STILL AT THE BANQUET HALL
She wasn't thinking the moment their lips crashed together. It was like a switch flipped—her mind went completely blank, swallowed by a storm of emotions she couldn't even name. Lust, confusion, a raw hunger that clawed its way up from somewhere deep inside. Her hands shot up instinctively, cupping his face, fingers pressing into the smooth skin along his jaw. His skin burned under her touch, hot enough to send electric shivers racing down her spine, pooling in her core. She could feel his pulse hammering against her palms, matching the frantic beat of her own heart.
Kyle, caught off guard by the sudden explosion of intimacy right in front of him, froze for a split second. His eyes widened, a mix of shock and awkward discomfort flashing across his face. He took two hesitant steps back, glancing around the dimly lit corridor as if debating whether to bolt or pretend he hadn't seen a thing.
Meanwhile, the other man stopped in his tracks as he'd witnessed this at the wrong moment. He just stood there, mouth slightly agape, utterly speechless, like he'd been hit by a freight train, before slowly anger began burning in his eyes.
Reality started creeping back in for her, a slow drip of awareness cutting through the haze. She began to pull away, her lips parting from his with a soft, reluctant gasp. But before she could fully retreat, his hand shot out, fingers tangling in her hair at the back of her head. He yanked her back in, fierce and unyielding, slamming her against the cool, unyielding wall. The impact jolted through her body, but it only fueled the fire. Their lips fused again, moving in a frantic rhythm, tongues clashing in a desperate, heated battle. Each kiss built on the last, growing more urgent, more consuming, like they were trying to devour each other whole.
The world around them blurred into nothingness—the echoing footsteps in the distance, the faint hum of voices from nearby rooms, all of it faded until it was just them, locked in this bubble of raw need. Her hands snaked up into his thick twists, fingers curling and pulling gently, urging him closer, deepening the connection with an unquenchable hunger she didn't know she possessed. Her body felt like it was on fire, every nerve ending alive and screaming. He responded in kind, his strong arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her flush against him. His hands slipped under the hem of her shirt, making direct contact with the bare skin of her back. The touch was electric, sending tingles shooting up her spine, making her arch into him involuntarily.
A soft moan escaped her lips without warning, vibrating against his mouth. It was that sound—her own vulnerability laid bare—that snapped him back. He pulled away abruptly, their faces mere inches apart, breaths coming in ragged, heavy gasps that mingled in the charged air between them. Their eyes locked, burning with unspoken desire, pupils dilated in the low light. Her lips were swollen and red from the intensity, matching his own bruised ones. The taste of him lingered on her tongue—salt and heat and something intoxicating she couldn't get enough of.
Amy moved to grab his lips again because they tasted heavenly, like a forbidden drug, and she hadn't had nearly enough. Her lips brushed his in a teasing graze. But he dodged gently, turning his head just enough to break the contact. His composure returned like a mask snapping into place. He let go of her waist and cleared his throat.
Her gaze strayed to the corridor. They were alone. She had momentarily forgotten the true, strategic reason for the kiss. Her head ducked out, scanning everywhere. When she was certain no one else was present, she heaved a sigh of relief and slumped back against the wall, closing her eyes. Her chest rising and falling rapidly.
When she opened her eyes again, he was right there, his handsome face hovering close, those piercing eyes studying her with an intensity that made her stomach flip. Heat crawled up her cheeks, a fierce blush she couldn't control, especially as the memory of what they'd just done replayed in her mind—the moans, the pulling, the way she'd lost herself completely. Mortified, she slapped her hands over her flushed cheeks, trying to hide the evidence.
"I… I have to go."
Without another word, she spun on her heel and bolted, running as fast as her legs could carry her. Tonna ran a hand down his face, exhaling hard, watching her until she disappeared around the corner. The corner of Tonna's lips turned upwards
"How cute"
AT ADE'S HOUSE
The scent of rain-soaked earth filtered through the open window, wafting through the evening air. His phone was ringing, and then it pinged twice. He walked into his room, fresh from a shower, naked, with a towel drying his hair.
He rummaged through his closet for a pair of drawers. The phone vibrated again, causing him to wrap the towel around his neck and approach the device. His thin waist, defined by a sharp V-line, was visible as he picked up the phone, his eyes narrowing at the message on the screen. It was from Morka:
'Coffee shop. Now. Got something big.'
Ade's heart kicked up a notch, adrenaline surging. He went into a frenzy, yanking on the first things he could grab—a pair of loose jogger pants that hung low on his hips, and an oversized polo shirt that clung slightly to his damp skin. Clutching his car keys, he bolted out the door, the engine roaring to life as he peeled out of the driveway.
COFFEE SHOP
Fifteen minutes later, his tyres screeching to a halt, he pushed through the bustling coffee shop door. The place was alive with the hum of conversations, the rich aroma of freshly ground beans mixing with the clatter of cups and the hiss of espresso machines. He spotted his partner easily in the corner booth, his sharp features lit by the warm glow of a pendant light. Morka looked up, eyebrow raised, as Ade dropped into the seat opposite him, already sweating from the rushed drive and the humid night air.
"Why are you sweating so much?"
Morka asked, eyeing him up and down with a mix of amusement and concern. "You look like you just ran a marathon."
Ade didn't bother with small talk. He grabbed the jug of water on the table, pouring himself a cup with shaky hands and downing it in one gulp, the cool liquid a brief relief against the burn in his throat.
"Traffic was a nightmare," he muttered, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.
"So, what did you find? Don't keep me waiting."
Morka slid a thin file across the table, his expression turning serious. "How did you know? I mean, really—how'd you piece this together so fast?"
Ade flipped open the file, his eyes scanning the documents with lightning speed. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as the pieces fell into place. There it was: weeks before Amy's fatal accident, a massive wire transfer from an overseas account had landed in Doctor Ife's possession. Then, six months later—just a day after the tragic loss of the kids—two more hefty payments from different offshore banks. And on that same day, Ife had quit his job at the hospital, vanishing from the medical scene without a trace.
"Have you been able to identify who these accounts belong to?" Ade asked, his voice low but edged with urgency, snapping the file shut.
Morka shook his head, leaning back in his seat.
"Not yet. They're buried deep, all shell companies, with encrypted routing. But damn, Ade, something's up."
Ade bit his lip, mind racing. "At first, I didn't think it was strange either. Doctors don't usually make good money, right? But look at the timeline. The accident, the kids... and these payments? Billions of Drex in such a short span. What the hell did he do to earn that? It's very suspicious."
Morka nodded, his face hardening. "You're right. As a doctor, sure, they earn some okay money, especially in this country. But big payouts like this? it's way beyond any legit service. It's like he hit the jackpot right when everything went to hell."
"That's not the only thing that's off," Ade said, standing abruptly.
"Come on, Morka. There's somewhere we need to go. Right now."
Morka blinked, caught off guard. "What? Where?"
"Just follow me." Without waiting for more questions, Ade strode out to his car, the keys jangling in his hand.
He slid behind the wheel, engine growling as he pulled out, glancing in the rearview to see Morka's car tailing close behind. The drive to the hospital was tense, the city lights blurring past in a streak of neon and shadow. Ade's grip on the steering wheel tightened, thoughts swirling around Amy's case—the investigation they carried out back then, the lingering questions about the driver with the medical emergency, Timothy Chuks, and now this web pulling in Doctor Ife.
THE HOSPITAL
They arrived at the hospital in record time, the building looming under the night sky, its windows glowing with sterile fluorescence. The reception area was quiet, the air swarmed with the scent of antiseptic. The same pretty receptionist from Ade's last visit looked up from her desk, her eyes lighting with recognition.
"Hi, remember me?" Ade flashed her a quick, disarming smile, leaning on the counter.
She stood, smoothing her uniform. "Oh, it's you—the policeman." Her smile was polite but curious.
"This is my partner, Inspector Morka."
Morka pulled out his badge, holding it up for inspection. She nodded, her expression shifting to one of professional seriousness.
"The hospital director has been waiting for you to visit" she said, her voice dropping a notch.
Ade exchanged a puzzled glance with Morka. "Waiting for me? Why?"
"I'm not entirely sure. Please, come with me."
She turned, leading them down a polished hallway, her heels clicking against the tile. They rounded a corner to a sleek office door. She knocked firmly, and a deep, authoritative voice boomed from inside:
"Come in."
She pushed the door open, stepping aside as they entered. The room was spacious, lined with bookshelves and medical charts, the air cool from an AC unit humming in the corner. A man in his late fifties or early sixties paced the floor, his face etched with anxiety, grey hair tousled as if he'd run his hands through it a dozen times.
"Sir, the detective is here," the receptionist announced, gesturing for Ade and Morka to step forward.
The director whirled around, his eyes locking onto Ade. "You're the detective who came by the other day?"
"Yes, that's me," Ade replied, keeping his tone steady.
The man surged forward, grabbing Ade's hand in a fervent shake.
"Thank God. Please, come in, have a seat."
He pointed to a pair of leather chairs opposite his desk, then turned to the receptionist. "Grace, could you have someone bring us refreshments?"
"Yes, sir," she said, slipping out and closing the door softly behind her.
The director sank into his own chair, his worried expression deepening.
"To be honest, Inspectors, I've been debating this for days. Whether to get involved or not."
Ade leaned forward, sensing the weight in the man's words. "What's this about, Director? You asked to see us—why?"
"I need you to promise me one thing first," the director said, his voice trembling slightly.
''What do you want?'' Ade asked
"No matter what comes of this, don't drag the hospital into the mud. We've built this place from nothing, and we have been through years of blood, sweat, and we have a reputation to keep. I can't let it all crash because of one bad apple."
Morka nodded.
"We'll do our best to keep things contained. But we need to know what you have."
Just then, a knock interrupted them. A young staffer entered with a tray—three cans of chilled soft drinks, condensation beading on the metal. "Here you are, sir."
"Thank you," the director said, waiting until the door clicked shut again before continuing.
He took a deep breath, steeling himself.
"I heard from Grace that you visited, asking about Doctor Ife. I... I have some things to show you."
He swivelled his computer monitor toward them, fingers flying over the keyboard. "This is security footage from the day of Amy's accident—the one that brought that driver, Timothy Chuks, here."
The video played in grainy but clear detail. It showed Ade and his team leaving Doctor Ife's office after questioning him about the driver's condition. The driver had been freaking out during the interview, muttering gibberish about an "emergency," so they'd sedated him heavily right there. But minutes after they left, the footage revealed something impossible: the driver, who should have been out cold, was creeping down the hall, glancing around suspiciously. He knocked on Ife's door. The doctor poked his head out, spotted him, and yanked him inside, slamming the door shut.
A few minutes later, they emerged together, deep in hushed conversation. The driver looked alert, steady on his feet—no sign of sedation, no stagger, nothing. Healthy as ever.
Ade and Morka exchanged a loaded glance, the implications of what they were watching hitting like a punch.
"What the hell?"
Morka muttered under his breath.
The director paused the video.
"Our security team thought it was odd when Ife came to them later, demanding they delete the footage. Claimed some 'important dignitaries' had visited that day, and privacy was key. But hospital policy is strict—CCTV stays for a full year, no exceptions. The guard didn't want trouble, so he reported it to me. I had him send me a copy, just in case. Didn't think much of it at the time... until I heard about your visit. That's when I started digging."
He clicked a few keys and spun the screen back. A medical test result filled the display: an X-SV genetic analysis for Timothy Chuks.
"What are we looking at here, Director?"
Morka asked, squinting at the data.
"In our hospital, we give out employee discounts, which can also cover a family member three times per year. Of course, to do this, whoever wants to use the discount must prove that they are related to any of our employees. Five years ago, Timothy came to the hospital to have his wisdom teeth pulled out, as well as get a full body checkup. He was required to provide proof that he was related to the person whose discounts were applied to him. What you are looking at is the X-SV test he took. That test proves that he is related to Doctor Ife. They are maternal relatives."
The director paused for dramatic effect, letting the information sink in.
"Also…"
He turned the laptop towards himself again, clanked his keyboard, and turned it back to them. A file was showing.
"This is the permission form that Doctor Ife filled out, giving consent for the discount. As you can see here, when asked how they were related, he wrote that they were cousins. According to one of the staff, when they joked that they didn't look anything alike, as the driver was way older, Ife claimed Timothy was the last child of his mother's Eldest sister. You can even see his signature at the bottom of the form, which makes it authentic."
"Crucially, I looked into the day you had come in to question him, but there were no records of Timothy being treated for anything at the hospital that day. What I am saying is that this man never received any treatment from this hospital. In fact, because we had collected his blood back then and ran all kinds of tests when he was first brought in for the dental work, I guess Doctor Ife couldn't get rid of it all. He probably didn't know that every file logged into our system is automatically sent to a backup folder of the hospital log. The test we ran showed that Timothy was completely normal and healthy. He definitely did not have any medical conditions, and neither did they detect anything was wrong with his body. In fact, he was too healthy to have any 'emergencies' like that, and there were no symptoms as well."
The shock registering on both Ade and Morka's faces was immense. The driver and the doctor had played them two years ago, and they were actually related.
"You are right; you've definitely stepped on shit here,"
Morka looked at Ade seriously as he spoke, his voice dangerously low.
"We need to bring Doctor Ife in, immediately."