The man I slept with died two months ago.

But somehow, we booked a lodge and spent the night together just yesterday.

I’m a hooker—or a runs girl as people call it here.

This wasn’t the life I dreamed of for myself.

It was survival.

Poverty pushed me into it.

I still remember back in my first year, second semester.

My dad would send me only ₦25,000–₦30,000 to survive for an entire month.

In this harsh economy, that wasn’t even enough for food, let alone other needs.

I was always hungry, always cold.

Sometimes I skipped classes just to work odd jobs, hoping to make ends meet.

But nothing was enough.

Then came Amaka, my roommate.

She always had extra—new clothes, gadgets, money to spare.

We started out on the same level financially, but by the second semester, she was already flaunting the latest iPhone while I was still struggling.

I envied her, but I also admired her.

She seemed to have figured out the secret to making money fast, and I wanted in.

One day, I asked her to show me how she made her money.

That was how she introduced me to the life of runs.

Before I knew it, I was following her to clubs and small parties, meeting men with deep pockets.

At first, it felt wrong, but the money was too good to refuse.

I could finally buy new clothes, eat decent meals, and even save a little.

That feeling of financial freedom was intoxicating.

At first, the money was just enough for hair, clothes, and little savings.

I kept telling myself I would quit someday.

Until one afternoon, everything changed.

I was walking to class when a sleek black car pulled up beside me.

“Hey, pretty,” a deep voice called from inside.

I turned to see a well-dressed man smiling at me.

“Good day, sir.

How may I help you?” I asked cautiously.

“I saw you at the club last night,” he said.

“I like your vibe.

Maybe we can get to know each other.”

I froze, unsure what to say.

Then he handed me his contact card before speeding off.

That card felt heavy in my hand.

His name was Chinedu.

He was unlike the usual men I met.

He was confident, polished, and spoke with a calm authority.

Over the next few days, we chatted endlessly.

He told me about his business ventures, his travels, and his plans for the future.

He seemed genuine, and I started to believe that maybe, just maybe, he could be different.

Soon after, we began chatting.

He seemed charming, generous, and extremely wealthy.

He even bragged that he was popular on campus because he had funded the construction of several buildings in the school.

I knew I had found a big maga.

And unlike with other men, I decided to keep him a secret—even from Amaka.

I thought I was protecting myself.

But really, I was walking into the biggest mistake of my life.

That evening, we met at a hotel.

From the moment I stepped in, something about him felt… off.

He didn’t say a word.

His face was expressionless, almost lifeless, as if he wasn’t the same man I had been chatting with online.

The air felt heavy, the room too quiet.

My chest tightened, but I forced myself to stay calm.

Money first, fear later, I told myself.

Then he made his request.

Not the usual thing men wanted.

It was strange, unsettling—something I had never experienced before.

He didn’t want to sleep with me.

Instead, he asked for something strange—he only wanted to suck my breasts.

It was weird, but when he finished, he handed me a huge amount of money and left.

I sat there, bewildered and confused.

Why had he done that? What did it mean? But the cash in my hand was undeniable.

I told myself to forget it, to move on.

But the feeling of unease lingered.

The next morning, as I walked back to my hostel, my heart stopped.

Right there on a signboard was a burial poster.

It was his face.

The same man I had just left in the hotel room.

Cold fear gripped me.

My stomach twisted, my body trembling.

I tried to tell myself it was a mistake.

Maybe the poster was old, or maybe it was someone else who looked like him.

But deep down, I knew the truth.

I thought that was the end of it.

But it was only the beginning of my nightmare.

In the days that followed, strange things started happening.

My phone rang at odd hours.

I received messages from unknown numbers.

Shadows seemed to follow me wherever I went.

I couldn’t sleep.

I couldn’t eat.

I confided in Amaka, who was shocked but urged me to be careful.

“You never know who you’re dealing with in this life,” she warned.

I realized then that the man I had met was not just any client.

There was something dark about him, something beyond my understanding.

My story is a warning to anyone who thinks money can solve all problems.

Sometimes, the price we pay is far greater than we imagine.

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