"Who released this work, FAHIMA ALIYU?"
Instead of answering, she simply burst into tears. Zaki barked at her with his booming, terrifying voice—even when he spoke softly, it carried immense weight.
In Zaki's life, if there was one thing he despised, it was women—especially when they cried. It infuriated him because he believed every single tear shed by a woman was fake, merely an act of dramatic pretense.
(Whatever Zaki's reasons are, oh well! 😏🤷🏻‍♀️)
The King shot Zaki a look that made him immediately turn and leave the parlor; had he stayed any longer, he might have slapped her, as there was already bad blood between them.
The King fixed his gaze on her, like someone trying to glean something from her tears, and repeated his question:
"I ask you for the last time, who leaked them?"
Lifting her tear-blurred eyes in sheer panic and helplessness, her body shaking as she pulled her knees up onto the couch, she whispered:
"No one... no one knows. Please, let me go home."
With utter indifference, the King looked down at his phone as Zaki re-entered, clearly having been called back.
"Take her back."
He stood up and went upstairs without looking back. Zaki ordered her harshly to get up. Shivering uncontrollably, she followed him out to the cars parked on the property.
As soon as they reached her neighborhood, the guard sitting with her in the back seat opened the door and tossed her out like a doll, speeding off and leaving her right there on the ground.
She let out a soft cry from the stinging pain. Struggling to stand while weeping bitterly, her hands badly scraped, she dragged herself into her house. She went straight to her bedroom, crying as if her soul was leaving her body. At the doorway of her room, she bumped into her handbag and car keys, which she had grabbed earlier that morning with the intention of going to work.
Just as she was about to enter the room, her phone vibrated inside her bag. Seeing a private number, she answered, and a voice said:
"Open your WhatsApp. We've sent you your new assignment—one that is worth your mother's life if you don't do what is required."
Click. The line went dead. Her hands shaking, she opened WhatsApp and saw a flood of messages—mostly asking questions about the query she had directed at the King at the airport the day before—until she reached the one she suspected was from them.
She let out a piercing shriek upon seeing their message. Terrified, she dropped the phone without realizing it, collapsed to the floor, and broke into a heartbreaking, pitiful sob.
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5: THE KING

Upon entering his bedroom, the King opened his wardrobe and pulled out a large, diary-like album. Back then, he had loved capturing every moment. He enjoyed taking pictures and storing them in this album with short notes attached to each photo. Although he grew up viewing photography as his father’s profession—his dad owned a large studio—taking pictures had become one of his favorite hobbies. He loved it so much that wherever he went, his camera was by his side, ready to snap anything striking he encountered on the road.
ALIYU MOHAMMED GIWA was written on the very first page of the album—his original name before the King concealed his identity and became known simply as THE KING.
He stared at the first picture in the album, stroking it with profound sorrow and longing for his parents. It was a black-and-white photograph taken when he was an infant, showing him with his Ammi and Baba, who was holding her shoulder as they smiled down at their baby's beautiful face.
He flipped through the pages, smiling to himself until he paused at a particular photograph, gazing at it intently.
It was one of those street scenes—a mother and her teenage daughter on the street. The girl couldn't have been more than sixteen, dressed in traditional Fulani attire with their woven bags slung over their arms like purses. They were flashing bright smiles, and one could tell instantly from their expressions that they were bursting with joy and happiness.
The King stroked the girl's face in the photo. His eyes instantly turned red and bloodshot. Twisting his face as if about to cry, he whispered:
"I really missed you, my FULANI. Please come back to me."
He remembered the day he first met her. He was stuck in evening traffic after leaving the office, waiting for the signal to move. Through his rearview mirror, he had spotted her and her mother—whom she called DADA—threading between cars. Their playful antics every time they stepped away from a vehicle's front made him laugh, even though he didn't understand what they were saying. It was obvious they were teasing the drivers until they reached his car.
"We are begging, and we are increasing!"
To his absolute shock and surprise, he heard the mother speak those words. Laughter burst out of him as he looked closely at the mother and the daughter. The mother was older, while the daughter couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen. Who was supposed to be increasing among them, and what kind of begging style was this?
No wonder they treated other drivers with such sass. The relentless honking from the cars behind him snapped him back to reality, signaling that the traffic had moved long ago and the drivers behind him were growing furious.
Yet, after driving past them, a sudden impulse made him turn his car around and go back. To his luck, they were still standing by the roadside. He parked his car and walked over to them.
"Hello," he said.
The mother replied in Fulfulde, a language he didn't understand. He asked them instead:
"Why are you begging like this?"
The girl just stared at him with an admiring, captivated gaze. The mother answered him in broken, barely intelligible Hausa:
"You city people love increasing, so we combine both! But these wicked people want DIJA to help them increase. I am no fool—wallahi, I won't let DIJA increase with just anyone. I will find her a proper husband (Mina cheu)! If you want an increase, take me instead, since my husband is old!"
From the moment she started speaking, the King had to bite back his laughter, refusing to interrupt until she finished. Then he asked:
"Will you give me DIJA to marry?"
He looked with a smile at Dija, who was staring right back at him. Even though she didn't understand what he was saying to her Dada, the man had charmed her so thoroughly that she couldn't take her eyes off him.
Pure joy lit up Dada's face. Delighted that this handsome city gentleman was asking to marry her Dija, she exclaimed in Fulfulde that Dija had found a husband, pointing him out to her. Dija herself became overjoyed that he wanted to marry her. The King simply stood there, marveling at how easily they rejoiced upon meeting a stranger whose identity and background they knew nothing about. It was then that he truly confirmed the stories people told about the naive simplicity of the Fulani people—things he had previously assumed were just malicious rumors.
He told them to wait while he went back to his car to grab his camera. Returning to their side, he posed them carefully with bright smiles and snapped their pictures.
You should have seen the joy on their faces when he showed them themselves on the camera screen...
A soft chuckle escaped him as he recalled the drama of his very first encounter with his DIJA, his Fulani, the love of his life to whom he had given his entire heart and body. He had endured struggles, endless dramas, silliness, and quirks before Dija finally blossomed into a complete, mature woman. Yet, they tore Dija away from him just as he was beginning to enjoy the fruits of his labor—at the exact time he needed her presence the most.
Hot, burning tears spilled from his eyes, the agony radiating from deep inside his heart. The call to afternoon prayer (Zuhr) snapped him out of his reverie and reminded him of how much time he had spent sitting on the plush rug on his bedroom floor. He stood up, went to the bathroom to make ablution, and hurried out of the room...

GOVERNMENT HOUSE

Without a care for the P.A. standing nearby, Zee walked right up behind AA Kaita, looped her arms under his chin, pressed her face against his, and planted a sensational kiss that melted AA Kaita right down to his bones. Zee knew how to drive him crazy with her endless repertoire of seductive moves, which was why he was madly in love with her.
The P.A. averted his eyes, a lump forming in his throat from a sudden surge of pure jealousy. He despised the First Lady's shamelessness in displaying such affection for the Excellency right in front of him, but he vowed mentally to put her in her place someday. He let out a silent hiss.
Once she was certain AA Kaita was completely hooked—to the point where she could practically see his physical arousal—she flashed a wicked smile. At least she had gotten back at him for what he did yesterday.
"Morning, my Excellency," she said after taking a seat beside him to pour herself some tea. AA Kaita, feeling all his appetite vanish, stood up without answering her.
Only then did the P.A. greet her.
With a sultry, deeply meaningful look meant for him alone, she murmured her reply. The P.A. smiled, catching her drift immediately, and hurried after Governor AA Kaita, who was already walking away.
"Did you call Zaki?" AA Kaita asked his P.A. as they reached the parked cars where security awaited his departure.
"I called repeatedly, but he didn't pick up. I also had someone investigate where the King is staying, but it hasn't been uncovered yet. However, I sent him a message letting him know you want to see the King."
"What did he say?"
"No reply yet, sir."
Seething with frustration, AA Kaita climbed into the car. The P.A. took the front seat, and the rest of the security detail filed into the remaining vehicles.

FU'AD HASHIM

A stern, imposing woman dressed in exquisite, exclusive elite attire stepped down the staircase, phone in hand. Displeasure was written all over her face before she even reached the bottom. She called out loudly for Fu'ad, who was sitting in the parlor drinking tea with the remote in hand, dressed and ready to leave for work.
Lifting his head at the sound of his mother's voice, he asked, "Mummy, is everything alright this early?"
"How could everything be alright? Didn't you see what your foolish, elderly wife did yesterday? That's why I warned you from the very beginning about marrying the daughter of a non-believer whose background is notorious across this entire town! Wallahi, go right now and bring my grandson back before her obsessive digging brings disaster upon the boy. As for her and her mother who enables her, let them deal with it themselves—because this time, she has brought something upon herself that will affect her entire extended family, not just her."
Setting his cup down in sheer frustration with Fahima, Fu'ad replied to his mother:
"Mum, that was my intention anyway. Even without you saying anything, ever since I saw the news of what Fahima did on social media yesterday, I planned to go pick up Salim straight from school today. I don't know what Fahima is looking for; I think this so-called profession of hers is driving her crazy."
He hissed and stood up.
"No, there's no waiting until you leave the office. Why would you wait until evening? Do you know what could happen? I want you to stop by her house first and pick him up right now."
"Mum, Salim is in school right now. It's past 9 AM, and I know Fahima is at her office by now too."
"Just go to the house and check first. If they aren't there, go straight to his school and get him."
"Okay," he muttered, walking out of the parlor. To his credit, he loved Fahima deeply, which was why he still hadn't entertained any other woman—women in general didn't interest him. But he couldn't wrap his head around her stubbornness and obsession. No one could stop her once she set her mind on something. He climbed into his car and drove off, muttering to himself.
He parked outside her house and noticed the small pedestrian gate was open, and Fahima's car was parked inside. He was surprised, not expecting to find her home, but figured maybe she hadn't driven to work today for good reason.
As he raised his hand to knock on the parlor door, it swung open. He was utterly shocked; before he even stepped fully inside the parlor, he spotted her collapsed motionless by her bedroom door.
Running over, he scooped her into his arms. She wasn't even breathing. He completely panicked, realizing he was all alone in the house. Where is Mami? Where is Salim? he asked himself in a frenzy, knowing there was no one to answer. As he moved to lift her fully, his eyes caught something on the floor—her phone, shattered into tiny pieces.
Carrying her outside, he placed her in the back seat of his car and sped frantically to the nearest private hospital, where nurses rushed out with a gurney and wheeled her straight into the emergency room.
Pacing back and forth alone in deep anxiety over Fahima's condition, a fresh wave of love and pity washed over him. He prayed silently for her recovery; he couldn't bear to lose her. He only stayed away because he had no choice, wishing she would realize how her dangerous obsession with her work constantly put her in mortal peril, especially as a mother and a woman.
After nearly forty minutes, the doctor emerged accompanied by two nurses. Fu'ad cornered him with frantic questions about whether Fahima had regained consciousness.
"Follow me to my office," the doctor said.
Dragging his feet, Fu'ad followed the doctor in sheer terror, his heart sinking at the grim look on the physician's face...

ABIA STATE

The entire parlor was plunged in pitch darkness like the middle of the night, even though it was still afternoon (1:20 PM). The only illumination came from a dim red light.
"Why didn't you join our emergency meeting last night?" one of the men seated in the room spoke in English.
"Boss, please forgive me. I was in turmoil yesterday."
A burst of guttural laughter filled the room. The one addressed as Boss spoke:
"You are in turmoil, while we are in celebration! You, too, must celebrate the return of the King. We are giving you a second assignment: bring the King back into our fold. But this time must be different from the first. The organization needs the King's return by any means necessary. The organization's success grows with the King's proximity to us. His wife's timeline is almost up—only 12 days left. So we seriously need the King before that time runs out. Try your absolute best and bring our King back to us."
Laughter erupted from all the men in the parlor...
CONDOLENCE MESSAGE TO OUR FELLOW WRITER
Innalillahi wa'inna ilaihi raji'un kulli Nafseen za'ikatul ma'ut 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭
We extend our deepest condolences to our sister and writer, Nanatou, on the loss of her beloved father. Indeed, death brings profound pain and sorrow. May Allah forgive his sins, illuminate his grave, and grant mercy to all departed Muslims. We stand with you, dear sister, and pray Allah grants you the fortitude to bear the loss of such a vital pillar and protective wall in your life.
SIGN
By Elegant Online Writers

6: FU'AD HASHIM

"What is your relationship to the patient?" the doctor asked Fu'ad after finishing his paperwork, looking up and removing his reading glasses.
"I am her husband."
The doctor stared at him for about four seconds before speaking:
"As her husband, how could you let her reach such a terrible condition? Where were you while your wife suffered a serious heart attack and went into severe shock? If Allah hadn't decreed that she still has days left ahead of her, we would be having a completely different conversation right now."
Fu'ad clutched his head in absolute panic. "Forget all that, Doctor! What is her condition right now?"
"Hmm. You have to be extremely, extremely careful if you want to save your family's life. Right now, she is in the worst possible stage; anything can happen to her if she is subjected to any more stress. She suffered a severe heart attack, but we did our best, and with Allah's help, her breathing has stabilized. Everything will be fine, Insha Allah."
He handed him a slip of paper. "These are the required items."
"Okay, Doctor. Thank you so much. Can I see her, please?"
"She's still unconscious. We administered a sedative, so she needs rest, but you can peek in."
"Okay, thank you, thank you, Doctor."
Stepping out of the doctor's office, he walked to her hospital room. She had an oxygen tube taped over her nose to assist her breathing, which was still unstable. Tears welled up in his eyes as he looked at her frail, suffering state, confirming his worst fears.
Salim and Mami! the thought struck him. If Salim was at school, where was Mami? And what on earth had happened in the first place? Definitely, something is fishy.
"KING!" he blurted out in sheer terror, his eyes widening. He bolted out of the room, ran to his car, and sped recklessly away from the hospital until he arrived at Fahima's house.
He didn't bother parking properly or locking the car. He rushed into the house, shouting for MAMI and SALIM at the top of his lungs as he burst into the parlor.
His eyes widened in unadulterated shock, and he let out a piercing scream:
"MAMIIIIII!"
His entire body began to shake. Panic seized him as his heart felt like it was tearing apart. Panting heavily, he rushed over to where Mami lay in the center of the parlor in a pool of blood, struggling with agonizing breaths, a knife plunged deep into her abdomen.
She weakly raised a hand toward Fu'ad. He dropped to his knees right beside her in the blood, trembling so violently he didn't know where to touch.
"Innalillahi wa inna ilaihi raji'un," was all he could murmur as his shaking hand hovered over the knife hilt embedded in her stomach.
As he leaned down, he thought she was trying to speak. He pressed his ear to her lips and heard her whisper:
"Kin..."
Before she could finish, death claimed her. Just as he instinctively reached out to pull the knife out, a voice barked from behind him:
"You're under arrest!"
Startled out of his wits, he spun around to see police officers surrounding the parlor, all pointing guns straight at him.
"Wallahi, it wasn't me! Allah, it wasn't me!"
Overwhelmed by a sudden, nightmare-level catastrophe—and knowing how intensely cowardly Fu'ad naturally was—he broke down sobbing uncontrollably, crying:
"Mummy, wallahi I didn't kill her!"
Without listening to his pleas, they slapped handcuffs on him and shoved him into the back of their vehicle. He screamed continuously, calling out for Mummy and insisting he was innocent. Outside, the neighborhood was in an uproar as residents flooded the street to watch the police cars.

THE KING

After returning from the mosque attached to the estate—attended only by Zaki, a few Muslim guards, and the estate security guard who led the prayer—the King walked back to the parlor with Zaki trailing behind him.
After sitting on his couch, Zaki, standing nearby, reported:
"AA Kaita's P.A. has called me about 15 times, leaving messages that AA Kaita wants to see you."
The King picked up the remote, casually browsing TV channels, and said:
"Arrange everything. We're having dinner there tonight."
"Okay," Zaki simply replied before stepping out of the parlor. The King himself headed upstairs less than ten minutes later.
Thirty minutes later, Zaki returned upstairs looking displeased and knocked on the King's door.
Inside, the King was seated on the cushions with the Quran in his hands. He told Zaki to enter.
"I just saw a news report circulating on social media regarding the murder of FAHIMA ALIYU's mother. Her former husband is the prime suspect—he was caught red-handed next to the body."
Setting the Quran aside, the King asked:
"What? When, and where? And where is FAHIMA ALIYU herself?"
"I don't know yet, but we're investigating right now, Insha Allah."
"And what are you waiting for? Quick!"
"Okay," Zaki said, rushing out of the room.
The King clutched his head. He had known all along that Fahima was caught in a trap, which was why he had wanted her to tell him the truth, but she had chosen to hide it.
"Innalillahi wa inna ilaihi raji'un," he murmured repeatedly, filled with deep distress and pity for Fahima.
He knew the life of a pure, innocent girl was in danger because of him, and now she had even lost her mother.
"Ya Salam, what do these people want from me? Why are they putting the lives of innocent people who know nothing about this at stake? Why?"
He asked himself a question that had no answer. A hot, angry hiss escaped his breath as he panted heavily. Suddenly, the fiery spirit of ALIYU flared up. His eyes turned bloodshot, and in a terrifying, menacing voice, he declared:
"I must chew on gravel so the jujubes will know true fear. You guys have made your moves; now it is the King's turn. Now you will know that THE REAL KING HAS RETURNED..."