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Donald Trump is not smiling.

His latest actions in Venezuela set to have implications for Nigeria and President Tinubu’s plans.

“Nigeria was the leading country,” the US Mission in Nigeria disclosed.

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🌹 STORY TITLE:
“BENEATH THE CITY LIGHTS”
💋 SHORT TEASER:
When Adanna, a guarded photographer starting over in Lagos, crosses paths with Khalid, a mysterious self-made entrepreneur who hides scars behind his confidence, their chemistry becomes impossible to ignore.
What begins as a professional collaboration spirals into a slow-burn seduction, emotional unraveling, and irresistible desire — but someone from Khalid’s past threatens everything they’re building.
❤️‍🔥 EPISODE 1 — The First Spark

The evening traffic hummed like a restless heartbeat beneath the Lekki-Ikoyi Link Bridge, where Adanna adjusted her camera lens for the last shot of the day. The sky was a bruised purple, melting gold into the water — the kind of sunset that almost hurt to look at.
She muttered to herself, “Perfect light… just stay a little longer.”
The shutter clicked.
Once.
Twice.
Then someone blocked her view.
Not just someone.
A tall frame, broad shoulders beneath a dark blazer, and a scent — subtle, warm, like oud mixed with rain-soaked cedar — drifted toward her before she fully looked up.
“Sorry,” the stranger said, stepping aside. His voice was low, smooth, the kind of tone that could make even silence feel charged.
Adanna’s lips parted slightly.
She tried to sound unaffected.
“It’s okay. Just… be careful. The light changes fast.”
He tilted his head, studying her, not with arrogance — but attentiveness. Like he was reading a language she didn’t remember writing.
“I noticed you here last week,” he said. “You chase the same sunsets I do.”
Adanna swallowed.
Oh.
So he remembered her.
“I don’t chase them,” she replied. “I capture them before they disappear.”
A soft chuckle escaped him.
“Fair enough.”
Wind brushed her braids against her shoulder, and she tucked one behind her ear — unaware of how closely he was watching that simple movement.
“I’m Khalid,” he said, extending a hand.
She hesitated — not because she didn’t want to touch him, but because she wanted to too much.
Their palms met.
Warm. Firm.
A static spark she felt all the way to her chest.
She withdrew too quickly, pretending to adjust her camera again.
“Adanna,” she finally said, her voice calmer than she felt.

✨ Attraction doesn’t always start with words — sometimes it starts with a stare.
Khalid looked at her camera.
“You’re a professional?”
“Trying to be,” she said. “My first exhibition is in two months.”
He nodded, impressed without saying it.
“Let me guess — portraits with a hint of melancholy?”
Adanna blinked.
“How—”
“Your eyes,” he interrupted softly. “They hold stories you haven’t said aloud.”
Her breath caught.
No. Too close.
No one was supposed to see her like that.
She straightened her spine, deflecting.
“And what about you, Khalid? What do your eyes hold?”
He looked toward the fading sun for a long second — long enough for her to wonder if she touched something raw.
“Memories,” he finally said. “Some I wish never faded. Others I wish never stayed.”
Their gaze locked — and neither looked away.

🌙 A Brush of Fingers, A Breath Too Close
The light dropped fast.
Adanna adjusted her tripod, and the screw slipped.
Before the tripod could fall, Khalid’s hand shot forward, catching it — catching her hand in the process.
His fingers curled around her wrist instinctively.
Skin against skin.
Warmth against warmth.
He didn’t let go immediately.
Neither did she.
For a moment, the world wasn’t cars and noise — just breath, pulse, and possibility.
Her heartbeat wasn’t calm anymore.
Khalid’s voice lowered.
“You shouldn’t carry all this alone. Let me help.”
“I don’t need help,” she whispered.
His thumb brushed her wrist — not intentionally seductive, yet undeniably intimate.
“I didn’t say you did,” he replied. “I said I wanted to.”
Adanna’s stomach fluttered — an unfamiliar mix of desire and danger.
No.
She barely knew this man.
But her body felt like it knew him already — like remembering a song she had only heard once.

🌆 Night Falls — But Some Fires Don’t Go Out

They walked to the parking lot together without planning it.
His stride matched hers, like they had walked together before.
At her car, she hesitated.
Say goodbye?
Say nothing?
Or say something she couldn’t pull back?
He leaned slightly closer — close enough that she felt his breath near her cheek, but not close enough to accuse him of crossing the line.
“I’d like to see your work,” he said. “Maybe… you’d let me be one of your portraits.”
Her heart thudded painfully.
A portrait?
Of him?
The idea felt intimate.
Dangerously intimate.
“Maybe,” she said softly.
But the way her eyes lingered on his lips said yes before her words did.
He stepped back — respectful, restrained — like he knew crossing one more inch would change everything too soon.
“Goodnight, Adanna.”
His voice dipped at her name, like a kiss without lips.
She swallowed.
“Goodnight… Khalid.”
He didn’t move immediately.
Neither did she.
But when he finally walked away, she caught her reflection in her car window:
Eyes brighter.
Lips parted.
Breath unsteady.
She lifted her camera and took one last picture — not of the sunset, but of Khalid’s retreating silhouette, framed by city lights.
“Perfect shot…” she whispered.
Not realizing he had paused halfway to his car —watching her just as intently. And in that stillness, both of them knew:
This wasn’t the end of something.
It was the beginning of a fire.

Would you trust someone you felt connected to… even if you just met?
Comment YES or NO 👇❤️
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