CHRONICLES OF A RUNS GIRL EP3

Money, Madness & Men (MMM)

Deòlu was no longer the girl who squeezed inside Teni’s one-room apartment in Apapa, dodging mosquitoes and struggling with heat. Those days were over.

Now, she woke up in silk sheets, with the cool air from her Ikoyi penthouse air-conditioner kissing her skin. The floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the Lagos Lagoon, and the only sound she heard in the morning was the soft hum of her imported coffee machine.

Money had finally answered her call.

Trips to Dubai became normal. She no longer packed rice and stew in plastic bowls when traveling—first-class lounges served her well. Shopping in Paris was a casual weekend thing. Men sent her money just for breathing. One politician had even sent her $20,000 just to “check on her.”

And the men?

They came in all forms—chiefs, senators, oil magnates, business tycoons, and a few desperate billionaires who thought they had seen it all. But none of them had ever met someone like Deòlu.

She was untouchable. She was unforgettable.

She had washed her head, and the jazz was working perfectly.

When Deòlu finally moved into a her apartment in Ikoyi, she knew she had arrived. No more struggling, no more suffering.

But along the way, she did something unforgivable—she forgot Teni.

Teni, the same friend who had housed her when she first came to Lagos. The one who showed her the ropes of the game. Deòlu had promised they would rise together, but once the money became too much, she stopped picking her calls.

She had a new best friend now—Sade.

Sade was the real definition of high-class runs. She had been in the game longer than Deòlu and moved in the kind of circles Deòlu could only dream of. Sade didn’t do small politicians or oil tycoons—she dealt with foreign investors, tech billionaires, and international money launderers.

“You have to stop thinking small,” Sade told her one night as they sat in a private jet heading to the Maldives. “Forget all these local men. The real money is in dollars.”

Deòlu nodded, sipping her champagne. Teni had called her earlier that day, but she didn’t bother to pick. What would they even talk about? She had outgrown her.

That night, as she partied under the Maldivian sky, dancing with rich men who whispered promises of yachts and diamonds into her ears, she didn’t know that her betrayal would soon come back to haunt her.

Because Teni?

Teni had not forgotten.

And she was coming back for revenge.

(To be continued in Episode 4: The Price of Power)