Deadly Design by Oluwatosin Samuel-Awe
Synopsis
“Fantastic…this is the good stuff!” – Ray Anyasi
“Could easily be your best read of the year.” – African Arts Journal
Amara Okoye arrived in Abuja with a portfolio full of dreams and a heart under lock and key. But in the city’s sweltering heat and torrential downpours, the independence she craves is rotting from the inside out. While Amara navigates the cutthroat world of freelance design, a domestic war simmers in her own apartment. Her roommate Milicent, fuelled by a toxic envy, orchestrates a campaign of psychological sabotage, tampering with career-making documents and poisoning their social circle with calculated lies.
Desperate for a sanctuary, Amara is drawn into the orbit of Daniel Bako, a man whose charm is as polished as a high-end showroom. But Daniel is a master of a different craft: the art of the con. As their romance deepens, Amara becomes a pawn in a lethal game of murder and pursuit. From the bustling stalls of Wuse to an abandoned project site off the Kubwa expressway, Amara must finally heed the warnings she’s ignored. In a city where trust is a liability, her fight for a career has become a desperate race to outrun a killer.
1
Amara Okoye pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the Park & Go bus leaving Owerri, Imo State, watching the familiar streets blur into streaks of red and green. Her hometown, with its dusty roads and bustling markets, had always felt like a cage in the last few months, ever since the breakup that had left her heart bruised and wary. She had loved and trusted deeply once, only to have it unravel painfully. The memories lingered like shadows, reminding her that vulnerability could come at a high price. “No wahala,” she whispered softly to herself, forcing a small smile. Abuja promised a fresh start, and she intended to take it with both hands.
Her travel bag rested on her lap, her portfolio beside it, filled with sketches and proposals she had painstakingly prepared. Every page represented more than work, it represented independence, self-respect, and the life she was determined to claim for herself. She thought about the opportunity awaiting her: a high-profile interior design project in the city, a chance to prove that her talent could speak louder than charm, connections, or luck.
The bus jolted over a pothole near Nwangele, and Amara adjusted her bag, glancing at the other passengers. A group of students from Enugu chatted noisily about exams and weekend plans, and a woman with a toddler tried to calm the child while balancing a heap of shopping bags. Amara observed quietly, her mind half on them, half on the new life she was about to start.
Across the aisle, a young man caught her attention. Polite, composed, and careful not to intrude, he offered her a small smile. “Are you heading to Abuja as well?” he asked, his voice calm and measured.
“Yes,” Amara replied briefly, keeping her tone neutral. She wasn’t in the mood for casual conversation, not now. Her life had been a lesson in careful choices, and strangers, however pleasant, were not a priority.
“I’m Tobechi,” he continued, glancing at her portfolio with genuine curiosity. “I’m coming to Abuja for a job interview.” His eyes reflected determination, not arrogance, and she recognized the kind of focus she herself had cultivated in recent months. There was something earnest in him, something not immediately swayed by appearances, but Amara shook her head gently when he asked for her number.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly, “I’m not looking for anything right now.” Her words were firm but polite, leaving no room for misunderstanding. Tobechi nodded, understanding without protest.
As the bus moved on through Umuahia, Enugu, and toward the border towns, Amara allowed herself a brief reflection. Leaving Imo wasn’t just about distance, it was about reclaiming herself. Her tall, elegant frame and fair, delicately curved features often drew attention, but she had learned that admiration rarely equated to sincerity. In Abuja, she could be recognized for skill, talent, and perseverance, rather than beauty or charm.
A sudden bump made her portfolio slide slightly. She caught it, heart racing for a moment, then looked around. The bus was crowded, filled with travellers from every corner of the Southeast, each carrying their own dreams and burdens. A mother reprimanded her young son for kicking the seat in front of him; an elderly man grumbled about the heat. Amara felt a strange kinship with them all, strangers, yet travellers with stakes in the unknown.
She thought of her apartment in Wuse, a modest flat she had rented online after a week of research. Not luxurious, but safe, functional, and a place she could call her own. The thought brought a small comfort. Finally, a place where her life could be hers alone, free from the remnants of heartbreak that had haunted her in Imo.
Tobechi, quietly observing, noticed how she carried herself: with caution, restraint, and a subtle air of command. He didn’t intrude, but he wondered about the stories behind her measured expressions. Why did she seem so careful? So guarded? Something about her drew curiosity rather than desire, the kind of fascination that demanded respect, not conquest.
The bus wound its way through the outskirts of Abaji and then onto the Keffi Road, the landscape shifting from rolling green hills to the low, organized chaos of the Federal Capital Territory. Dust swirled around motorbikes and danfo buses, vendors selling roasted corn and bottled water along the roadside. Abuja was different from anything she had imagined: cleaner than the cities she had known, yet bustling, alive, and unpredictable.
As they neared Garki Market, Amara’s thoughts flitted between excitement and apprehension. The city held promise, but it was also a place where appearances often masked reality. She would need focus, discernment, and caution. She reminded herself to trust actions, not words.
The bus slowed near Jabi Lake Mall, where the morning sun reflected off the glass windows, throwing golden patterns across the road. Amara adjusted her bag, readying herself to step into the city that had called her for so long. “Chai… this place no be small,” she murmured, letting a tiny smile curve her lips. The city was intimidating, yes, but alive, full of opportunity, risk, and stories waiting to be told.
As she stepped down onto the bustling road, Tobechi’s eyes followed her from across the street. He noted the way she moved, cautious but confident, aware yet unafraid. Their encounter had been brief, almost mundane, but he sensed that fate had a strange way of weaving people together. This meeting was far from over; he could feel it in the air, as palpable as the heat rising from the asphalt.
Amara disappeared into the crowd near Jabi Lake Road, unaware that her life in Abuja, filled with ambition, challenges, hidden dangers, and unexpected alliances, had just begun. Tobechi, standing a few meters away, watched silently, a faint smile lingering on his lips. Something told him that the paths of these two strangers were about to become inseparable.
Amara stepped off the bus at Wuse Market, the hum of Abuja greeting her like an old, boisterous friend. Street vendors called out over the clamour, selling roasted corn, bottled water, and plastic-wrapped snacks. Cars honked impatiently at motorcycles weaving between them. She adjusted the strap of her travel bag and pulled a small map from her purse, checking the route to her new apartment. It was modest, but she had chosen it carefully, within walking distance to the main roads, affordable, and located in a building that felt safe.
The walk to the building gave her time to observe the neighbourhood. Children ran barefoot down the dusty side streets, women carried baskets of vegetables on their heads, and young men on motorcycles zipped past, shouting greetings. Despite the chaos, she felt a spark of excitement, this was a city alive with possibilities. She took a deep breath, steadying herself against the wave of nerves. “Alright, Amara,” she muttered quietly, “this is your new beginning.”
The apartment building was small but well-kept, painted in pale cream with a dark brown trim. She climbed the stairs to the second floor, her suitcase bumping softly against each step. The door to her unit creaked slightly as she opened it, revealing a modest flat with two other bedrooms. A cosy living area, small kitchen, and bathroom completed the space. Her room was neat, empty, and ready, a blank canvas, much like her new life.
Almost immediately, she heard footsteps behind her. A cheerful voice called out, “Hi! You must be Amara, right?”
Turning, she saw a young woman with a warm smile, holding a tote bag filled with groceries. She had soft brown skin, bright eyes, and an easy, friendly air about her. “I’m Harwa,” the woman said. “I live here too. Come on in, let me help you with your things.”
Amara hesitated only for a moment before letting her in. Harwa’s energy was infectious, and it reminded Amara that not everyone she would meet in this city would be competitive or cold. As they moved her bags into her room, Harwa asked about her work, her family, and what brought her to Abuja. Amara answered carefully, giving just enough information to be polite without revealing too much. She felt a strange comfort in Harwa’s genuine warmth, a stark contrast to the guardedness she had cultivated since her breakup.
While they arranged the bags, another voice called from the living area, quieter and slightly measured: “Hello, I’m Milicent. Welcome.”
Amara turned to see a woman in business attire, standing near the doorway. She had sharp features, a controlled expression, and eyes that seemed to assess everything at once. Milicent moved with precision, as if every gesture had been carefully rehearsed. There was politeness in her tone, but Amara sensed an underlying calculation, a subtle weight behind her welcome that suggested she measured people before allowing them fully into her life.
“Yes, thank you,” Amara replied, offering a small smile. There was something about Milicent that made her slightly uneasy, though she couldn’t quite pinpoint why. Perhaps it was the sharpness in her gaze, or the way she observed without offering warmth.
As Harwa continued unpacking, Milicent walked over to the living area and pulled out a laptop. She tapped away briefly, then glanced back at Amara with a hint of curiosity that bordered on scrutiny. Amara’s instincts, honed by years of cautious independence, whispered to stay alert. There was more here than met the eye, and she had learned not to ignore such impressions.
Harwa, oblivious to the tension, clapped her hands lightly. “Okay, let’s show you around the neighbourhood later. There’s a little café down the street, and the supermarket isn’t far. You’ll get the feel of the city soon enough.”
Amara nodded, grateful for Harwa’s enthusiasm. But even as she smiled, her mind drifted to the challenges ahead, settling into a new city, establishing herself professionally, and navigating relationships carefully. She couldn’t afford distractions. Not now.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed Milicent watching silently. There was something in that quiet observation that suggested this apartment wasn’t just a home, it was also a stage for subtle rivalries, power plays, and unspoken hierarchies.
Amara shook off the thought. She needed to focus on herself, on her work, and on proving that she could succeed in this city on her own terms. For now, she would let Harwa’s cheerful chatter anchor her to the present.
After unpacking the last of her belongings, Amara followed Harwa to the small living area. The apartment smelled faintly of cleaning supplies mixed with the lingering aroma of someone’s breakfast, bread, akara and tea, evidence that the other roommates were already active in the day. Harwa pointed toward the kitchen. “If you need anything, feel free to use it. I usually make tea in the mornings, and there’s coffee too.”
“Thanks,” Amara replied, her voice polite. She noticed how Harwa moved with ease, opening cabinets and arranging things like she had done this a hundred times. There was a natural warmth about her, easy to like, easy to trust, which was something Amara didn’t often encounter.
Milicent, still perched near the living room window with her laptop, offered a small nod. “I’ve already paid for the utilities this month, so no need to worry about anything for now. Just contribute when you can.” Her voice was precise, professional, and almost too careful. Amara caught the slight edge beneath the words, a subtle reminder that even in this shared space, boundaries and control were important to Milicent.
Harwa chattered on, explaining local spots: the small café on Ahmadu Bello Way, the supermarket just past Wuse Market, and a pharmacy tucked into a side street. She was talkative, curious, and seemed genuinely interested in helping Amara settle in.
As they talked, Milicent remained quiet, her attention split between her laptop and the two women. Occasionally, her eyes flicked toward Amara with an unreadable expression, as if she were evaluating every gesture, every reaction. It was harmless now, Amara told herself, but instinct whispered caution.
Later, as the sun began to dip behind the high-rise buildings of Wuse, Harwa suggested a walk to the nearby café. Amara agreed, wanting a sense of the neighbourhood and a brief escape from the silence of her room.
Outside, the streets hummed with activity. Cars slowed to dodge street hawkers, and motorcyclists darted in and out of traffic. The air smelled of exhaust mixed with grilled meat from a nearby roadside stand. Harwa led the way, chatting about the city and sharing little anecdotes from her work at the Montessori crèche.
“You’ll love it here,” Harwa said. “People are busy, but there’s a rhythm to the chaos. You just have to learn it.”
Amara smiled faintly. She appreciated the encouragement but also kept her guard. This city was exciting, yes, but she had learned that excitement often came with hidden complications. She had seen it before, people with charming smiles hiding motives, or friendly gestures masking envy.
As they returned to the apartment, Harwa mentioned something almost in passing. “Milicent told me some of the neighbours keep to themselves. You might notice some people watch the comings and goings around here. Don’t worry — it’s nothing personal. People are just… cautious.”
Amara made a mental note. The words lingered longer than expected. It was a subtle reminder that living in a new city meant watching, learning, and staying aware — even among those who seemed friendly.
Back in the apartment, they found Milicent quietly observing them from her laptop chair. “Dinner is in the fridge,” she said finally. “Help yourself whenever you like.” The words were innocuous, but Amara couldn’t shake the sense that Milicent enjoyed a certain control, small but deliberate, in this apartment.
That evening, after Harwa had retreated to her own room, Amara sat on the edge of her bed, reflecting. This was her first night in Abuja, a city teeming with opportunity, tension, and possibilities. Her portfolio rested on the desk, neatly stacked, a tangible reminder of why she was here. She thought about the people she had met so far: Harwa, open and friendly; Milicent, polite but watchful; and, of course, Tobechi, whom she had encountered briefly on the bus.
Her thoughts drifted to the challenges ahead. Moving to a new city meant building herself back up from scratch. It meant navigating office politics, roommates, friendships, and strangers who might not always be what they seemed. And yet, she felt a thrill, the first spark of excitement since her heartbreak had left her wary.
A faint knock at her door startled her. It was Milicent, holding a small envelope. “Welcome again,” she said, placing it on Amara’s desk. “Thought you might like this, just a few details about the building and the neighbourhood. Useful contacts, emergency numbers, things like that.”
Amara accepted it with a polite smile, feeling a strange tension in the exchange, friendly enough to avoid suspicion, formal enough to suggest boundaries.
As she settled into bed later that night, she felt the city’s energy pressing in from the window. Lights flickered across the Wuse skyline, reflecting off tall buildings and the distant glow of Jabi Lake. Excitement mingled with unease. Tomorrow, she would begin her real work, navigating both her career and the delicate social terrain of her new home.
She closed her eyes, letting the sounds of the city lull her into tentative sleep. Somewhere in the apartment, Milicent’s laptop hummed quietly, a reminder that while friendships and alliances could form, shadows often lingered where least expected.
The next morning, Amara woke to the soft hum of the city outside her window. Street vendors were already calling out their wares, motorbikes zipped past, and the distant honk of a bus reminded her that Abuja never truly slept. She dressed quickly, preparing for her first day exploring the city and familiarizing herself with her work plans.
In the kitchen, she found Harwa brewing tea. “Good morning,” Harwa greeted, smiling. “I made extra, in case you want some. There’s also bread and eggs.” Her warmth felt effortless, and Amara accepted a cup gratefully.
Milicent appeared shortly after, sipping her coffee with a quiet, deliberate calm. “I’ve printed a few contacts for you,” she said, placing a neatly stacked folder on the counter. “Local suppliers, nearby shops, even a few freelance opportunities. It should help as you settle in.” Her tone was neutral, polite, but Amara noticed the flicker in her eyes, a hint of evaluation, almost as if she were testing how Amara would react to guidance.
As Amara sorted through the papers, Harwa leaned over and whispered, “Milicent can be… particular sometimes. But she knows her way around. Just don’t take everything personally.” Amara nodded, appreciating the advice, though it didn’t erase the subtle feeling that Milicent measured everything, every move, every reaction.
