Chapter 1
AUDREY
The day my world shifted started with something as simple as a flat tire.
I was already running late. My phone buzzed non-stop with reminders from my assistant, my dad’s missed calls, and the event planner panicking over gold-plated napkin holders. Lagos traffic was its usual beast, and the heat was baking me alive inside my brand-new, imported Benz that now sat dead on the edge of a dusty road in Surulere.
I slammed the door harder than necessary and stared at the flat tire like it had personally offended me.
“Perfect,” I muttered, yanking off my sunglasses and tossing them on the passenger seat.
I was not dressed for this. A white mini-dress that hugged all the wrong places now that I was sweating, heels that cost more than someone’s rent, and zero patience for nonsense. I tapped my phone—no signal.
“Of course,” I whispered under my breath. “Of all days…”
It was always like this. Things go smooth for a while, then boom—life reminds you that you’re not in control.
You’d think being Audrey Okonjo—first daughter of Chief Damian Okonjo, oil tycoon, real estate mogul, and part-time political puppet master—would come with some immunity from nonsense. But no. Tires still went flat. Phones still lost signal. And heels still sunk in Lagos sand.
I sighed and leaned against the car.
Daddy would be pissed. Not because I was late—but because I was alone.
He hated when I did things by myself. Always had. When I went for boarding school camp in JSS 2, he showed up mid-camp with six boxes of pizza “for the whole school.” The principal thought it was sweet. I knew better. He wanted to make sure no boys were breathing too close to me.
It wasn’t a problem. Not really. My father just… loved me too much.
Too much to let me make my own mistakes. Too much to let me breathe.
“Madam, you need help?”
I turned, startled. He was standing just behind me—tall, lean, with arms stained in engine grease. A black jumpsuit hung loose on his frame, sleeves rolled to the elbows. He had that no-nonsense look, the kind that belonged more in action movies than roadside workshops.
“I’m a mechanic. Your tire’s flat,” he added, nodding to it like I didn’t already know.
“No kidding,” I said before I could stop myself. “I figured that out when my car refused to move.”
He raised an eyebrow, then smiled faintly like he was deciding whether I was worth his time.
“I can fix it, if you don’t mind waiting ten minutes.”
“I don’t have ten minutes. I have a meeting,” I said,
even though I had no choice but to wait.
He didn’t argue—just crouched beside the tire and started inspecting it. Like I hadn’t spoken. Like my panic wasn’t his business.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Do you always touch people's cars without asking?”
“Only when they’re stranded and clearly out of their element.”
I opened my mouth to respond, then shut it.
Because he was right.
Still, something about the way he spoke to me—direct, unbothered—made me pause. He wasn’t intimidated by me, or the car. He wasn’t even looking at me the way most guys did. He was focused. Efficient. Like my presence barely registered beyond the tire he was fixing.
I crossed my arms and leaned against the car.
“What’s your name?” I asked, mostly out of curiosity.
“Rowland,” he said, still not looking up. “And you’re clearly used to people doing everything for you.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Your hands don’t look like they’ve ever held a tire iron.”
I scoffed. “You’re judging me now?”
He shrugged. “You look… expensive.”
“I am,” I said, lifting my chin.
He looked up, finally. A slow grin spread across his face. “At least you’re honest.”
There was no flirtation in his tone—just mild amusement. Like he enjoyed the verbal sparring more than anything.
Ten minutes later, true to his word, the tire was fixed. He stood, wiping his hands on a rag.
“You’re good,” I said, opening my purse. Empty. No cash. Of course.
I pulled out my phone—no signal. Still.
“I’d transfer, but…” I gestured to the useless screen.
He waved me off. “Don’t worry about it.”
“No, I don’t like owing people,” I said. I pulled out one of my business cards—sleek, ivory, with gold foil letters. “Here. Audrey Okonjo. Call me or come by my office in Lekki. I’ll make sure you’re paid.”
He glanced at the card like it was an alien object, then slipped it into his jumpsuit.
“Alright, Miss Audrey,” he said, smirk still intact. "Don't forget."
I slid into the car, ignoring the way he said my name—calm, deliberate, like he didn’t give a damn who my father was or maybe he didn't know who he was. Better for me.
As I drove off, I caught one last glance of him in the mirror, already walking away like none of it meant anything.
And maybe it didn’t.
Maybe it was just a favor on a hot Lagos afternoon.
I had more important things to think about anyway. A launch meeting. A father who was likely pacing already.
