Mirabel hesitated as she approached the sleek black car parked outside the bar. The man standing beside it seemed composed, adjusting his cuffs with an air of quiet authority. From the corner of her eye, she noticed her colleague watching through the bar window, no doubt curious about who had come to pick her up.
"You're Mirabel?" the man asked as she stopped in front of him. His tone wasn't overly friendly, but it wasn't cold either—measured, confident.
"Yes," she replied cautiously, her voice laced with skepticism. "And you are?"
"I'm Femi," he said, removing his sunglasses. His sharp, calculating eyes made her feel as if he were assessing her every move. "Your mother asked me to find you. She's worried about you."
As Mirabel stared at him, realization struck. She had seen him before. "Okay, she has every right to be worried," Mirabel said, her gaze narrowing. "But you look familiar. Have we met before?"
"Yes," Femi answered smoothly, sliding into the driver's seat as she settled into the passenger side. "Your mother introduced us at the wedding yesterday."
At the mention of her mother, Mirabel's irritation flared. "Of course. All she ever does is meddle," she said, her voice bitter. "She's hell-bent on making my life unbearable."
Femi gave her a sidelong glance but said nothing, his hands steady on the wheel as he navigated the car out of the parking lot. "Let's get you home so you can rest," he said finally. "Then we'll call her to let her know you're okay."
The streets buzzed with activity as they drove. Pedestrians and bystanders turned their heads to admire the car. Mirabel noticed the attention, but her thoughts were elsewhere. Something about Femi didn't sit right. There was a subtle tension in his demeanor that set her instincts on edge.
When they arrived at her apartment, Mirabel spotted a woman standing near the gate. Dressed in a sleek black dress and sandals, she seemed out of place, glancing around as if looking for something—or someone.
"Stop the car," Mirabel said, already unbuckling her seatbelt. She stepped out and walked toward the woman, her guarded expression softening when she recognized her.
"Binta? What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at work?"
Binta turned, her face breaking into a small, uncertain smile. "I know, but it's been a while since we caught up. I thought I'd drop by," she said, pulling Mirabel into a hug. Her gaze drifted to the car behind them. "And who owns that?"
"That's Femi," Mirabel explained as she led her friend toward the apartment. "My mother sent him after the fallout we had yesterday."
"Oh," Binta said, nodding at Femi. "You're welcome, Mr. Femi."
Femi offered a polite smile but said nothing as he followed them inside.
In the living room, the two friends caught up on the events of the wedding. They laughed about the extravagance and gossiped about the guests, but as the conversation flowed, Mirabel noticed Femi's silence. When she glanced at him, she froze. He was holding an empty chocolate box with both hands, his lips moving as if he were murmuring to it.
"Mr. Femi?" Mirabel called, her voice uncertain.
He didn't respond.
"Mr. Femi," she called again, this time louder, stepping toward him.
He turned to face her abruptly, his expression unreadable. The box was still clutched tightly in his hands. "Yes, Mirabel?"
"What are you doing with that empty chocolate box?" she asked, crossing her arms. "Do you want some chocolates or something?"
Femi chuckled—a sound that seemed more forced than genuine. "No, no," he said, setting the box down on the table. "I was just admiring how big it is. I can't believe you finished all those chocolates by yourself."
"I didn't eat them," Mirabel said, relaxing slightly. "Actually, my best friend and her friend Melody ate them the day they arrived."
Binta chimed in, "She's right. They were delicious."
Femi's face stiffened. He stood suddenly, his movements sharp and abrupt. "You didn't eat the chocolates?" His tone was laced with disbelief. "Why wouldn't you eat them? What's wrong with you?"
Mirabel's guard went back up. "Excuse me?" she said, her voice rising. "Are you upset because I didn't eat chocolates from an unknown sender?"
Femi laughed again, this time a low, unsettling sound. "No, no," he said, his tone softening as he attempted to backtrack. "I was just curious. Whoever sent those chocolates must really care about you."
"Is that all?" Mirabel asked, suspicion in her eyes.
"Yes, that's all," Femi said quickly, sitting down. "Hmm", Mirabel muttered.
Binta, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, suddenly stood up, smoothing out her dress. "I think I should get going," she said.
Mirabel frowned. "What? You just got here. Did I say something wrong?"
"No, you didn't," Binta said, her voice tight. "I just remembered something urgent I need to do at work."
Mirabel followed her to the door, lowering her voice. "Are you sure? You don't seem okay to me. And back there, you didn't even defend me. That's unlike you."
"I'm fine," Binta insisted, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "Take care."
Mirabel watched her friend leave, unease tightening in her chest. When she returned to the living room, Femi suggested they call her mother.
"I'll call her later," Mirabel said curtly. "You can leave now."
Femi stood, smiling faintly. "Alright. But I'll check on you from time to time. Maybe, when all of this settles, we could go on a proper date."
Mirabel raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Goodbye, Mr. Femi."
As the door closed behind him, Mirabel leaned against it and exhaled deeply. The air in her apartment felt heavy, almost suffocating. Her instincts screamed that something wasn't right, but she shook the feeling off, deciding to rest her mind at least for now.
But how long will she continue to rest her mind?.