Novels by arientamodupe

Security breach! I repeat, Whitehouse compromised!”“Secure the President!”“Find the first family, now!”Eric knew there and then that the bloody Vigilante had attacked. Bastards weren't patient enough to let him deliver the gold to them as agreed.Now, Security Service agents in black suits raced down marble corridors, shouting into radios as the presidential compound, once a fortress, was now a nest of chaos.Eric ran. “GET IN!”A voice called out from the shadow of a revving van, and without thinking, Eric lunged inside, slamming the door shut as the truck screeched off like it was late for a delivery.Behind the wheel was Quentin Tate. Face lit with fury and cigarettes. A baseball cap pulled low over her wild hair.The main gate to the Whitehouse began closing, but they were out before the steel gate clapped shut with a CLANG, and theysped off into the night.Eric finally spoke. “Why did you save me?”“Didn’t do it for you.”“Then why?”“Because I want you to die by my hands.” A

Eric’s breathing was shallow, nearly silent. The steel lock glared at him, reinforced and encoded with dual biometric encryption. One wrong move, just one, and the internal alarm automatically alerts the Presidential Security Unit. He rolled back his sleeves, sweat lining his brow. He had already made two failed attempts and was now left with one last chance.His first attempt was rushed. The second is overly cautious. He had thirty seconds to analyse the tumblers. Else…He inserted the pick, closed his eyes, and listened.Click… pause… click… louder click.He adjusted the angle, holding his breath.Tiny mechanisms groaned inside the chamber as if protesting his intrusion. The sweat slid down his spine. Any louder, and they would echo through the hallway.He checked the timer on his watch.19 seconds left.“Come on,” he whispered. “Talk to me…”Click.Then silence, nothing moved.The red light blinked, and with one final push, he shifted the pick gently upward. And click, there was a

Faraday roared again“Why is the chandelier in the First Lady’s chambers still half‑hanging, and you are still alive? You call yourself competent? Fix it now!” Eric turned to everyone in the room, who were now breathing hard from their laughter, picked up his tools and hurried down the hallway toward the First Lady’s wing. He knocked, then swung the door gently. Inside, at the centre, stood Carter Brooks, muscular, dangerous, and a face set as if he had escaped purgatory. Eric froze as the hulk of a man turned.“You again? Why do you show up every damn time I wannahave a good time?” Eric swallowed. “Sir, I was told to replace the chandelier; there was a complaint from Faraday.” “Unless you're here for any other motive, I see nothing wrong with this Chandelier.” Carter looked at the Chandelier while eyeing Eric.Hillary emerged from her bathroom smelling like holiness and hygiene. Her robe was half-open and her hair dishevelled in deliberate art. She folded her arms. “Carter,

The gala had ended, and now everyone had moved to the gallery section of the Whitehouse. Lady Fredith leaned dramatically on her cane like it was her staff of office. “I never trusted that woman,” she said, loud enough for every aide and eavesdropper to hear. “That Hillary. The one my dear nephew married.”Eric Pason was quietly dusting a bookshelf, pretending not to listen, but his ears were wide open. The glint in Lady Fredith’s eyes meant trouble.President Tate chuckled awkwardly, adjusting his tie. “Aunt Fredith, Hillary’s been by my wife for years. She’s been nothing but supportive.”“Supportive?” Lady Fredith raised her brow like she was about to sneeze judgment. “Please, Richard. That woman couldn’t support a flower pot without letting it rot.”Raynor cleared his throat. “With all due respect, ma’am, the First Lady has proven her loyalty to the presidency, especially during international tours. She has presence.”“She has presence, yes,” Lady Fredith fired back, “just like sm

The Whitehouse gala had begun.And now Mr Faraday, like a captain commanding a sinking ship, barked orders across to the staff.“Eric! For God’s sake, you useless twig of a man! Stop standing there like a monument, make yourself useful!”Eric turned, balancing the silver tray of champagne and ice as he carved his way through dancers.“Try not to trip over your own dignity this time,” he sneered, drawing chuckles from two junior staffers behind him. “If you had any.”Eric didn’t flinch; he simply walked past and made his way to the VIP section, where President Tate sat, perfectly postured in a black tuxedo, holding First Lady Hillary’s hand like they were high school sweethearts instead of two sneaky secrets-keeping couples.Clara Raynor was laughing intensely at DSS Malcolm's unfunny jokes, her hand securely wrapped around his. Oh, love, Eric hissed.Felicia Haywale gestured with her hands, to Raynor's amusement, while Hillary watched in disgust.Eric approached with his tray and bow

5“Oh, didn’t expect to run into the Whitehouse stripper so early. I thought your kind vanished with the last scandal.”Hillary threw the first jab. Eric watched in amusement.Felicia smiled; her lipstick was perfect. “Well, you know me. Scandals keep me young.”“I suppose the cleaners forgot to disinfect the presidential quarters,” Hillary said coldly, eyes scanning Felicia’s neckline. “You must’ve sneaked out of his bed… As usual.”“At least someone’s keeping him warm. You’ve been rather… preoccupied, aren't you?” Felicia smirked.Hillary smiled wickedly. “Much better than being a hoe to someone who gives zero fucks about you.”Felicia laughed. “I would rather be worried about being neglected by my very own husband.”“At least I am married, not a bed warmer being called upon when I'm aroused.”Felicia scoffed. “Ohh… What do you call this? Marriage? I'd rather die single…”“And a Hoe”, Hillary spat.“My dear Hillary, you have just two options: either you share him or you get a divorc

He blinked twice; he was alive for now.Staring into his face was Sarah, and a smile of relief escaped her lips. It was apparent she had sat there for ages awaiting his resurrection.Nathan took a rough glance at his room, which looked like a tornado had passed through, from shattered glasses to tumbled cupboards to torn cushion fabric.“Sarah... What happened here?” His voice was surprisingly calm.“She was here… Clara, and she was furious.” Sarah calmly explained. “She broke most of your things, burned some, and threw some away.”Clara’s temper was like a time bomb, but this destruction was something else entirely. “She’s mad at you, about everything. Said things I won’t repeat.” Sarah said.Nathan swallowed hard, then a cold realisation struck him. “The cupboard... the flash drive.” He reached for the overturned cupboard and was shocked when, in place of the flash drive, there was nothing.Gone. The flash drive was gone.That flash drive was more than just data; it was the key to

Nathan awoke with a gasp in a strange, fog-drenched afterlife cityscape that was neither ancient nor modern.The sky was a dull grey with no visible sun, and the place had a ghostly urban pulse.Nathan stood dazed in the middle of the street, instinctively checking his chest. No heartbeat. No breath. Yet he was standing, thinking, moving. Alive… in some other way.“New arrival?”That was the voice of a man cleaning his booth, a faded hat sat crookedly on his brown hair.Nathan nodded slowly. “I think so…”The man approached and extended a hand. “Name’s Donald Shaw. You’re in May cross, afterlife. Not heaven, not hell. Just… between.”Nathan shook his hand, trying to ground himself. “This is real?... I mean, am I dead?”“As real as anything else. Everyone here is dead…was dead.” Donald said, glancing at the leather pouch swinging gently from Nathan’s side. “You’ll want to check that.”Nathan looked down, and for the first time, he saw the pouch and reached for it.Inside, dozens of si

gently.He came out to welcome her. She looked different from the day of the fire incident: calmer, brighter and super adorable. Her cotton dress hung on her body like a leech, and her beauty was goddess-like. Zeus must be eyeing her from Mount Olympus.“Nathan Woods?” she asked gently when she saw him. Her ivory white dentition was everything.“Sarah Wilkins!” He returned the smile with fascination in his eyes.“I wasn’t sure I’d come,” she said. “But I owed you a thank you. And… well, my sister insisted. She said anyone who’d risk their life for her son deserved more than just a handshake on the sidewalk.”Nathan gave a rare smile. “How is the young man doing?”“Better,” she said. “He won’t stop talking about his ‘fireman.’ Even though you’re not a fireman.”“I’ll take the compliment.”She laughed hard and long. Nathan joined her, and hand in hand, he took her to the estate garden where they sat for a while. Their conversation revolved from London, to her nephew, to nightlife, to di

That afternoon, a different plan occupied Nathan's mind after agreeingto meet Jessica as Jacob Dome.But he couldn’t risk exposing himself directly. He needed a stand-in, someone who could convincingly play Jacob’s part without raising suspicion or doubts.So he got to work. He quickly posted a job ad under one of his corporate aliases:Well-paid one-time role. Must dress, speak, and carry yourself like a shy, wealthy investor by the name of Jacob Dome. Confidence in silence is preferred. Location: London Square. High discretion required. Appearance: Polished. Communication: Minimal but elegant. Applicants must send a voice note. Payment in two parts.Within minutes, responses poured in like streams of joy.Nathan sat at his desk, listening to voice notes. Some were ridiculous, arrogant, overly slick and cocky, while others lacked presence and capacity.But then, one of the voice notes caught his attention: His voice was enigmatic and smooth like a business con-man; he sounded u

like the tongue of Hades.Inside, visibility was almost zero. He crouched low, crawling along the floor, listening, straining. Then he heard it: soft sobs, followed by a weak cough.A faint whimper guided him to a room where the boy was huddled in the corner of the smoke-filled room, tears streaming down his soot-covered face.He was maybe six or seven. His tiny body trembled. Nathan scooped him up and wrapped his jacket around the child’s head. “Hold on to me.”But turning back was another challenge; the flames had blocked the door.He raced towards the window, the boy's hand in his, and with a determined grunt, he lifted the boy through, then jumped after him, just in time to escape the roof crashing down on them.Outside, he laid the boy on a nearby patch of grass. The child had a little bruise on the knee and was coughing violently.“Clear!” a paramedic shouted, moving in with oxygen.Nathan stood up, heart thumping hard against his chest. His hands were blistered, and his shirt w

from desperate rivals, but this one was different. It was personal and precise. At the lounge, Nathan overheard Maurice dishing orders to their Lt. Bruce Owen, their Chief head of security.“Double the security. Every gate, every entrance, every window, and every walkway.” Graymon ordered, his voice cold and unyielding. “I want security surveillance cameras at every blind spot in the estate. You should be armed, alert, and ready, and no one gets in without my say.”Bruce Owen gave a curt nod. “Understood.”“Make sure the staff know their roles. Anyone acting suspiciously gets dealt with immediately. And Nathan?” Maurice lowered his voice. “I don't completely trust him. But he'll stay close; every meal that comes in must be tasted by him alone.”From where he pretended to be arranging a flower vase, Nathan smiled. They were using him as a tool to test for poison.Lt. Bruce Owen, who had already calculated the logistics in his head, began immediately with his team, adding additional ca