Love, Lies, and Lagos Night

Lagos never sleeps. It only pauses to catch its breath before dragging you into another twist of fate. For Kemi and Tade, the city wasn’t just a backdrop—it was the third person in their relationship. Loud, fast, seductive, and full of secrets.

Kemi had built a name for herself in the cutthroat world of digital marketing. Smart, sleek, and savage in heels, she was the lead strategist at one of Victoria Island’s top agencies. On social media, she was the perfect Lagos babe—her page filled with curated brunches, filtered sunsets, and cryptic captions like “Healing in high places.”

Then came Tade.

He wasn’t loud. He didn’t show off. He had no Instagram. But he had a presence. The kind that made the room shrink around him. Tall, bearded, always in well-fitted natives and clean sneakers. A fintech bro with soft eyes and a husky laugh that stayed in your head long after he’d gone quiet.

They met at a friend’s rooftop party in Lekki. It started with a glance, then a challenge over Jollof rice—who made it better, her mum or his? She liked that he didn’t try to impress her. He liked that she wasn’t easily impressed.

By their third date, Kemi was falling. Hard.

He'd pick her up at odd hours after work. Drive her through quiet Ikoyi streets just to talk. They’d sit in his car listening to Asa and Burna Boy while she ranted about clients. He never interrupted. Just listened—and touched her hand at the right moment.

“This feels like a trap,” she said once, half-joking.

“Then let’s get caught together,” he replied.

But Lagos never lets love stay simple.

One night, after an office hangout at RSVP, Kemi saw something—or someone—that froze her. Tade. At a corner booth. Holding another woman’s hand. Laughing. Relaxed. Intimate. Like they’d done it a thousand times.

Kemi didn’t confront him. She just left.

She waited.

The next time they met, she didn’t mention it. She watched him closely instead. He still touched her hand at the right moment. Still listened. Still called her “my peace.”

But now everything felt like a performance.

So she did what any heartbroken, high-functioning Lagos woman would do—she investigated. It didn’t take long. The woman’s name was Tomi. She was a lawyer. And according to her Instagram, she was engaged. To Tade.

The ring was real. The lies were too.

Kemi didn’t cry. Not at first. She waited again.

And then she made a plan.

Tade invited her to a weekend getaway in Epe. “Just us,” he said. “We need to escape the noise.” Kemi agreed, sweetly. Even smiled.

She arrived in a flowing white dress, soft makeup, and a calmness that unnerved him. At dinner, beneath the stars, he toasted to “new beginnings.” She raised her glass and leaned in.

“Does Tomi know you’re here?” she asked softly.

The glass froze midair.

“Kemi…”

“You lied to me, Tade.”

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. She continued.

“I know about the engagement. The ring. The brunch with her parents. All of it.”

He finally spoke. “It’s complicated.”

“No. You made it complicated. I was honest. You were… Lagos.”

Silence.

Then she stood up, dropped her napkin, and walked back to the suite. In the morning, he woke to an empty bed and a voice note on his phone:

“You taught me that not all lies come with loud alarms. Some slip in with soft music and dim lights. I’ll be fine. I just won’t be fooled again. Good luck, Lagos boy.”

A week later, she posted a picture—her at a new client pitch, coffee in hand, eyes fierce. Caption: “Love doesn’t die in Lagos. But it fights for its life.”

The likes poured in.

And somewhere in the city, under the bright lights and louder lies, Tade sat in traffic, wondering how he lost a woman who once called him peace—and turned his Lagos nights into lessons he’d never forget.