Isabella tiptoed into the building, her delivery bag slung low like a guilty confession. The scent of old printer ink and spilled coffee filled the air as she slipped past the cracked glass entrance of SwiftX Courier Services. Her heart thumped louder with every step she took toward the staff lockers, hoping to God she wouldn't hear that voice.
"Isabella!"
Too late.
She froze like a thief caught in the act.
Daisy's heels clicked across the tiled floor like a countdown. Her manager—short, sharp, and stress-wired—appeared from behind the front desk with a clipboard clenched like a weapon. Her braided wig leaned slightly left, a telltale sign she'd been yelling since morning.
"You're late."
"I know, I'm sorry," Isabella muttered, forcing a sheepish smile. "Traffic was mad, and then—"
Daisy cut her off with a look. "Don't even try it. Traffic didn't just start in Lagos today. This is the third time this week, Isabella."
"I know," she said, swallowing hard. "But I still made the delivery—on time."
Daisy rolled her eyes. "That's not the point. You signed up for professionalism, not magician work. You want to stay employed here or not?"
Isabella clenched the strap of her bag, forcing herself to nod. "Yes, ma."
"Then get your act together. You have two more runs this afternoon. Lekki and Victoria Island. And if you're late again, don't bother coming back."
With that, Daisy turned sharply and walked away, barking instructions at a new recruit by the photocopier.
Isabella exhaled slowly, rubbing her temples.
Her feet ached, her back burned—and yet, her fingers itched to check her camera. Just one more look at that photo. But she couldn't. Not here. Not with Daisy watching her like a hawk with a vendetta.
She dragged herself toward the breakroom, her thoughts still drifting back to the man with the BMW, the way he'd said her name like it meant something.
Isabella.
It echoed in her mind.
She didn't care about his money, or who he was. But something about him had unsettled her—made her feel seen, maybe even important.
But it didn't matter now. She had another delivery to make. And unlike him, rent didn't wait.
As Isabella stepped into the breakroom, a familiar voice called out from behind the flower cart.
"Hey! You're finally at work," Lucas teased, arranging a bouquet of red roses with careless ease.
She chuckled, walking over to him. "Yes, what do you take me for?"
He smirked, not looking up. "A certified latecomer."
She gave him a playful slap on the arm. "Shut up."
Lucas grinned. "Good to have you back, Madam Paparazzi."
She rolled her eyes. "Lucas, I'm in trouble."
That wiped the smile off his face. He dropped the rose in his hand and turned to her, his voice dropping. "What happened?"
FLASHBACK
Isabella stared at the city outside the molue window that morning, her fingers wrapped tightly around the strap of her delivery bag. Her phone call with Mama Grace—the woman who ran the orphanage—kept replaying in her head.
"Mama called me today," she said quietly, pulling Lucas into the corner of the room. "Before I got here."
Lucas blinked. "Mama Grace? What did she say?"
"She said…" Isabella swallowed. "She said I can't stay at the orphanage much longer."
Lucas's brows drew together. "Why? You've been there for years. You help out, take care of the younger kids—"
"She said I need to start planning to leave," Isabella said, her voice soft and heavy. "That I'm grown now. That other, younger kids need space."
Lucas rubbed the back of his neck. "Wow. That's… that's a lot."
Isabella nodded slowly. "I get it, you know? It's not personal. She's just… trying to help as many as she can. But I don't have anywhere else. No savings. No stable job. Just this camera. And this—this gig."
He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, gently, "We'll figure something out. Okay?"
She gave him a small smile. "Thanks."
Lucas crossed his arms. "But something else happened, didn't it? You're glowing like you saw a ghost—or a celebrity."
Her smile grew wider, and her eyes sparkled. "I kinda did."
"Oh?" He leaned forward, intrigued. "Don't keep me in suspense, madam. Spill."
Isabella's voice lowered as she recounted the morning.
"So I was right outside Lagos Island Mall, waiting to go in for my first delivery. And then, this car pulls up—matte black BMW i8."
Lucas whistled. "Someone's got money."
She nodded, wide-eyed. "Then the door opened, and out came Demian Lawal."
Lucas's jaw dropped. "The model?! The one with the crazy abs and billionaire status?!"
She nodded again. "The one and only."
Lucas's eyes were like saucers. "No way!"
"I swear. And guess what? I took a picture of him. Instinctively."
Lucas gasped. "And you're still alive?"
She laughed. "Barely. He saw me. Called me out. Walked right up to me."
Lucas clutched his chest. "And?"
"He asked to see the photo. Said it was good. Too good. Then he took a photo of me. Told me we were even. Tried to give me money."
Lucas groaned. "And you took it, right?"
"I didn't."
Lucas flung his hands in the air. "God, why are you like this?"
"I'm not taking money for a moment I felt. That wasn't the point. He looked at me like I mattered. Not like some delivery girl."
Lucas softened. "So, how did it end?"
"I ran," she said with a shrug. "He tried to stop me, but I disappeared."
Lucas shook his head. "You're mad. You could've just married him there."
They both burst into laughter.
But the moment didn't last long.
"Isabella! Lucas!" Daisy's voice sliced through the air like a blade. "Come here!"
They both turned quickly, straightening up as she marched over and dropped two labeled parcels on the table.
"This one," she said, pointing at the first, "goes to Lekki. The other one—Victoria Island. Don't waste time."
"Yes, ma," they chorused.
Lucas turned to Isabella and grinned. "Let's get to work, Madam Paparazzi."
She smiled back, picked up the parcel, and together, they headed out the door—her mind still dancing with the image of a man whose eyes had seen straight through her.
And somewhere in another part of the city… Demian hadn't forgotten either.