Tale of a Virtuous Woman

  Monday. 8:49 a.m. The law firm’s glass doors whispered open with a soft pneumatic hiss as Efe stepped into the main floor. Cold air greeted her like judgment. The marble was spotless. The receptionist’s smile was automatic. In the background, the soft tick-tick of heels and keys created a low corporate rhythm. She headed to her office—corner unit, high glass wall, good view of the Lagoon. She barely looked at it anymore. Ten minutes later, her phone buzzed. From: Bayo Adebimpe (Managing Partner) Morning Efe. Quick one when you’re free. Boardroom 3B. New client briefing. 9 sharp. She sighed. There was no such thing as a “quick one.” ✦ The Briefing The boardroom was already occupied when she arrived. Bayo—charismatic, always overdressed. Sandra from strategy. Two junior lawyers, one already typing. A logo flickered on the wall screen: HouseRoots Africa™ — “A faith-driven property platform.” Efe raised an eyebrow. “We’re doing Christian real estate now?” Bayo chuckl...

  Friday. 10:56 a.m. The café was tucked behind an art gallery just off Awolowo Road—one of those airy boutique places with overpriced coffee and too many potted plants. The kind where everyone’s on a laptop pretending to work while secretly hoping to be seen. Efe arrived early. She always did. Punctuality wasn’t just a discipline—it was armor. Control. She chose a seat by the window, facing the entrance. White button-down. Light gold hoops. Minimal foundation. Her laptop open, PDF contract loaded, ready. She hated surprises. At exactly 11:01 a.m., she looked up—and saw him. Tochukwu Nnaji walked in wearing a charcoal grey polo shirt, jeans, and black sneakers. Clean. Simple. Zero effort to impress, and yet… he stood out. No swagger. No fake phone call to look busy. No dramatic entrance. He spotted her, nodded once, and walked over. “Hi, Efe,” he said, calm like the sea before rain. “Sorry I’m a minute late. The gate at my compound locked me in.” Efe raised a brow. “Was ...

 The buzz of generators hummed faintly in the background, competing with the pop music playing from someone’s Bluetooth speaker two stalls down. The air around the Lekki suya spot was thick with grilled spice and faint diesel. Overhead, the fluorescent bulb flickered above their plastic table like it was trying to give up. Efe Alabi shifted in her seat, poking her straw into her chilled bottle of malt. “Let me just say it plainly,” she began, voice dry, “if one more man sends me ‘Good morning, my Proverbs 31’ at 6:12 a.m., I might commit a crime.” Across from her, Chisom snorted, nearly choking on her chin chin. “You’re so dramatic.” “I’m dramatic?” Efe leaned forward, eyes wide. “This one was speaking in tongues during our first date. Tongues. In the middle of RSVP.” Chisom laughed harder. “Wait, for real?” “God is my witness. He said the Holy Spirit gave him a ‘strong conviction’ about me.” “And what did you say?” “I asked him if the Holy Spirit also told him it was okay ...