By Adebanke Abel
Nneka was getting more suspicious of Adé’s nonchalant attitude. Something about the way she was handling the divorce case with Ify didn’t sit right with her anymore. T. Dollars, her lover, was already breathing fire and brimstone. He wasn’t loving how slow and unproductive the so-called iron bender was.
“She is wasting our time—I mean my time,” he barked over the phone, his voice rising with frustration. “Nneka, if you’re not taking this thing seriously, I am. This is our lives on the line. This your so-called good lawyer in town is delaying our plans. If this thing backfires, I will definitely turn on you.”
“Babe, I’m trying my best to make sure she does her job,” Nneka replied, her voice shaky but trying to remain calm. “I gave her this job because of recommendations from people she’s worked with… and the reputation she has online.”
“Believe anything you see on social media at your own risk,” he snapped. “Can’t you hire another lawyer to replace her? I have no more time to waste.”
“It’s possible, but it’s already too late for us to embark on that journey. It’ll delay our case. A new lawyer will need time to study and prepare, and that’s time we don’t have. Also, this Lawyer Adé can be very petty and difficult to deal with. She can hold on to the lien and important documents until all her payments are cleared. That alone could cost us the case.”
“Next time, when I tell you to do something, you’ll heed my advice. I just hope it’s not too late for you. And my secret must not come out. Because if it does, you’ll be seriously dealt with, whether you’re in prison with me or not.”
“I am... I am sor... ” Nneka began, but the line went dead.
She sat still, lost in thought for a long while. She couldn’t understand why the popular iron bender couldn’t bend her husband for her. She had watched Adé handle court cases aired live, fierce and ruthless, a woman who made other lawyers stutter. She had done her due diligence before trusting Adé with a plan she and her lover had been cooking for years.
“I need to win this. We need to win this,” she muttered, gripping the edge of the bed. “I can’t stand Dollar’s wrath. If he says he’ll do something, he doesn’t joke.”
She stood up and walked to the large glass window. She pulled the curtain aside and stared out into the night. Lagos glimmered as usual, beautiful but dangerous, chaotic yet mesmerizing. She couldn’t understand Adé’s slowness, her shift from who she used to be.
“I’ve threatened to report her to the NBA. I’ve threatened her law firm. I even threatened to release her father’s video... yet she’s not moved.” She scoffed, confused. “What else can I do?”
It was one of the reasons she chose Adé in the first place; she had a messy past. Something worth protecting. Something she assumed she could use to control her.
“Other good lawyers don’t have such baggage. But Adé does. And that gave me the edge over her. So why... why is she still untouchable?”
She kept staring at the city lights. Her fingers tapped against the glass slowly, rhythmically, as an idea finally slid into her mind like a whisper. A soft, wicked smile curled on her lips.
Yes.
She was going to try this one out.
The next evening, long after the sun had set, Nneka walked out of the herbalist’s shrine. LEKKI BABALAWO, who drives a Range Rover and accepts only USD payments. That was what he was called. His eyes were too white, and his laughter too slow. The air around her felt strange. Heavy. Like something unseen was trailing her steps. But she didn’t flinch—evil women like her never believed they could be outplayed. Back in her room, the enchantment began. Heavy perfumes clouded the space. Scented candles flickered like flames eager to tell secrets. She sprayed the room and arranged the items the baba had given her. When the air was just right, thick, seductive, charged, she sat in the middle of the room and began the ritual. Baba’s voice echoed in her mind as she followed each step. She smiled as she blew the powder into the air, watching it disappear into the night.
Then, she bathed.
Slipped into a silk robe.
And waited.
Her thoughts were cruel and full of hunger. “Let her wake up screaming,” she muttered. “Let her body break down until she crawls back to me. Let her see shame everywhere she goes until she’s forced to do my bidding, exactly the way I want it.” She muttered and went to bed smiling like a queen whose crown could never fall.
But by morning, it wasn’t Adé who was screaming. It was Nneka.
Bright.
Orange.
Hair.
She stood in front of the mirror, mouth wide open. Her jet-black hair, the one she had styled the day before, now looked like it had been dipped in fire and cursed to stay that way. She screamed loudly, and the housemaid dropped the breakfast tray downstairs. Grabbing her phone with shaky hands, she called the Babalawo instantly.
“What nonsense is this?! You said I should expect results, not... this!”
The man only sighed.
“I don tell you before—this one no be ordinary lawyer. Na your own wickedness dey punish you so. I don do wetin you say make I do. Na your bad character fish you out be that. Or maybe, you even talk the wrong thing during the ritual.”
“Abeg, don’t patronize me, you fake herbalist. What do I need to do to turn my hair back to what it used to be?”
“Go meet the original herbalist to help you now,” he said flatly. “You no know wetin hit you. This kain hair wey dey your head so, e no dey stay under wig o. E no dey stay under scarf either. Na so e go dey push everything wey you take cover am comot for road. You don enter am. No call this line again, o.”
Click. Nneka almost threw her phone across the room. As she tried to catch her breath, her second phone began to buzz. Reluctantly, she picked it up. Her hands began to tremble as her eyes scanned the screen, screenshots. Multiple WhatsApp chats. Her. Her lover. And worst of all, bank transactions tied to T-Dollar Holdings.
Everything was there.
Everything they had done.
Everything they thought they had hidden.
It had been sent anonymously to Ify’s legal team. And word on the street was that someone high up had already leaked the information. Ify’s people were moving fast. Her voice failed her. She knew what this meant. Ify would destroy her in court and in public. She started pacing like a woman possessed, trying to reach her lover.
“Did you save anything on your phone?! Did you...?”
But he cut her off coldly. “I told you to use burner phones. You think I want to go to prison for you?”
Silence.
Long. Painful.
The betrayal sliced her open where it hurt most—her pride.
