Long Legs That Lead to Disaster - by Chidinma Emilia

<img alt="" src="/media/inline_insight_image/Screenshot_20250720-133309.jpg"/>In the bustling city of Lagos, where the skyline glittered with ambition and the streets thrummed with opportunity, lived a man named Tunde. At thirty-five, Tunde was the kind of man who turned heads wherever he went—tall, broad-shouldered, with a smile that could charm a snake. But it was his long legs, striding confidently in tailored suits, that gave him an air of untouchable swagger. Those legs carried him far in life, from boardrooms to exclusive lounges, but they also led him down paths that would unravel everything he’d built. Tunde was a rising star at Apex Ventures, a financial firm where he brokered multimillion-naira deals with ease. His colleagues envied his knack for closing clients, but they whispered about his other reputation—one that had nothing to do with spreadsheets. Tunde couldn’t keep it in his pants. His long legs didn’t just walk him into deals; they carried him into the arms of women who caught his eye, and there were many. He was married to Amaka, a soft-spoken lawyer with a heart as steady as her courtroom arguments. They had a daughter, Kemi, whose laughter was Tunde’s anchor—or so he told himself. But Tunde’s restless energy couldn’t be contained by vows. His affairs were discreet at first: a colleague after late-night meetings, a client’s assistant at a conference. He told himself it was harmless, a release from the pressure of his high-stakes life. But those long legs kept striding toward trouble. It started with Lara, a sultry event planner who organized Apex’s annual gala. Their flirtation began over champagne flutes, her laughter stroking his ego. One night, after a “business meeting” that stretched past midnight, Tunde followed her to a hotel in Victoria Island. His phone buzzed with Amaka’s texts, but he silenced it, convinced he was in control. Lara became a habit, her number saved under “Logistics” in his phone. But habits have a way of growing sloppy. One evening, at a rooftop bar in Ikoyi, Tunde’s eyes locked onto Chioma, a tech entrepreneur with a smile sharper than her coding skills. She was a challenge, and Tunde loved challenges. Their affair was reckless—stolen moments in her office, late-night drives in his Range Rover. He didn’t notice the private investigator tailing him, hired by a suspicious Amaka who’d grown tired of his late nights and vague excuses. The disaster came swiftly. Amaka confronted him with photos—grainy shots of him slipping into Lara’s hotel, others of him and Chioma in compromising embraces. The confrontation was brutal. Amaka’s voice, usually calm, shook with betrayal. “Tunde, those legs of yours walked you right into this mess,” she said, tears streaking her face. She filed for divorce the next day, demanding full custody of Kemi. But the fallout didn’t stop there. Chioma, learning about Lara, leaked their affair to a gossip blog, painting Tunde as a serial philanderer. The post went viral, and Apex Ventures, wary of scandal, sidelined him. Clients pulled deals, colleagues distanced themselves, and Tunde’s carefully built reputation crumbled. His long legs, once his asset, now felt like they were tripping him at every step. Months later, Tunde sat alone in a modest apartment, his suits replaced by worn-out jeans. Kemi’s visits were rare, supervised by Amaka’s stern gaze. He scrolled through his phone, seeing posts from Lara’s lavish wedding and Chioma’s startup launch. His legs, once his ticket to the top, had led him to a place he never imagined: a life stripped of family, respect, and purpose. Tunde learned too late that some paths, no matter how enticing, lead only to ruin. His long legs had carried him far, but they couldn’t outrun the disaster he’d invited.

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