. This wasn’t protection. It was a cage. A warning. She is Malik’s. Stay away.
Hours passed. Olivia’s feet hurt in the tight shoes. Her head throbbed from the noise. She felt tired and empty. Just keep pouring. Don’t think.
Then, she felt it. The crowd near the back got quiet. People moved aside. Heads turned.
Malik was here.
He walked through the club like he owned it. Because he did. All black clothes. Sharp. Cold. His eyes scanned the room, then locked onto hers across the crowd.
Olivia froze, a bottle in her hand. His stare felt heavy. Possessive. He saw the uniform. The shadows. Her tired face. His jaw muscle tightened. He walked straight towards the bar.
Her heart hammered. *Don’t look. Just work.* She poured a drink, hands shaking.
He leaned on the bar right in front of her. His arms rested on the shiny chrome. "Busy night?" His voice was low, cutting through the noise.
"Yes, sir," she mumbled, staring at the bottles behind him.
"Learning fast?" he asked, too casually. His eyes flicked to where the nasty man had been. "Any... problems?"
"No, sir. No problems." She forced herself to meet his dark eyes. "Your men are... good at their job."
Something dangerous sparked in his look. Anger? Something else? "Remember that," he said, his voice like silk over ice. "Remember who they answer to. Who you answer to."
He was too close. She smelled his sandalwood smell, mixed with cold power. She saw the pale scar near his eye. She remembered him staring at her lips in the penthouse. It made her stomach flip.
Just then, a young guy stumbled up to the bar, right next to Malik. Drunk. Grinning. "Hey, beautiful!" he yelled at Olivia, wobbling. "Need drinks for my friends! The good stuff!" He winked.
Olivia opened her mouth. Kola and Dapo shifted. But Malik moved faster.
He didn’t shout. He didn’t push. He just turned his head. Slowly. He looked at the young man. His eyes were like frozen fire. Pure, terrifying hate.
The grin died on the drunk guy’s face. He turned white. "S-sorry, boss! Didn’t see you! My mistake!" He scrambled away, tripping over his feet.
Malik turned back to Olivia. His eyes were furious. Now aimed only at her. Like *she* caused it. Like she was the trouble.
"See?" he hissed, leaning so close she felt his breath. The music seemed to fade. "Distractions. Flies buzzing around honey." His gaze slid down to her mouth again. "Maybe the uniform is wrong. Maybe you need to be... invisible."
The unfairness burned. He blamed *her*? After everything? The tiredness, the fear, the shame – it exploded into hot anger. The fire she thought was dead roared back.
"Invisible?" Olivia snapped, her careful calm gone. She glared right back. "How? Should I wear a sack? Paint myself black? Or is the problem just... me being here, Mr. Adebayo?"
Silence. Heavy silence. Right in the noisy club. Kola and Dapo went statue-still. People nearby backed away.
Malik’s face turned hard stone. But underneath, rage boiled. His jaw muscle jumped. "You forget your place," he growled. The sound vibrated through the bar. "You forget everything."
"My place?" Olivia’s voice shook with anger and tears. "My place is behind this bar! Serving people who see me as furniture! Watched by your shadows! I’m property! What more do you want? Should I crawl? Thank you for this... prison?"
"Careful," he warned, deadly quiet. He stood up straight, towering over her. "You’re playing with fire."
"I signed your paper!" she shouted, ignoring the fear screaming inside. "I’m paying for a debt that isn’t mine! What’s left to take? My pride? My mind? Take it! You and my coward brother already broke it!"
His hand shot out. Not to hit her.
SLAM!
His palm smashed down on the shiny bar top. A deafening BANG! Glasses jumped. Liquid splashed. Everyone nearby jumped.
"ENOUGH!" His roar wasn’t loud, but it silenced everything. The music skipped. People froze.
Malik leaned in, his face inches from hers. His eyes burned – fury, confusion, something wild. "Think this is funny?" he hissed, hot breath on her cheek. "Your ****** mouth amuses you? You’re just money to me, Olivia. A way to get paid. Nothing more. Your fighting isn’t brave. It’s ******. Dangerous ******."
He stood up straight, breathing hard. The icy mask was back, but cracks showed. Fury still burned in his eyes. "Finish your work," he ordered, voice like cracking ice. "Remember this next time you feel like... making sparks."
He turned sharply. "Kola. Dapo. Take her straight home after closing. No stops. No talking." He didn’t wait. He walked away fast. The crowd parted like scared fish. Silence followed him.
Olivia stood frozen, shaking. His anger felt hot on her skin. The noise rushed back, loud and jarring. The spot on the bar where he slammed felt warm.
He called her a spark. A dangerous spark.
She picked up a cloth, wiping spilled drink, hands trembling. A scary, exciting thought cut through the fear and tiredness.
Maybe I am.
Later, back in Malik’s huge, quiet penthouse, the locked door clicked shut behind her. Kola and Dapo were gone.
Olivia kicked off the awful shoes. Her feet sighed in relief. She pulled off the stiff black uniform. It dropped to the cold floor. Standing in her slip, the city lights spread out below, the night crashed over her. The staring men. Malik’s scary jealousy. The fight. The spark.
He was angry. He was dangerous. He owned her.
But for the first time since Emeka left her, Olivia didn’t feel broken. She felt... awake. Scared? Yes. Tired? Totally. But awake. And Malik Adebayo, the cold Syndicate boss, had looked at her with fire. Not just ice.
She walked to the huge window. She put her hands on the cold, thick glass. The woman looking back wasn’t just a prisoner, or property, or something broken. She was the woman who made the lion roar.
The game changed. The spark was lit. Now, she had to survive the fire she started.
TO BE CONTINUED...

FIFTY MILLION NIGHTS
PART 4
The silence after Malik’s furious departure pressed down on Olivia like a physical weight. She stayed curled on the freezing floor, replaying the terrifying encounter. His icy rage. The discarded threat. That frozen, inexplicable moment when his eyes locked onto her lips. And the final, shocking slam against the wall. He wasn't just cold; he was a volcano beneath ice.
Hours bled into the night. The untouched food was a cold monument to her defiance. The clean dress mocked her resolve. Hunger gnawed, sharp and insistent. Thirst parched her throat. The cold seeped into her bones. She stared at the city lights, but the defiant spark felt distant, buried under a crushing wave of exhaustion and dread. Forty-five hours… then what? Discarded?l
A harsh, electronic buzz shattered the silence. Not the door. A sleek black phone, previously unnoticed on the stark bedside table, lit up with a pulsing green light. Olivia stared at it, heart lurching. Who? Emeka?
She scrambled across the cold floor, grabbing the heavy device. It wasn’t locked. A single notification: 1 New Voicemail.
Her fingers trembled as she pressed play, holding the phone tightly to her ear.
"Livy?" Emeka’s voice, thick with tears and static, flooded the line. The sound, so familiar, so *broken*, tore through her. Hope, desperate and foolish, flared. "Livy, I’m… I’m so sorry. So, so sorry." He choked on a sob. "I saw the news… about your flat. The door… Oh God, Livy, they took you! They took you because of me!"
Olivia squeezed her eyes shut, tears welling. "Emeka, where *are* you?" she whispered uselessly to the recording.
"I tried, Livy. I swear I tried to get the money. I went everywhere. Called everyone. Fifty million… it’s impossible. They… they know people. Powerful people. Every door slammed shut." His voice cracked. "They’ll kill me if I show my face. They’ll kill you if I don’t pay." A long, shuddering breath. "I can’t… I can’t save you, sis. I’m so sorry. I’m a coward. A failure. I… I have to disappear. Really disappear this time. Don’t try to find me. Please… just… try to survive. I’m so sorry. For everything."
Click. The line went dead. Silence roared back, louder than before.
Olivia dropped the phone. It clattered on the stone floor. She didn’t hear it. Emeka’s words echoed in the vast, empty space of her prison and the even vaster emptiness opening up inside her.
"I can’t save you."
"I have to disappear."
"Try to survive."
He’d abandoned her. Her own brother. Left her alone in the lion’s den. The last fragile thread of hope snapped. The defiance, the anger, the spark she’d clung to… it crumbled to ash. A sob ripped from her throat, raw and ugly. She wrapped her arms around herself, rocking back and forth on the cold floor. Defeated. Utterly, completely defeated.
Malik Adebayo owned her. Body and soul. And Emeka had just signed the deed.
The click of the door lock sounded different this time. Softer. Final. Olivia didn’t scramble up. She didn’t lift her head. She sat slumped against the metal door, her face buried in her knees, the cold stone leaching the last warmth from her. She’d been crying for hours. She had no tears left. Just a hollow, aching void.
Malik stood in the doorway. He didn’t enter immediately. His gaze swept the room – the untouched food, the pristine dress, the discarded phone, the broken woman huddled on the floor. A flicker of something unreadable passed through his dark eyes. Not triumph. Something… colder. More assessing.
He stepped inside. The door slid shut. He walked towards her, his polished shoes clicking softly. He stopped a few feet away, looking down at her crumpled form.
"Your brother called," he stated, his voice flat, devoid of inflection. It wasn’t a question.
Olivia flinched but didn’t look up. The shame of Emeka’s betrayal was a fresh wound.
"He expressed his… regrets," Malik continued, his tone dry as dust. "And his inability to fulfill his obligation. He has chosen… disappearance." He paused. "That leaves you, Olivia Okoro. Solely responsible for fifty million Naira."
The weight of the number, the finality of Emeka’s abandonment, pressed down on her. She felt small. Worthless. Broken, just as Malik had said. She managed a tiny, jerky nod, her forehead still pressed against her knees.
Silence stretched. Malik didn’t move. She could feel his gaze on her, heavy and analytical.
"Broken things get discarded," he repeated softly, the words like shards of ice. "But sometimes," he added, a note of chilling practicality entering his voice, "even broken things can have… residual value. If they prove useful."
Olivia slowly, painfully, lifted her head. Her eyes were red-rimmed, swollen, empty. She looked up at him, the man who held her life in his hands. "What do you want?" Her voice was a rasp, barely audible.
Malik tilted his head, studying her defeated posture, the dead look in her eyes. He seemed satisfied. The spark of defiance was truly extinguished. "A deal," he said simply.
He pulled a single sheet of crisp, expensive paper from his inside jacket pocket. He didn’t hand it to her. He held it where she could see. Neat, typed lines.
"You work for me," he stated. "You repay the debt. With labor. With loyalty. With absolute obedience." His dark eyes pinned hers. "You serve until the debt is cleared. Every kobo."
"What… what kind of work?" Olivia whispered, a new kind of dread coiling in her stomach.
Malik’s lips thinned. "You will work at Eclipse. My nightclub. You will tend bar. You will serve patrons. You will do whatever is required of you, efficiently and without complaint." He paused, his gaze sharpening. "You will be transported to and from the club daily. You will be accompanied at all times by my men. Inside the club. Outside. Everywhere. They are your shadow. Your protection," his voice hardened, "and your guarantee."
Armed men. Guards. Wardens. Always watching. Olivia swallowed hard, the hollowness filling with a cold, heavy sludge of resignation. A servant. A prisoner in a different uniform.
"The terms are non-negotiable," Malik continued, his voice final. "You agree to this, you live. You work. You repay. You refuse…" He let the sentence hang, the unspoken threat of discarded echoing louder than words. He held out a sleek black pen.
Olivia looked at the contract. At the impossible number. At the pen. She thought of Emeka’s cowardly voice. Of the cold river. Of the dark cell. Of being discarded. There was no fight left. Only survival. A bleak, terrifying survival.
Her hand trembled violently as she reached out. Her fingers brushed the cold metal of the pen. She looked up at Malik Adebayo one last time. His face was impassive, a mask carved from stone. No pity. No warmth. Only the cold calculation of a businessman securing an asset.
With a breath that felt like her last, Olivia Okoro took the pen. She didn’t read the contract. What choice did she have? She found the line at the bottom, marked with an ‘X’. Her hand shook so badly the first attempt was just a smear. She steadied it, pressing down with all her strength.
Olivia Chiamaka Okoro.
The signature looked small. Defeated. The final surrender.
Malik plucked the contract and pen from her numb fingers. He glanced at the signature, a ghost of something – satisfaction? – flickering in his eyes before vanishing. He folded the paper precisely and slid it back into his pocket.
"Report to the main room at 8 PM," he ordered, his voice crisp. "You will be fitted for your uniform. Your duties begin tonight."
He turned and walked to the door without another glance. It slid open. He paused, just for a second, his broad back to her. "Welcome to the Syndicate, Olivia," he said, his voice devoid of any welcome. "Remember your place. And your shadows."
He stepped through. The door hissed shut. The lock clicked with terrifying finality.
Olivia stared at the blank metal door. The hollowness returned, deeper now. She was no longer just collateral. She was property. Indentured. Owned.
She looked down at her hand, still faintly stained with ink. The signature of her defeat. The beginning of her sentence. The city lights blurred outside the unbreakable glass, indifferent to the bargain just made in the gilded cage.
Survival had a taste. It tasted like ash, and ink, and the bitter dregs of betrayal.

The Secret to Peace of mind is to not identify with anything other than your True Self.

FIFTY MILLION NIGHTS
PART 3
Time crawled in the gilded cage. The untouched tray of jollof rice sat cold and congealing on the floor near the hidden compartment. The clean white dress remained folded, pristine. Olivia hadn’t moved the sleek black chair. She stood. Or paced. Or sat cross-legged on the freezing stone floor, her back against the unyielding metal door, staring at the impossible view.
She ignored the gnawing hunger. Ignored the scratchy discomfort of her nightdress. Ignored the bone-deep cold. She focused on the city lights, tracing patterns, imagining lives down there – people laughing, arguing, rushing home, completely unaware of the woman trapped fifty floors up.
No one cares. Malik’s words echoed, but they sparked anger now, not despair. He cared. He cared enough to lock her here. Enough to want her broken.
He’d told her to change. To eat. To be a good, quiet asset. By doing nothing, by leaving his offerings untouched, she’d thrown his control back in his face. A silent, stubborn rebellion. Let him see how a distressed asset really looks.
How long would it take him to notice? An hour? Two? The sterile silence pressed in, broken only by the muffled city hum and the frantic drumming of her own heart. Every tiny sound – the faint whir of hidden air conditioning, a distant elevator chime – made her jump. Waiting was its own torture.
Then, it came. The soft, dreaded click of the main suite door. Footsteps. Malik’s footsteps. Measured. Purposeful. Coming straight towards her prison.
Olivia scrambled to her feet, pressing her back against the cold metal again. Her mouth went dry. This was it. The cost of defiance. She braced herself, fists clenched at her sides, chin lifted. Don’t let him see you break.
The electronic beep sounded. The door slid open.
Malik Adebayo stood framed in the doorway. He hadn’t bothered with a jacket again. His white shirt was still crisp, but his tie was loosened. He held a thin tablet in one hand. His dark eyes scanned the room instantly, missing nothing. They flicked past her defiant stance, past the untouched chair, and landed unerringly on the cold tray of food and the pristine, folded dress still sitting in the open compartment.
A beat of utter silence. The air crackled.
Olivia watched his face. That perfect mask of cold control. His jaw tightened, just a fraction. A tiny muscle flickered near the pale scar tracing his cheekbone. His eyes, when they finally lifted to meet hers, were like polished obsidian – hard, dark, and terrifyingly focused. The pleasant, dangerous curiosity from before was gone. Replaced by something colder. Sharper.
He stepped into the room. The door slid shut behind him with its soft, final hiss and click. He didn’t speak. He walked slowly, deliberately, towards the compartment. His polished shoes clicked softly on the stone floor, each step echoing Olivia’s pounding heartbeat.
He stopped beside the tray. Looked down at the uneaten food. Then his gaze shifted to the dress. Unmoved. Untouched. He didn’t pick them up. He didn’t yell.
He just stood there. The silence grew heavier, thicker, more suffocating than the sack had been. Olivia could feel the heat of his anger radiating off him, a physical pressure in the cool room. It wasn’t loud. It was deep, simmering, and infinitely more frightening than shouting.
Slowly, deliberately, he raised his gaze back to hers. "You disobeyed." His voice was low, flat, devoid of any inflection. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of fact, cold and hard.
Olivia forced herself to hold that dark gaze. "I’m not a dog to obey commands," she said, her voice surprisingly steady, though her knees felt like water. "I told you. I’m not your asset."
A flicker of something dangerous sparked in his eyes. He took a step closer. Then another. He invaded her space, stopping barely a foot away. Olivia had to crane her neck to look up at him. The scent of sandalwood and clean, sharp ice filled her senses, mixed with the subtle, expensive smell of his clothes. It was overwhelming. Intimidating.
"Is that so?" he murmured, his voice dropping to a near whisper that vibrated through her. He lifted his free hand, not towards her face, but towards the fabric of her nightdress. His fingers hovered near the worn cotton sleeve, close enough for her to feel the heat radiating from his skin. Olivia froze, breath catching. Was he going to touch her? Force her?
He didn’t. His hand stopped. He let it hang there, a silent, menacing threat. "This," he said, his eyes tracing the thin, slightly torn fabric, the dust on her bare arms, "is defiance? Looking like… this?" His gaze swept down her disheveled state with deliberate, insulting slowness. "Like something dragged from the gutter?"
Shame warred with fury. Olivia felt her cheeks burn. "It’s the truth of what you’ve done," she shot back, her voice trembling now. "You dragged me from my home! This is your asset!"
His dark eyes snapped back to hers, locking on with an intensity that stole her breath. "An asset," he said, his voice dangerously soft, "has value. Cleanliness. Order. Respect for the hand that holds it." He tilted his head, his gaze boring into her. "You look like a broken thing, Olivia Okoro. Worthless. Defiant, perhaps, but broken nonetheless." He leaned in, just slightly. "Broken things," he whispered, the words chilling, "get discarded."
The threat hung in the air, colder than anything before. Olivia felt a fresh wave of terror, icy and paralyzing. Discarded. What did that mean? The cold river? A dark cell? Something worse?
She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her defiance wavered, threatened to crumble under the sheer, terrifying weight of his presence and his words.
Then, something shifted. As he looked down at her, his gaze sharp, assessing, it snagged on her face. Not on her defiant eyes, but lower. On her lips. They were dry, slightly chapped from crying, pressed together in a tight line of fear and anger.
Malik Adebayo went utterly still. Not the controlled stillness from before. This was different. Frozen. His intense gaze fixed on her mouth. For a heartbeat, two, the terrifying anger in his eyes flickered. Something else flashed there – raw, unexpected, and gone in an instant. Surprise? Confusion? Something… darker? Hotter? His own lips parted slightly, just a fraction.
Olivia saw it. That crack in the ice. That brief, unguarded moment. It shocked her more than his anger. What was that?
The moment shattered. Malik blinked, and the cold mask slammed back down, harder than before. He straightened abruptly, putting a fraction more space between them, as if burned. The intensity in his eyes was now pure, controlled fury.
"Forty-five hours," he stated, his voice clipped, harsh. He turned away from her, his back rigid. He walked towards the door without another glance. "Enjoy the view. And the silence. You’ll find little comfort in either."
He reached the door. The electronic lock disengaged with its familiar *beep*. The door slid open. He stepped through.
Olivia stood rooted to the spot, heart hammering against her ribs, the echo of his threat – "Broken things get discarded" – warring with the shocking memory of his frozen stare… fixed on her lips.
The door began to slide shut.
Then, abruptly, it stopped.
Malik stood just outside, his back still to her. He didn’t turn. His broad shoulders were tense under the crisp white shirt. He seemed… paused. Hesitant? Angry? Something else?
Olivia held her breath. The silence stretched, thick and charged. What was he doing? What was he thinking?
After a heartbeat that felt like an eternity, Malik’s hand shot out. Not towards her. He slammed his palm hard against the wall outside her room. A sharp, echoing crack of sound. A sound of pure, frustrated fury.
Then, without a word, without turning, he strode away. His footsteps, usually so controlled, echoed down the corridor outside – sharp, hard, and fast. Angry.
The metal door slid shut completely with its soft *hiss* and final click.
Olivia sank slowly to the cold floor, trembling uncontrollably. The untouched food. The clean dress. His terrifying threat. His strange, frozen moment. That slam of his hand against the wall.
He hadn’t hurt her. Not physically. But he’d shown her a glimpse of something… volatile. Uncontrolled. And that moment looking at her lips… what was that?
He was angry. Furious, even. But Olivia Okoro, huddled on the freezing stone, felt a tiny, dangerous spark ignite amidst the fear.
He’s not as cold as he pretends.
He lost control.
He saw something he didn’t expect.
And that slam against the wall? That wasn’t the sound of a man discarding broken things. That was the sound of a man… rattled.
The gilded cage felt different. The air crackled with unspoken tension. The game had just gotten infinitely more dangerous.
Olivia wrapped her arms around herself, staring at the blank metal door. A slow, determined thought cut through the fear: If I can rattle him… what else can I do?
TO BE CONTINUED...

FIFTY MILLION NIGHTS
PART 2
Olivia slammed against the cold metal door the second it clicked shut behind her. The sound echoed like a gunshot in the sudden, suffocating silence. She whirled around, fumbling for a handle, a lock, anything. Nothing. Just smooth, cool metal. Seamless. Implacable.
Her breath came in sharp, ragged gasps. The sterile, lemony smell of the vast room outside was gone, replaced by something colder, emptier. This room was smaller, but still absurdly large for a prison cell. Like the main room, one entire wall was floor-to-ceiling glass, offering that same terrifying, beautiful view of Lagos glittering miles below. The lights here were dimmer, casting long, menacing shadows. The only furniture was a large, low platform covered in crisp white linens – a bed that looked more like an altar – and a single, sleek black chair that seemed to grow out of the polished dark stone floor. A closed door in the far corner probably led to a bathroom. No windows that opened. No phone. No escape.
The reality crashed over her, heavier than the sack had been. Trapped. Her legs gave way. She slid down the cold metal door until her bare bottom hit the icy floor. The shock of the cold was almost welcome. It felt real. The tears came then, hot and silent, carving paths through the dust on her cheeks. She hugged her knees, burying her face. The scratchy memory of the sack against her skin made her shudder. Emeka’s terrified voice echoed: *"Fifty million... it's bad..." How? How could he owe so much? And why take her? What could Malik Adebayo possibly think she was worth?
Minutes bled into each other. The silence pressed in, broken only by the frantic drumming of her own heart and the distant, muffled hum of the city – a constant reminder of the normal life she’d been ripped from. The luxurious coldness of the room seeped into her bones. She felt exposed, fragile, like a butterfly pinned under glass in this sterile, sky-high cage.
A soft click made her jump. Not her door. The main door to the suite. Footsteps. Slow, deliberate, echoing on the hard floor. Coming closer. Olivia scrambled upright, pressing her back against the metal door again, wiping furiously at her tears. Fear warred with a fresh surge of anger. Him.
The footsteps stopped outside her door. Silence. Then, a quiet electronic beep. The door slid open silently, revealing Malik Adebayo.
He filled the doorway, not just with his size, but with an aura of absolute control. He’d removed his suit jacket. The crisp white shirt he wore was rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms. He looked relaxed, almost bored, but his dark eyes held that same unnerving intensity as before. They swept over her – huddled on the floor, tear-streaked, barefoot in her thin nightdress – with detached assessment. Like examining an object that had been slightly damaged in transit.
He didn’t enter. He simply stood there, a dark silhouette against the brighter light of the main room. The faint red mark on his cheekbone where she’d struck him was still visible. It made him look more dangerous, not less.
"Well, Miss Okoro," his deep voice cut through the silence, smooth and chillingly calm. "Have you reconsidered the cost of defiance?" He didn't sound angry. He sounded... curious.
Olivia pushed herself fully upright, forcing her trembling legs to lock. She met his gaze, refusing to flinch. "Let me go," she said, her voice hoarse but clear. "My brother’s debt isn’t mine. Taking me is... is madness!"
"Madness?" Malik’s lips twitched, almost a smile, but it never reached his eyes. He took one step into the room. Just one. It felt like an invasion. "It’s business, Olivia. May I call you Olivia?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Your brother signed contracts. He understood the terms. He failed. Spectacularly. And now," he gestured vaguely around the luxurious cell, "you ensure his cooperation. Simple leverage."
"Leverage?" Olivia spat the word. "You think keeping me locked up in this... this gold-plated cage will make Emeka magically find fifty million Naira? He doesn’t have it! That’s why he ran!" Her voice rose, echoing slightly in the bare room. "You’ve got the wrong person!"
Malik tilted his head, studying her. The intensity in his gaze sharpened. "On the contrary," he murmured, taking another slow step closer. The scent of sandalwood and something clean, sharp, like winter air, filled the space between them. "You seem precisely the right person. Emeka Okoro might be a gambler and a fool, but he loves his sister. That much, our sources assure us, is true." He stopped, less than an arm's length away now. Olivia had to tilt her head back to hold his gaze. His height, his stillness, the sheer power radiating from him was overwhelming. "He will find the money, Olivia. Or he will watch you pay the price."
The threat hung in the air, colder than the floor beneath her feet. "What price?" Olivia whispered, the defiance momentarily drowned by icy dread. "What are you going to do to me?"
Malik didn’t answer immediately. His gaze lingered on her face, tracing the tracks of her tears, the tight set of her jaw, the fire still burning in her eyes despite the fear. That flicker of something unreadable crossed his features again – a brief crack in the ice. Surprise? Intrigue? It vanished as quickly as it appeared.
"That," he said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous purr, "depends entirely on Emeka. And," his eyes locked onto hers with unnerving focus, "on you." He let the words sink in. "Defiance has consequences, Olivia. Slapping me?" He raised a hand, not threateningly, but slowly, deliberately, tracing the air near the faint mark on his own cheekbone. "That was... unwise. It suggests you haven’t yet grasped the reality of your situation." He lowered his hand, his expression hardening back into impassive stone. "You are not a guest. You are an asset. A valuable one, currently looking slightly... distressed."
He took a final step, closing the small distance. Olivia flinched, bracing herself, but he merely reached past her. His arm brushed against her shoulder – a brief, shocking contact that felt like an electric jolt through the thin fabric of her nightdress. He pressed something on the wall beside the door. A panel slid open silently, revealing a small compartment.
Inside were two things: a simple white cotton dress, neatly folded, and a covered tray. The smell of warm, spiced jollof rice and fried plantain drifted out, incongruously normal and tempting.
"Change," Malik ordered, his voice flat, devoid of any warmth. "Eat. You’ll need your strength." He withdrew his hand, letting the panel slide shut. He looked down at her, his gaze sweeping over her disheveled state one last time. "Forty-seven hours remain, Olivia. Use them wisely. Consider the cost of further... demonstrations."
He turned without another word and walked towards the door. Just before he reached it, he paused, half-turning back. His profile was sharp against the light, the scar a pale line down his cheek. "And Olivia?" His voice was quiet, almost conversational, but it carried a weight that froze her blood. "The glass is three inches thick. Bulletproof. Soundproof. Don’t waste your energy screaming. No one out there," he nodded towards the glittering, distant cityscape, "can hear you. No one out there cares."
He stepped through the doorway. The metal panel slid shut behind him with a soft, final hiss and the quiet click of the lock engaging.
Olivia stood frozen, staring at the blank metal door. The smell of the food made her stomach clench with a confusing mix of hunger and nausea. The clean dress mocked her. His words echoed: "An asset... distressed... Consider the cost... No one out there cares."
The cold luxury of the room pressed in, more suffocating than the sack. She wasn't just trapped. She was erased. Isolated. A piece in Malik Adebayo's terrifying game. And the cost of defiance? He hadn't spelled it out, but the threat vibrated in the air he left behind.
Her gaze drifted to the vast window. Lagos glittered, alive and indifferent. No one out there cares. The words were a knife twisting in her gut. Despair threatened to pull her under.
Then, she remembered the sting of her palm connecting with his cheek. The brief, almost imperceptible flicker in his cold eyes. He hadn't expected that. He hadn't expected her.
A spark ignited in the icy pit of her fear. He thinks I'm broken. Distressed. She looked down at the compartment holding the dress and food. His orders. Change. Eat. Be a good little asset.
Olivia Okoro took a deep, shuddering breath. She uncurled her fists. Slowly, deliberately, she walked past the compartment without opening it. She ignored the clean dress, the warm food. Instead, she walked right up to the massive, unbreakable window. She placed her palms flat against the icy, thick glass. The city lights blurred through the sudden heat of fresh, furious tears, but her back straightened.
No one out there cares? Fine.
He wants a distressed asset? He wouldn't get one.
She stared down at the indifferent city, her reflection a pale ghost superimposed on the glittering sprawl. A plan, desperate and fragile, began to form in the wreckage of her panic. Not screaming. Not begging. Something else. Something he wouldn't expect.
Malik Adebayo thought he held all the cards. Olivia Okoro was starting to learn the rules of his game. And the first rule? **Never let them see you break
She turned her back on the impossible view and walked towards the sleek black chair. She didn't sit. She stood beside it, tall, looking directly at the blank metal door, as if he could still see her.
Forty-seven hours. He wanted strength? She’d show him strength. He wanted defiance? He hadn’t seen anything yet.
The gilded cage felt just a fraction less cold. The game was far from over.
TO BE CONTINUED...

You'll long for this.
You’ll ache for her at 3 a.m., waking from a nightmare, reaching for her—but she’s not there.
You’ll ache for the absence of those unexpected “I love you” texts that used to light up your day.
You’ll ache for her when your day has gone south, and there’s no one who listens the way she did—fully, patiently, and with love.
You’ll ache when you see her laughing with friends, knowing you’re no longer the reason behind her smile.
You’ll ache on cold nights, with only tangled sheets and a glowing phone screen to keep you company.
You’ll ache to cry in her arms again—but she’ll walk right past you, eyes forward, heart no longer yours.
You’ll ache watching her dance, remembering all the times she asked you to join her—and you didn’t.
You’ll ache when you realize how often you still talk about her, while she no longer speaks your name.
You’ll ache when even alcohol can’t blur the image of her smiling in the moonlight.
You’ll ache when your messages go unread, your calls unanswered.
You’ll ache when you understand—too late—that no one ever cared for you the way she did.
You’ll reach for her hand, but it won’t be there.
You’ll miss the goofy selfies, the random videos, the sweet “just thinking about you” moments.
You’ll ache when it’s late, and you’re lying alone, with no one to talk to.
You’ll ache for her little laugh—the one that used to brighten your darkest hours.
You’ll ache for everything.
And by the time you realize what you had—and what you lost—it’ll be too late.
She’ll be in someone else’s arms, giving them the love she once gave you.
She’ll be sharing laughs, secrets, memories… building a life you once had the chance to build with her.
That’s when it will hit you the hardest:
That extraordinary, once-in-a-lifetime woman with the heart of gold?
She’s no longer yours.
So cherish her while you still can—because life doesn’t often give you a second chance with a good woman.