My phone buzzed on the table. A message from the sister: “So. Are you in?”

A chill ran up my spine. Think of the devil! Another buzz. “I have photos of him and his family in the states”… “I have copies of his marriage certificate” I stared at the evidence in my lap. The cheque. The photo. The tickets. And for the first time since the wedding, I didn’t just want revenge. I wanted a rescue.

I didn’t text the sister back immediately. “Yes” was too easy. If I was going to step into her plan, I needed to know if Chijioke was truly on my side, or just another man who’d smile in my face while standing in my ex’s shadow. So I set a trap.

A harmless one. I sent him a message: “Funny thing… I heard the groom might be travelling after the signing.” I didn’t mention the tickets. Didn’t mention London. Just left it hanging. He called me instantly.

“Where did you hear that?” “A friend,” I lied. “Why?” I could hear him moving around, door closing, footsteps. “Because that’s exactly what I’ve been trying to prove. He’s planning to vanish. The bride will be left here holding a mess she can’t even name.” His voice was tight, urgent. Not defensive. Not evasive.

“Nma, if you know anything else, anything, tell me. I’m not with him in this. I just… can’t watch it happen.” And in that moment, I knew. The sister had been wrong about him. Chijioke wasn’t part of the plan. He probably wanted out, same as me. For the next thirty minutes, we spoke about everything. He knew about the groom’s girlfriend in the states, but he never knew that they eventually got married.

Only after this call, did I really understand that he was the cousin afterall. He knew everything. He knew how despicable the groom could be and wanted to protect the bride this time.

Somewhere in between, the conversation shifted, lighter, warmer. And I realised I was smiling. Not because of what we were saying, but because of how he listened. By the time we hung up, I’d decided.

I texted the sister: “I’m in. But I want Chijioke there.” For some reason, she didn’t argue. It’s well…

The sister, Chijioke, and I sat in her car as the city yawned itself awake. She passed a neat file forward, marriage certificate, family photos, London tickets, the cheque. Chijioke flipped through it, his brows rising higher with every page.

“This is insane,” he muttered At one point our eyes met in the rearview mirror. Just a glance, but it lingered. And for a moment, it didn’t feel like we were two people brought together by scandal… but two people who had chosen to stand on the same side.

We settled into drop pin silence. It was such a bizarre situation. The sister broke the silence after about five minutes. “I cannot do this with you” My head jerked immediately. “Why not?” “That is why I need you”..she said… “You need to be the one to end this”…”At least get some revenge”… “I have gathered the evidence, now you can use it”

I was dumbfounded… I looked at Chijioke and then at her again. I couldn’t read their expressions. “I will go with you,” Chijioke said after a long time. Just when I was about to give up and step out of the car. Because what is this? I might as well have just minded my business.

Yes, I want revenge, but… This is the IG of police we are talking about… I don’t know him..He doesn’t know me…

I watched Chijioke get out of the car and make some calls. He paced around a bit as he spoke. We waited for about twenty minutes.

This guy is fine… No kidding..

The sister chuckled. “He is a good guy”…” I have known him since we were kids”

I glanced at her and went back to staring at him. We drove straight to the bride’s family home. When her father, the IG of Police, opened the door, his eyes narrowed at the sight of us. Chijioke did the talking. Five minutes in, the file was on the table. Ten minutes in, his jaw was set like stone.

By the time we left, the legal signing had been called off. On our way out, I caught a glimpse of the bride at the balcony on the third floor. She was staring at me again with some kind of look. Chijioke glanced up, saw her, then, without a second thought, reached for my hand. He waved with his other hand.

His palm was warm, his grip firm but not rushed. And for a silly moment, I smiled. It felt like… protection. It felt like he was saying don’t look back, I’m right here. I glanced up again. The bride was still watching, her face tightening.

But I doubt she knew just what had happened downstairs. By the time she realizes, we’ll be long gone… and she can cry by herself.

When we reached the car, I expected us to drive straight back to the sister’s place. Instead, Chijioke glanced at me and said, “Ever been to the beach on a weekday afternoon?” Before I could answer, he was already steering toward the coast road. The city melted into open road. The smell of salt hit before I saw the water.

We parked, kicked off our shoes, and walked barefoot along the edge where the waves kissed the sand. No reporters, no family politics, no drama, just the sea, the wind, and him. We talked. About everything. About nothing. He told me a funny story about getting lost at a beach in Lagos as a teenager. I told him how my grandmother used to swear that ocean air could heal heartbreak.

We stopped walking at one point and just stood there, watching the sun slide lower.

The gold light hit his face in a way that made me want to keep looking… so I did. He turned to me, his voice quieter now. “We make a dangerous team.” I tilted my head. “Do we?” “Yeah… but maybe we should try making a peaceful one.”

He was smiling, but it wasn’t teasing anymore. It was softer. And before I could overthink it, he leaned in.

The kiss was unhurried, warm, the kind that makes you want to hold on just a second longer. He tasted like salt and smelled like cocoa butter.

I didn’t want to let go. I knew he also didn’t. By the time we broke off, we looked at each other and burst into laughter.

We didn’t talk much after that. We didn’t need to. The walk back was slow, his hand still in mine. And for once, I didn’t feel like I was chasing or running, just moving beside someone who matched my pace.

Later that evening, he called. We spoke for hours, laughter spilling so easily it surprised me.

The kind of laughter that’s equal parts joy and relief.

And for the first time in weeks, I didn’t just sleep without bad dreams, I slept with the taste of salt air and the memory of his hand in mine.

The End

Nma’s Diaries….Life…Lessons…And everything inbetween