The Phoenix

Chapter Two: Shadows Behind the Screen

By [Odoemenam promise

The blinking cursor on her screen mocked her as her heart pounded like a war drum in her chest.

> “I know who you are, Amara. Does Chuka?

The words stayed imprinted in her mind long after she shut the laptop. Chuka was still in the kitchen, humming under his breath, slicing suya like it was a regular Friday evening.

But everything had changed.

Amara swallowed hard and forced a smile when he glanced her way. “Still working?” he asked.

She nodded. “Just wrapping up some edits.”

Lie.

She retreated into their bedroom, locked the door, and slid the laptop back open. The message was gone.

Her stomach twisted.

She checked the IP log again. Still there. Still hovering. Whoever this was knew how to break through her firewall and erase traces. This wasn’t just a random internet troll—this was someone skilled. Someone dangerous.

She couldn’t tell Chuka. Not yet.

He didn’t know about her blog. Or her books. Or the tech stack she had coded in secret while rocking their twins to sleep. Eight years of hidden work—unveiled with one anonymous line.

Amara paced the room. She needed answers.

She opened her encrypted database, buried within the admin panel of her website, and ran a trace—masking her own IP with a VPN. She copied the suspicious address, cross-referenced it with known databases, and narrowed it to… Surulere?

Her skin tingled.

That was where Chuka’s firm had opened its new branch. The building he often visited. The office where his phone mysteriously died for hours.

No.

She shook her head. This wasn’t the time to doubt her husband. Not without evidence

The next day, Amara packed the kids off to school early and told Chuka she had a women's fellowship meeting. He kissed her forehead and left, unaware that she slipped into jeans and a hoodie right after he drove off.

She wasn’t going to the fellowship.

She was going to Surulere.

She took a bolt cab, her nerves rattling every time her phone buzzed. She stared out the window, thoughts racing. Who could have written that message? A jealous reader? A rival techie? Or worse… someone from her past?

It couldn’t be her father—he had died years ago, ashamed she had "thrown away her brilliance" for diapers and dishes.

It couldn’t be her best friend, Ifeoma—she had stopped calling after Amara missed her wedding to clean vomit off the couch.

Still, someone was watching.

When she reached the building, she didn’t go in. Instead, she circled the block, phone camera in hand, pretending to be a lost content creator. Her heart nearly stopped when she saw him—Chuka—standing in front of the glass doors… laughing with a woman.

Tall.

Pretty.

Too familiar.

The woman turned slightly.

Amara’s breath caught.

It was Tosin. Chuka’s university ex. The one he said had moved abroad. The one who, according to old wounds, had “meant nothing.”

What. The. Hell.

They weren’t just talking—they were leaning in. Smiling. Comfortable.

Her pulse roared in her ears as a car horn blasted from behind. She ducked into a corner shop, hands shaking as she reviewed the footage. There it was. Evidence.

But then something else caught her eye.

A man. Watching her.

From across the road, in dark sunglasses and a green cap. Not part of the crowd. Not moving. Just… staring.

She turned to confront him—he was gone.

Vanished.

Had he followed her here?

That night, Amara didn’t speak much. She smiled through dinner. Laughed when Chuka made a dad joke. Pretended everything was fine.

But her mind was racing.

If Tosin was back…

If someone was threatening her through her website…

If a stranger was following her…

Then the web she’d spun wasn’t just unraveling—it was pulling her deeper into something more dangerous than heartbreak.

Later that night, when Chuka had fallen asleep, she crept into the study and opened her secret hard drive.

Among her unpublished drafts was a file named “Project EUNOMA.”

A name she hadn’t read in years.

A project from her final year.

A military-grade data encryption system she had designed as a theoretical exercise… but never submitted because she feared the consequences.

Someone had found it.

Someone wanted it.

And they were starting with threats.

Amara realized, with chilling clarity: this wasn’t about books anymore. This wasn’t about a bored housewife finding herself.

This was about secrets—hers, Chuka’s, and the ones buried so deep they’d kill to keep them hidden.

To be continued...