Story Story

Embracing Stories || Real life stories that touches the left kidney 😂 || "Hide my Identity"

[Story Story @Onedaytales]

The Handover (Episode 1)

I heard him before I saw him.

That laugh low, unhurried, the kind that made people around him relax without knowing why — carried down the corridor of the fourteenth floor before he did. I was standing by the printer with a stack of client files I no longer needed to be holding, because I already knew whose voice it was. Eight years hadn't changed it. Eight years, and my body still reacted before my mind caught up, some old alarm going off in my chest like it had never been switched off, only muted.

Chidi Okonkwo. In my office. Wearing a suit that fit too well, shaking Mr. Adeyemi's hand like he'd never once been the reason my sister cried into my shoulder for three months straight.

"Yewande." He said my name the way he used to — like it cost him something to keep it casual.

"Chidi." I matched him. I am, if nothing else, excellent at matching people.

Mr. Adeyemi, oblivious as ever to the eight years of history standing in his boardroom, clapped Chidi on the back. "You two know each other, good, good — saves us the awkward introductions. Yewande will bring you up to speed on the portfolio before she goes on leave. Full handover by Friday."

Full handover. As if my father's illness could be folded into a Friday deadline. As if the last time this man and I had spoken, it hadn't ended with my sister's engagement ring on the kitchen table and nobody — nobody — asking me why I looked the way I looked that night.

"Of course," I said. "My office. Give me ten minutes."

I did not need ten minutes. I needed all of them, and none of them would be enough.

[Story Story @Onedaytales]

“Chidi…”

“I’m not trying to complicate your life, Yewande. God knows you have enough right now with your father. But I can’t pretend this handover is just business. Not when I sit in your chair every day smelling your perfume. Not when I see the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching.”

My throat tightened. The car felt too small, the night too heavy.

“I ruined things once,” I whispered before I could stop myself. “I don’t want to ruin them again.”

Silence stretched between us, filled only with the sound of two people breathing in different parts of Lagos.

“Then don’t run this time,” he said finally. “Whatever happened eight years ago… we face it. Together. Or we stay professional and pretend. Your choice.”

I pulled over on the side of the road, heart hammering so hard I could hear it in my ears. The city lights blurred through the windshield.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said, voice barely steady. “8 a.m. My office.”

I hung up before he could reply.

But as I sat there in the dark car, fingers still wrapped around the phone, I knew the truth.

The handover had already become something else entirely.

And I was no longer sure I wanted to stop it.

[Story Story @Onedaytales]

The Handover (Episode 5)

Sunday evening found me at my parents’ house in Ikoyi, the one place I had been avoiding all week.

Mummy had insisted on “family dinner” — code for come and let us worry about you in person. The compound smelled of jollof rice and fried plantain, the familiar scents wrapping around me like a too-tight hug as I stepped through the gate. Dad was resting upstairs, but the house still carried his presence: the old newspapers stacked neatly, the faint trace of his favourite cologne.

Ada was already there.

She looked beautiful in a simple Ankara wrapper and blouse, her hair in fresh twists. When she saw me, her face lit up with that open, trusting smile that always made guilt twist like a knife in my ribs.

“Sister Wande!” She pulled me into a hug that smelled like shea butter and home. “You’ve lost weight. Work is stressing you again, abi?”

I forced a laugh and hugged her back, harder than I meant to. “Just the usual madness. How’s the new job at the foundation?”

[Story Story @Onedaytales]

He squeezed my fingers. “Life usually is. Especially when old things refuse to stay buried.”

I looked up sharply. Did he know? Had he always known?

But he only smiled faintly and changed the subject to the stock market. I stayed with him until Mummy called us for dinner, my chest tight with everything I still couldn’t say.

Later that night, after I had dropped Ada at her place and was driving home through quiet streets, my phone rang. Unknown number. I answered on autopilot.

“Hello?”

“Still driving this late?” Chidi’s voice. Low. Familiar in a way that made my grip tighten on the wheel.

“How did you get my number?”

“Company directory. Old habits.” A pause. I could hear traffic in his background too. “I’ve been thinking about you since Friday. About us. About what we never finished saying.”

[Story Story @Onedaytales]

Ada was quiet for a moment. Then she smiled, small and a little sad. “The world is small, sha. I haven’t seen him since… well, you know. I hope he’s doing well.”

Mummy made a sound of disapproval. “That boy nearly brought shame to this family. Good thing you talked sense into your sister back then, Yewande.”

I nearly dropped the jug of water.

The memory hit me hard: that night eight years ago, sitting on Ada’s bed while she cried into my lap. Me whispering all the reasons Chidi wasn’t right for her — half-truths about his ambition, his “restlessness,” the way he looked at other women (a lie I had manufactured out of desperation). All because two nights earlier, in the dim light of his apartment, I had let him see too much of what I felt. And then panicked.

I excused myself to check on Dad.

He was propped up in bed, looking frailer than the last time I saw him. The cancer had taken pieces of him I wasn’t ready to lose. When he saw me, his eyes crinkled with tired affection.

“My strong girl. How is work? They brought in that Okoye boy, abi?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

He studied my face the way only fathers can. “You don’t look happy about it.”

I sat on the edge of the bed, taking his hand. It felt thinner than it should. “It’s complicated.”

[Story Story @Onedaytales]

We chatted about safe things — her NGO work, the traffic, Mummy’s latest church drama — while helping set the table. But every time Ada laughed, every time she called me “Sister” with that effortless affection, I felt Chidi’s question from Friday echoing in my head: Why did you really push me away from her?

Mummy came in carrying a tray of drinks, her eyes sharp as ever. “Yewande, your father has been asking for you. He wants to know how the handover is going with that Chidi boy.”

My stomach dropped. “It’s… going. He’s competent.”

Ada tilted her head. “Chidi? As in our Chidi? He’s back in Lagos?”

The way she said “our” made something ugly twist inside me. Not jealousy exactly — something heavier. Regret mixed with a longing I had no right to feel.

“Yes,” I said carefully, arranging glasses that didn’t need arranging. “Consulting for a few weeks while I take time off for Daddy.”

Ada was quiet for a moment. Then she smiled, small and a little sad. “The world is small, sha. I haven’t seen him since… well, you know. I hope he’s doing well.”

Mummy made a sound of disapproval. “That boy nearly brought shame to this family. Good thing you talked sense into your sister back then, Yewande.”

I nearly dropped the jug of water.

The memory hit me hard: that night eight years ago, sitting on Ada’s bed while she cried into my lap. Me whispering all the reasons Chidi wasn’t right for her — half-truths about his ambition, his “restlessness,” the way he looked at other women (a lie I had manufactured out of desperation). All because two nights earlier, in the dim light of his apartment, I had let him see too much of what I felt. And then panicked.

I excused myself to check on Dad.

He was propped up in bed, looking frailer than the last time I saw him. The cancer had taken pieces of him I wasn’t ready to lose. When he saw me, his eyes crinkled with tired affection.

“My strong girl. How is work? They brought in that Okoye boy, abi?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

He studied my face the way only fathers can. “You don’t look happy about it.”

I sat on the edge of the bed, taking his hand. It felt thinner than it should. “It’s complicated.”

He squeezed my fingers. “Life usually is. Especially when old things refuse to stay buried.”

I looked up sharply. Did he know? Had he always known?

But he only smiled faintly and changed the subject to the stock market. I stayed with him until Mummy called us for dinner, my chest tight with everything I still couldn’t say.

Later that night, after I had dropped Ada at her place and was driving home through quiet streets, my phone rang. Unknown number. I answered on autopilot.

“Hello?”

“Still driving this late?” Chidi’s voice. Low. Familiar in a way that made my grip tighten on the wheel.

“How did you get my number?”

“Company directory. Old habits.” A pause. I could hear traffic in his background too. “I’ve been thinking about you since Friday. About us. About what we never finished saying.”

“Chidi…”

“I’m not trying to complicate your life, Yewande. God knows you have enough right now with your father. But I can’t pretend this handover is just business. Not when I sit in your chair every day smelling your perfume. Not when I see the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching.”

My throat tightened. The car felt too small, the night too heavy.

“I ruined things once,” I whispered before I could stop myself. “I don’t want to ruin them again.”

Silence stretched between us, filled only with the sound of two people breathing in different parts of Lagos.

“Then don’t run this time,” he said finally. “Whatever happened eight years ago… we face it. Together. Or we stay professional and pretend. Your choice.”

I pulled over on the side of the road, heart hammering so hard I could hear it in my ears. The city lights blurred through the windshield.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said, voice barely steady. “8 a.m. My office.”

I hung up before he could reply.

But as I sat there in the dark car, fingers still wrapped around the phone, I knew the truth.

The handover had already become something else entirely.

And I was no longer sure I wanted to stop it.

[Story Story @Onedaytales]

Beneath the lust.

“Good,” he said softly.

“Because when I’m done…”

His hand slid up her thigh.

Lingering.

Pressing.

“You will beg me to stop.”

Ada’s breath hitched.

A mix of dread and unwanted heat.

She tried to stand.

But he held her there.

Seconds stretching into eternity.

The doorbell rang suddenly.

Sharp.

Intrusive.

Emeka’s voice from outside.

“Chairman! You dey house?”

Chinedu smiled.

A dark, satisfied smile.

“Perfect timing.”

He released Ada.

Letting her stumble back.

Her chest rising and falling fast.

“Go open the door for your boyfriend,” he said coldly.

“Act normal.”

Ada’s hands shook as she adjusted her wrapper.

She walked to the door.

Chinedu remained seated.

Watching.

[Story Story @Onedaytales]

The Revenge (Part 3)

The next morning arrived heavy with silence.

Chinedu sat at the breakfast table.

Sipping black coffee.

His eyes never left Ada.

She moved around the kitchen.

Wrapper tied low on her hips.

Every step deliberate.

Every bend calculated.

She knew he was watching.

And she was playing the game back.

“Darling, you look stressed,” she purred.

Her voice like warm honey.

She leaned over him.

Her breasts brushing his shoulder.

Deliberately.

[Story Story @Onedaytales]

Then smiled.

Kissing him deeper.

Her tongue teasing.

Trying to pull him under.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, baby.”

Lies dripping like sugar.

Chinedu pulled back.

Just enough to look into her eyes.

He saw the fear swimming there.

The real performance was about to begin.

Emeka stepped in.

Laughing.

Slapping Chinedu’s back like old times.

But his eyes darted.

Nervous.

Something was off.

And Chinedu could smell it.

The fear.

The guilt.

The coming storm.

Your move.

[Story Story @Onedaytales]

Chinedu’s grip tightened on the cup.

He could smell her.

That familiar scent now poisoned.

“I had a long night,” he replied calmly.

Thinking of the new cameras he installed.

Hidden.

Recording everything.

Ada slid onto his lap.

Straddling him slowly.

Her hands on his chest.

“You need to relax, my king.”

She rocked gently.

A slow, tempting rhythm.

Her lips grazed his neck.

Chinedu let her.

For now.

His hands rested on her waist.

Fingers digging in just enough.

To remind her of control.

“You think this will fix it?” he whispered.

His breath hot against her ear.

Ada froze for a split second.

Then smiled.

Kissing him deeper.

Her tongue teasing.

Trying to pull him under.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, baby.”

Lies dripping like sugar.

Chinedu pulled back.

Just enough to look into her eyes.

He saw the fear swimming there.

Beneath the lust.

“Good,” he said softly.

“Because when I’m done…”

His hand slid up her thigh.

Lingering.

Pressing.

“You will beg me to stop.”

Ada’s breath hitched.

A mix of dread and unwanted heat.

She tried to stand.

But he held her there.

Seconds stretching into eternity.

The doorbell rang suddenly.

Sharp.

Intrusive.

Emeka’s voice from outside.

“Chairman! You dey house?”

Chinedu smiled.

A dark, satisfied smile.

“Perfect timing.”

He released Ada.

Letting her stumble back.

Her chest rising and falling fast.

“Go open the door for your boyfriend,” he said coldly.

“Act normal.”

Ada’s hands shook as she adjusted her wrapper.

She walked to the door.

Chinedu remained seated.

Watching.

The real performance was about to begin.

Emeka stepped in.

Laughing.

Slapping Chinedu’s back like old times.

But his eyes darted.

Nervous.

Something was off.

And Chinedu could smell it.

The fear.

The guilt.

The coming storm.

Your move.

[Story Story @Onedaytales]

@instablog9ja Sometimes, few hours, days, weeks , months, years or never.

[Story Story @Onedaytales]

@AffluentMist 1. Brushing before bed helps

2. When you're really in the mood, you won't mind

3. Your partner's preference may also play out. They may also mot give a sh*t and make it easy for you, or, they may also maintain good oral hygiene that makes you worry less about brushing.

[Story Story @Onedaytales]

@KelOnovo Facts

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@yabaleftonline Goat said "who's the goat now?" 🤣🤣🤣

[Story Story @Onedaytales]

@jon_d_doe Full stop.

[Story Story @Onedaytales]

@yabaleftonline Bro is inhaling water

[Story Story @Onedaytales]

@Ayomide__koya If it works, why not?

[Story Story @Onedaytales]

@yabaleftonline King of the dead?

[Story Story @Onedaytales]

@DanielRegha True... true

[Story Story @Onedaytales]

@Hybrid_Ola Abeg shift

[Story Story @Onedaytales]

Well, who would have thought?

[OurFaveOnlineDoc 🇬🇧 🇳🇬 @OurFavOnlineDoc]

“I grew up thinking ambulances are for dead bodies. I never knew it was for emergencies till I traveled out.”
-Nigerian man who now lives in Europe.