SAVED BY GRACE- EP 29

Episode 29- Why Do You Want His Number?

Soteria’s POV

The bypass from Guzape back to my house was a blur of long, amber shadows and the low, continuous rumble of the tires against the asphalt.

By the time I navigated the car into the compound, the afternoon heat had given way to that thick, heavy dusk that always settles over Abuja just before the night takes over.

I didn’t go back to Akila’s house. I couldn’t.

The friction from this morning was still too raw, and the terror of what he would do if he read the lingering panic on my face was enough to keep my foot glued to the pedal until I pulled up into my own driveway.

The house was empty, quiet in that large, echoing way it had been ever since my father passed. Mom went on a trip to the UK to spend some time with her sister.

I didn’t turn on the living room lights. I just walked straight up to my bedroom, kicked off my heels, and collapsed onto the bed, staring at the ceiling as the silence of the room closed in around me.

My phone vibrated against my thigh.

I didn’t even need to look at the screen to know who it was. The persistence of my man was unmatched.

With a trembling thumb, I slid the screen to answer and lifted the phone to my ear. I didn’t say a word. I just waited, listening to the heavy, localized silence on the other end of the line.

“Where are you?”

His voice didn’t carry the loud, roaring anger I had been bracing for. It was low, level, and entirely devoid of any lightness.

“I’m at home,” I whispered, my voice sounding small and ragged against the vast quiet of my bedroom. “I’m in my house.”

“I’m coming over.”

Before I could tell him no, the line went completely dead.

Twenty minutes later, the heavy rattle of his truck’s engine cut through the quiet of the driveway below. I didn’t move from the bed. I heard his heavy footsteps coming up the stairs, unhurried but completely unyielding, until the handle of my bedroom door clicked and swung open.

Akila stood in the doorway. He had changed into a dark shirt, but the subtle stiffness in his left side was still there, a rigid line that reminded me of our argument in his parlor.

His dark eyes locked onto mine, tracking the red margins of my eyelids and the pale set of my face with a slow intensity.

He walked over to the edge of the bed, his boots heavy against the rug, and stopped just two feet away.

He didn’t reach down to touch me. He just stood there, towering over me like a piece of the middle-belt granite he had crawled out of.

“Who is he?” he asked, his voice dropping into that quiet, suffocating cadence that always made the air in the room feel thin.

I sat up slowly, pulling my knees to my chest, refusing to look away from his gaze even though my heart was hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

“He’s nobody, Akila. Truly. He’s just a client whose new office, i am designing. A stupid, arrogant boy who thinks his money means he can say whatever he wants.”

“A nobody doesn’t call me a boy toy over your receiver,” Akila rumbled, his jaw tightening until the bone throbbed beneath his skin.

“A nobody doesn’t make you stutter and shut off your phone. Look at me, Ziniya. I asked you a question. What is between you and this man?”

“Nothing!” I cried, the frustration finally breaking through my throat as I stood up from the bed, facing him fully.

“I swear, there is absolutely nothing between me and him! I don’t even like the way he breathes in the same room as me. I used your call today as a shield to make him back off, to show him that I belong to someone else, but he’s just an entitled bastard who doesn’t understand the word no.”

Akila didn’t move. He stood perfectly still, but as my words echoed in the quiet room, I saw a subtle, unexpected fracture in his granite expression.

The hard, tactical shield in his eyes suddenly flickered, revealing something raw, heavy, and deeply quiet beneath the surface.

“Are you tired of being with me, babe?” he asked softly.

The words came out rough, raspy, completely stripped of the commander’s armor.

He looked down at his right hand, then back at my face, his voice dropping into a vulnerable space I had never heard from him before.

“We’ve been fighting for days. You complained that every time you try to look after me, I push you away. I know I’m stubborn. I know my life is rough, and I might not be the best man for you. I’m just... I’m asking you if you’re tired of us. If you want to leave me for someone who can give you a normal life.”

My breath caught in my throat. The sheer weight of his words hit me like a physical blow, completely scattering my anger.

“No, baby. No!” I jumped off the bed, my feet hitting the floorboards as I threw my arms around his waist, burying my face against his solid, warm chest. I held onto him with everything I had left.

“Never! Never, My love! I would be the biggest fool on earth to do that. I love you so much. I can never, ever do that to you.”

He didn’t pull away, but his body remained stiff under my grip, his heart beating a heavy, slow rhythm against my cheek.

“He’s just a stupid person, Akila,” I pouted, looking up into his dark eyes, my hands moving to cup his jaw, feeling the rough texture of his stubble.

“He’s a child who doesn’t have sense. Please, don’t mind him. Don’t let his disgusting mouth bring doubt into your heart. You are my man. I do not want any other.”

Akila stared down at me for a long, quiet minute, studying every line of panic and sincerity on my face until the tension in his shoulders finally began to dissolve.

He let out a long, ragged breath, his right arm coming up to wrap tightly around my back, pulling me into his uninjured side until there was no space left between us.

“Okay,” he murmured against my hair, his voice deep and steady again.

“Okay, mama. I hear you.”

We stayed like that for a long time, the quiet of the bedroom settling back down around us.

We talked for hours, sitting on the edge of the mattress as the night took over Abuja completely. For the first time in days, I enjoyed talking to him.

“I’m sorry for pushing you too hard this morning,” I whispered, resting my head against his shoulder, my fingers tracing the lines of his palm. “I just... when you get hurt, my mind goes into very dark places. I can’t lose you, Akila.”

“No, babe,” he said softly, his thumb rubbing the back of my hand. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I don’t know how to sit still. But for you... I’ll learn.”

He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against my forehead that felt like a proper reset. “Tomorrow, we will go somewhere nice. Just you and me. We need time to ourselves”

I looked up, a genuine smile finally breaking across my face. “A real date?”

“A real date,” he smiled, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. “Be ready by noon.”

---

The next afternoon didn’t just feel like a new day; it felt like a complete shift in the atmosphere of the entire city.

The suffocating gray weight that had been hovering around me seemed to vanish the moment my baby pulled into my compound. He was driving his personal truck, looking effortlessly handsome in a loose, oversized white linen shirt and tailored dark trousers. A styling choice I knew he made consciously to keep the fabric from pulling against the stitches.

My man was probably the most annoying human I know, but I would not trade what we have for anything else.

I love him and was ready to do anything to keep him.

When I stepped into the passenger seat, wearing an energetic, casual-chic combination of baggy vintage denim, a structured black corset top, and clean white sneakers, his eyes locked onto me.

His gaze swept over my face, pausing on the natural gap between my front teeth as a rare, beautiful smile broke through his usual serious mask.

“You look beautiful, Ziniya,” he murmured, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble that made my stomach do an immediate, dizzying flip.

He reached out with his right hand, his thumb gently tracing the line of my jawline, pulling me close enough that I could smell the sharp, clean scent of his cologne mixed with pure warmth.

“You don’t look too bad yourself, Captain,” I whispered, leaning into his touch, my heart swelling with a feeling so intense it felt entirely mutual.

How I missed hanging out with this man.

We drove down to a high-end, multi-level entertainment arena in Central Area.

Our first stop was the virtual reality arena. The attendant handed us our haptic vests and headsets.

Akila stood directly behind me, his chest pressing against my back, his breath warm against the nape of my neck where my hair was pulled up.

“Keep your knees loose, babe,” he whispered, his large hands resting on my hips to guide my stance as the simulation started.

“If your balance shifts too fast, you might fall.”

“I have you to hold me, don’t I?” I teased, turning my neck slightly to look at him through the lower margin of the visor.

He let out a low, gravelly chuckle that vibrated straight through my haptic vest. “Always. I’m right behind you.”

The game was an immersive, fast-paced sci-fi shooter.

For the next thirty minutes, we were completely obsessed, laughing like children.

Akila, even using mostly his right arm to protect his left shoulder, moved with a terrifying, smooth efficiency that made me swoon.

When the headsets came off, my cheeks were flushed with pure, lively energy, my laughter echoing against the glass partition.

Akila was looking down at me with an expression so fiercely tender, so full of unadulterated adoration, that the entire crowded arena seemed to dissolve around us.

“Next round is mine,” I declared, tugging at his hand as we walked toward the tactical paintball arena on the lower level.

The paintball grid was designed like an urban jungle, cast in low, moody blue and purple neon lighting with heavy smoke machines filling the air.

We geared up in protective overalls, and the minute the whistle blew, the playful friction between us reached an absolute peak.

I bolted behind a concrete pillar, my marker raised, trying to spot his massive frame through the haze.

“You can’t hide from me, Captain! I can see you!”

“Are you sure about that, babe?” His deep voice floated from the shadows behind me.

I spun around, but before I could raise my marker, Akila stepped out of the neon mist.

He didn’t shoot. He moved with a breathtaking speed, closing the distance between us until his boots hit mine.

With a smooth, dominant movement of his right arm, he pinned my wrists gently against the soft padding of the pillar, trapping me completely within his shadow.

The neon blue light caught the rugged lines of his face, highlighting the intense, burning look in his dark eyes.

My breath hitched, my chest heaving against his chest as the marker slipped from my fingers, hanging by its safety cord.

“I have you cornered, baby,” he murmured, his face dropping inches from mine, his gaze anchoring onto my lips.

“Then finish the mission,” I whispered, my heart hammering a frantic, desperate rhythm against my ribs.

“Urghhhhhh!!! You are such a temptation I’m trying so hard to overcome” His voice sounded hoarse.

He didn’t use the paint. Instead, he bent his head down and pressed his lips against my neck in a slow, deep, and utterly devastating peck that made my knees go entirely weak.

It was a beautiful embrace that tasted of pure warmth and adrenaline, his right hand sliding up to cradle the back of my head, pulling me into his chest until I felt like I was completely melting into his skin.

I was so madly in love with him it felt like a beautiful sickness.

By the time we cleared the arena and went upstairs to the dining terrace, the afternoon sun had begun to dip below the Abuja skyline, casting a bruised amber glare over the hills.

We sat at a secluded corner table, holding hands over a basket of spicy tenders and fries, our fingers intertwined so tightly it felt like we were trying to fuse our skin together.

“I haven’t seen you smile like this in a while,” he said softly, his thumb rubbing the back of my hand with a certain gentleness.

“Because I’m with you,” I said, my voice thick with genuine emotion as I leaned across the table.

“When we are like this, baby, Everything just makes sense. You make me feel alive.”

Then, the phone inside my handbag on the table began to vibrate.

The screen lit up against the glass.

The caller ID flashed in bold, invasive text:

Julian Client.

The entire world came to an immediate, violent halt.

The beautiful, lovey-dovey bubble we had spent the afternoon building completely shattered into a thousand jagged pieces.

The sweet expression on Akila’s face vanished in a fraction of a second, his features flattening back into that untouchable, freezing sheet of granite.

His dark eyes locked onto the vibrating screen, his jaw clenching so hard a visible muscle twitched beneath his stubble.

I felt a sudden, hot spike of pure violation and rage hit my chest. Without an ounce of hesitation, I grabbed the phone, slammed my finger against the red button to end the call, and shoved the device deep into the pocket of my baggy denim.

“I am sorry, baby,” I said quickly, my hands flying across the table to grip his right wrist, my voice rising in a frantic bid to keep the coldness from setting into his eyes.

“I’m so sorry. I thought he would have the sense to stop after yesterday. I will block him right now. I’ll go into my settings and block his number completely so he can never reach my line again.”

Akila didn’t pull his hand away, but his chest was heaving under the shirt, his breath coming in a low, disciplined hiss that chilled me to the bone.

“No,” he said. His voice dropped an octave, becoming a dead, flat whisper.

“Don’t block him.”

I blinked, looking at him in absolute confusion.

“What do you mean, no? Babe, I don’t want him calling me.”

“Send me his contact,” he rumbled, his eyes lifting to meet mine with an unyielding finality that brooked no defiance.

The panic from yesterday flooded my system all over again.

“Why? Mmmmm, why do you want his number? Look at you still trying to heal. Don’t do anything rash. He is not worth it”

“I just want to have a conversation with him, woman,” he said quietly, his tone remarkably calm, but it was the kind of calm that always preceded a breach.

“Just a phone call. Between two grown men.”

“Hope it’s just a conversation?” I asked, my voice soft as I leaned closer, my eyes searching his face.

“Promise me it’s just a warning. You can’t do anything more to him. If you do something crazy, it can hurt your badge, baby. It can ruin your career at headquarters. Please.”

Akila looked at me, his expression softening just a fraction as his thumb rubbed the side of my wrist, his voice dropping into a reassuring whisper.

“Crazy? Me? Never, baby. I am not one to make rash decisions. Or do you want him to keep disturbing you?”

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head quickly. “Of course not.”

“Then send me the contact,” he said.

“Why not? I’ll just warn him. I can’t do anything more to him than that. Like you said, it can hurt my badge. I’m just going to make sure he understands his boundaries. That’s all.”

I stared at him for a long beat. He sounded logical.

He sounded like a man who understood me. I hope so.

With a hesitant sigh, I pulled my phone back out, forwarded the contact straight to him.

“Just a conversation, baby,” I pleaded, standing up from the chair and wrapping my arms around his neck, burying my face against his solid shoulder.

“Just a conversation, my love,” he murmured against my hair, his right arm wrapping securely around my waist as he held me close against his side.

I let out a long breath, letting the tension leave my body as we walked out of the entertainment center toward his car, heading back home in the gathering dusk. I felt safe. I felt protected by the sheer mass of him.

Akila’s POV

The smile didn’t reach my eyes, but it lived in my heart the entire drive back home.

Soteria sat in the passenger seat, her head resting against the window, her features finally looking serene and relaxed after the long afternoon.

She thought she had handled it.

She thought that by wrapping her arms around my neck and reminding me of my badge, she had successfully put a leash on me.

She truly believed that a man of my type would sit on a phone line and trade civil warnings with a trust-fund child who had insulted me.

She didn’t really know how the military worked.

The minute I dropped her off at her family gate, I didn’t drive back to my house immediately. I pulled the truck into a quiet, unlit street near the edge of the district, killed the headlights, and sat in the dark cabin with the engine idling softly.

I pulled out my phone.

The contact card she had forwarded was sitting there in the green messaging thread.

Julian Client.

I tapped a different contact.

“Captain.”

The voice answered on the second ring. Sharp, disciplined, and instantly alert.

It was Solomon, a technical sergeant stationed at the intelligence desk in our brigade headquarters.

He was one of my boys, a tech specialist who spent his free time tracking data streams and signal grids.

“Solomon,” I said, my voice dropping into that flat, low frequency that didn’t leave room for casual pleasantries.

“I’m sending you a contact card and a first name right now.”

“Standing by, sir,” the keys on his terminal were already clicking in the background, a rapid, rhythmic sound that meant he was already logged into the federal registry.

“Got it. The name is Julian?”

“Yes,” I rumbled, my right hand tightening around the steering wheel until the leather groaned in the dark.

“I want him tracked, Solomon. I want every single piece of information you can pull on him. I want his full face registry, his office coordinates, his house address, his personal vehicles, his bank attachments, and his social media pages, Facebook, Instagram, everything. I want to know his movement for the next 24 hours.”

There was a brief pause on the line, the clicking of the keyboard slowing down for a fraction of a second as Solomon realized this wasn’t an operational target.

This was a domestic grid. But a sergeant in my unit didn’t ask questions when the commander gave an order.

“Understood, Captain,” Solomon said, his voice tightening into pure professional focus.

“Give me a few hours to run the cross-reference through the telecomm servers and the corporate affairs registry. I’ll compile the full dossier and send it straight to your personal device.”

“Make it clean, Solomon,” I said quietly.

“Nobody else sees the information.”

“Direct protocol, sir. It’s invisible.”

“Good. Out.”

I ended the call, tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, and slotted the truck into gear, navigating the dark, empty streets back toward my house.

My left shoulder was throbbing beneath the canvas jacket, the stitches burning like lightly from the arcade movements, but I didn’t feel a single drop of the pain.

By the time I unlocked the front door, the house was perfectly still. Naya was already asleep in her room, her door closed, the light beneath the frame completely dark.

I walked into my bedroom, stripped down to my gray sweatpants, and lay flat on the mattress, staring up at the shadows on the ceiling.

A few hours later, right around 1AM, the phone on the nightstand vibrated once. A soft, blue light illuminated the dark room.

I reached out, slid the screen open, and looked at the secure document Solomon had forwarded. It was an exhaustive, flawless layout.

The first page was a high-resolution corporate headshot of Julian.

His smooth, arrogant face looking straight into the camera with an entitled smile.

Beneath his face, the lines of data unspooled in perfect order: Full Name: Julian Momodu. Primary Residence: Penthouse 4, The Rockside Estates, Maitama. Office Location: Cole Global Holdings, Corporate Towers, Central Business District. Vehicle Registry: Black Mercedes-Benz G-Wagon, Abuja Plate Number... Solomon had even pulled his Instagram posts showing his frequent spots in the city, his family links to the major property developments in the sector, and his exact entry logs for his office building.

I scrolled through the pages slowly, my eyes tracking every coordinate, every weakness, every detail of his comfortable, sheltered life.

He had a beautiful perimeter built around him — built with concrete, security guards, and bank accounts.

A slow, cold smile spread across my face in the dark as I closed the document and set the phone face-down on the table.

Soteria thought she had bought him peace with a hug. But as I closed my eyes and let the sleep take over my heavy limbs, the only thought in my mind was that Abuja was a very very small city. And tomorrow, the Captain was going to work.

Soteria believed Akila??

Reallyyy??? Get ready for the next episode. You will laugh until your belly hurts.

Ps: Do you guys think Akila is doing too much?