Poor Guard Saved Woman From Death Unaware She is His Rich Boss

Tunday noticed her expression.

“Everything okay?” he asked gently.

Part of her wanted to lie and sort it out alone, but the deeper, more exhausted part of her just wanted help.

“My phone’s dead,” she admitted. “I can’t call a ride and I don’t have any cash.”

Tunday did not hesitate.

“You can stay here until the rain stops, or…” He rubbed the back of his neck, seeming awkward. “My place is just a few blocks away. It’s not much, but it’s warm and dry.”

Ifyoma stared.

Nothing pushy. Nothing shady. Just kindness.

Her instincts told her not to trust a stranger, but looking into his eyes, she saw safety instead.

“I would appreciate that,” she whispered.

He smiled, picked up their cups, and carried them to a bin. Then he grabbed his jacket and held the door.

“Come on.”

They hurried through wet streets full of puddles and closed shops. Tunday stayed close, offering an arm when a careless cyclist splashed water in their direction.

At last, they reached a small brick building with cracked steps. Up two flights of creaky stairs, he unlocked a plain wooden door.

“Welcome to the palace,” he joked with a grin.

Inside, it was small. A mattress on the floor, a battered table, two mismatched chairs, and a gas stove in one corner. Thin curtains. Bare walls. But clean.

Tunday threw his wet jacket over a chair and offered her a towel.

“Here,” he said kindly.

She dried her hair while he rummaged through a cupboard.

“I have some leftover jollof rice from last night,” he said a little shyly. “It’s not fancy, but it’s warm.”

Ifyoma’s smile was real and grateful.