LYONIC

The private jet cut through the humid air and into the chaos that was Lagos: Murtala Muhammed International Airport, at 4:15 PM-the city seemed to slow down by what was soon to unfold. Security tightened, and the streets cleaned; even the upper crust of the Lagosians were all waiting on this runway. It wasn't an ordinary arrival;.

Standing beside the VIP terminal, seven men in dark suits, polished shoes, and stone-cold expressions watched the aircraft. They were not concerned with the heat, the people, or the growing noise in the distance. Every muscle in their bodies was alert, and their watches ticked with precision as the time drew closer. They all knew who was coming. No one would dare approach.

A sleek black limousine with tinted windows rolled into the terminal parking lot, an army of securities as escorts. Nobody dared to crowd. A whisper spread through the crowd: Lyon Obi. The man who had once been a myth was now walking among them.

I, Sommy Lanka, had never been one to go speechless over much, but then Lyon stepped off that jet, and something unsaid took over the air. But an oh-could-not-contain crowd in amazed wonder, Lyon Obi, the reclusive business tycoon, the genius-the billionaire. His reputation echoed throughout Lagos like some distant drum. I felt a familiar spill of emotions I couldn't name; not for him, actually, but for the manner of his vanishing into the city-questions that, apparently, would never be answered.

I froze, my eyes locked onto the man everyone was talking about-stories I had heard, headlines I had read, and claims by people who swore by his brilliance as a person. There was more to Lyon than just whispers and rumors, though.

The stories of him had been stuff of legends: the tales of the ruthless strategies, how his company had grown into a multi-billion-dollar empire, and how silently he had taken over markets across the continent without people knowing how.

And now, here he was, stepping into Lagos like he was back home.

I had known Lyon once, years ago, in a completely different world. Back then, I was just Sommy Lanka, a young woman trying to carve out a name for herself in the business world. It was in those days when Lyon and I had crossed paths, albeit briefly. He had always kept his distance—sharp, observant, calculating. Our paths hadn't crossed again until now, but life had a way of circling back, didn't it?

The hush in the crowd deepened. Lyon moved with sure, fluid grace, as if he had lived a thousand lifetimes. In real life, his sharp features shone more strikingly. Nobody dared raise their voice until he strode down the red carpet; with every step, he made the eyes of everyone in that room follow.

I shifted uneasily to wait for his next move. What was I supposed to do now? Was he even going to remember me? Was he at all going to acknowledge the past?

And as I wrestled there within my thoughts, a voice whispered, "Sommy," and a hand touched my shoulder.

I turned around to find Peter, a longtime colleague and friend. His expression was expressionless, but a hint of concern in his eyes gave him away. "Are you alright?" he asked softly, knowing well enough what the storm brewing inside me was.

"I will be," I muttered, my eyes still locked on Lyon's every move.

Peter nodded but didn't press it. We both knew the history, the old wounds that never quite healed. Still, this wasn't the time to dwell.

"Lyon's back," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, as if to say it too loud would make the reality not be true somehow.

"I know," I replied, my voice keen. "It's like he never left, isn't it?

The man people spoke of in hushed whispers, Lyon, was in town, but he had grown to be the synonym of something much greater. His Obi Industries was the lifeblood of Lagos, silently influencing everything from technology to real estate. But Lyon wasn't a businessman; he had turned into a ghost, an unsolved mystery.

He would, tonight, be attending this year's most exclusive event: the Obi Industries Gala, held at the prestigious Sky Tower. The guest list was highly exclusive; only the cream of the city would be allowed a glimpse of him. And I, Sommy Lanka, had been invited.

Being amongst his constituents, the grandeur was actually depressingly overwhelming. Gold chandeliers hung from the ceiling, sparkling like stars from afar in the night's sky. The guests flowed around her in a sea of luxurious gowns and tuxedos, yet no person existed except Lyon. Silence reigned, no person daring to speak too loud for fear of his eyes settling upon their own.

Déjà vu overwhelmed me as I stepped inside. The soaring columns, the gleaming floors, the soft hum of voices-too well-remembered. This time, Lyon would be there. And this time, I was not the same girl who had walked away from him all those years ago.

I navigated my way through the people; the murmurs and polite laughter faded to background sounds. My heart was going incredibly fast as I spotted him in a pose near the balcony, facing away from the room.

Peter had warned me, but I wasn't ready. Lyon was no longer the man I knew. He was colder now, harder. The same intensity in his eyes, but now there was a darkness there that hadn't been before.

I swallowed hard and went towards him. It seemed the more I stepped within his circle, the thinner the tightrope became-the expectation of what would happen at our next visual contact even heightened.

And then that moment came. Our eyes met again.

The world froze for a second. Lyon didn't move a muscle, didn't wink. His eyes were calculated, almost as if counting the distance between us; he moved one step closer- his presence commanding.

"Sommy," he said- deep, steady, and heavy with an unspoken gauntlet.

"Been some time," I returned-as casual as my twisted insides would go.

"Not long enough, apparently," Lyon said, his lips curling into a smile that never quite reached his eyes.

The air between us grew thick and charged. The past had a funny way of hanging around, and it would appear now that both of us had unfinished business.

Lyon didn't waste any time. "I know why you're here," he said, his eyes unblinking.

I raised an eyebrow. "Do you?

He smiled, but it was cold. "You want answers, Sommy. Everyone always wants answers when it comes to me."

I breathed hard, feeling the weight of this moment settle on my shoulders. "Maybe I do," I said, taking one step closer to him. "But maybe it's not just about the answers."

Lyon's face relaxed a fraction, and for a moment, I saw something else flash in his eyes. In the same breath, it was gone, replaced by the indifference I had grown to expect from him.

"I didn't expect to see you again," Lyon said in a low voice. "But I'll admit, I'm curious. What's it going to be, Sommy? Are you here for revenge, or something else?"

I smiled-cold, calculated-a mask I had learned to wear over the years. "Maybe I'm just here to see if you're still the man everyone says you are."

His gaze sharpened, and for the first time, there was a flicker of something more than mere recognition in his eyes. "And what if I'm not?"

I shrugged. "Then I guess I'll just have to figure it out for myself."

As night wore on, I couldn't get the feeling out of my mind that something had changed between Lyon and me. Neither of us was the same person any longer. It was if the past, buried under years of silence, had risen to the surface tonight in every look, in every word spoken.

What did Lyon really want? What was he really after with me?