Chapter 1
The night he threw her out started like any other: cold, routine, and silent.
Amira sat at the edge of his unmade bed, hoodie sliding off her round shoulders, her thighs bare and pressing into the chill of the tiled floor. The room smelled like sex and cheap weed. Not the kind of sex that meant something. Just the kind where you close your eyes and pray it’ll feel like love. It never did.
Her phone buzzed on the floor beside her Momma calling but she let it ring out. She didn’t feel like explaining why she hadn’t come home or why her voice would tremble if she tried.
From the bathroom, she heard him laugh. A deep, arrogant sound. Probably texting another girl. Probably the same girl whose lip gloss she found on his sink last week.
“You still here?” he asked without looking as he stepped out, towel hanging low on his hips, water dripping down his abs like a movie scene gone wrong.
She flinched. “Yeah… I was just—“
“I’m going out. You gotta bounce.”
That was it. No kiss. No thank you for the meal she cooked. No apology for coming inside her fifteen minutes ago and calling her someone else’s name while doing it.
Her lips parted to say something. Anything. But her voice betrayed her again. She stood quietly, gathered her small bag, and slipped her slides back on.
“I brought food for you,” she mumbled, motioning to the covered plate in his microwave.
He didn’t even glance. “Toss it out. I don’t eat night food.”
That stung more than it should’ve. She had spent almost two hours making it, seasoning it just how he liked, because he once mentioned drunk and half-asleep that no one ever cooked for him the way he wanted.
She wanted to be different.
She wasn’t.
Outside, the night air slapped her cheeks. Her Uber wallet was empty, and her ATM card? Declined last week. Again. She hugged herself, hoodie sleeves covering her trembling hands. The streets were quiet except for distant honking and the buzz of a faulty streetlamp.
As she walked past the gas station at the corner, two teenage boys catcalled her from across the road.
“Damn girl, you thickkk!”
“Bring that fat ass here!”
She ignored them, head low, heartbeat racing. She wasn’t even flattered. Just tired. Tired of being visible to men who wanted to grope, but invisible to men who should’ve loved her.
She got home just after 1:00 a.m. Her mom didn’t say a word. Just looked at her with tired eyes, then went back to bed.
Amira sat on the edge of her mattress and pulled her knees to her chest. Her room was small, cluttered. The fan creaked. Her mirror reflected someone she didn’t recognize anymore. Round face, dull eyes, stretch marks tracing her arms like whispered insults.
And then it clicked.
It didn’t happen with some dramatic speech or thunderstorm outside the window. Just a quiet moment. A stillness in her chest. The words echoing like gospel:
“You think no one will ever love you because you’re fat. And that’s your first mistake.”
She didn’t cry. Not this time.
She opened her notes app and typed:
Gym membership.
Save for own apartment.
Business plan: Import goods from Dubai, Turkey, China.
Cut him off. For real this time.
That was the night her silence ended. The night the girl he hid decided to stop hiding herself.
The next morning, she went to the gym in old leggings that rolled down at the waist every time she squatted, her shirt soaked in sweat, hair tied in the worst bun imaginable. The trainer ignored her. Other girls stared. Some giggled.
She kept going back.
Two months in, she stopped flinching at her own reflection.
Five months in, she could run up stairs without wheezing.
Nine months in, she saw her collarbone again.
And the best part? She never answered a single one of his texts. Not even the one that said, “Miss you.”
She moved out. Got a small apartment near the port, started importing perfumes, scarves, and fancy ceramic wares. Every box delivered felt like a victory. Her first 1 million naira came in the form of sheer grind. No handouts. No pity. No begging.
Then, one day, while picking up a shipment at the dock,sun beating down, her hands smelling like tape and cardboard she noticed a man watching her from the shadows.
Tall. Dark shades. Tattoo crawling up his neck. The kind of presence that made you shiver before your mind could even process why.
She didn’t look away.
Neither did he.
He tilted his head like a wolf scenting blood.
