Chapter 1: The Beginning Of The End
Amara knew something was wrong the moment she opened the door.
The room was unusually quiet.
She stood there for a few seconds, her handbag still hanging from her shoulder.
Then she heard it.
A woman's laughter.
Her heart sank.
"David?"
Silence.
She slowly walked toward the bedroom.
Another laugh.
This time, she recognized the voice of the man who was supposed to marry her.
Amara pushed the bedroom door open.
She froze.
David stood beside the bed.
A woman was sitting on it, wearing nothing but one of his shirts.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
David's face went pale.
"Amara..."
She stared at him.
Then at the woman.
Then back at him.
"Who is she?"
David opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Amara laughed bitterly.
"That's what I thought."
"Please, let me explain."
"Explain what?"
"It's not what you think."
She stared at him.
"David, I'm standing in your bedroom and there's another woman wearing your shirt."
He looked away.
That was all the answer she needed.
Tears filled her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
"How long?"
"Amara—"
"How long have you been sleeping with her?"
He didn't answer.
She nodded slowly.
"Okay."
She turned around.
"Where are you going?"
"Home."
"This is your home too."
She stopped.
For three years, she had believed that.
She had built her future around this man.
Marriage.
Children.
A home.
Everything.
And suddenly, none of it existed anymore.
She looked back at him.
"No, David. It isn't."
She walked out.
That night, Amara packed one suitcase.
She left behind the clothes David had bought her.
She left behind the engagement ring.
She left behind every photograph of them together.
By six the next morning, she was sitting inside a bus heading to Lagos.
Her phone vibrated.
David calling.
She declined.
It rang again.
She declined it again.
The third time, she switched the phone off.
Amara rested her head against the window.
She didn't know what Lagos was going to give her.
She didn't even know where she would stay after the first week.
But she knew one thing.
She wasn't going back.
Three weeks later, Amara stood in front of a huge glass building in Victoria Island.
She looked down at her old shoes.
Then at the building.
"Please, God," she whispered. "Let this work."
She walked inside.
Forty minutes later, she walked out with a job.
Personal assistant to Daniel Adebayo.
The salary was more than she expected.
The job sounded simple.
Until she met the man himself.
The following morning, she knocked on his office door.
"Come in."
She opened it.
A tall man stood by the window, looking out over Lagos.
He turned.
Amara stopped.
He was younger than she expected.
Dark suit.
Cold eyes.
An expression that made it difficult to tell what he was thinking.
"Amara Okafor?"
"Yes, sir."
He studied her.
For longer than necessary.
"You're late."
She glanced at her phone.
"Sir, I'm actually five minutes early."
"I don't like excuses."
"I wasn't making one."
His eyebrows lifted slightly.
For the first time, Amara noticed something almost like amusement in his eyes.
Almost.
"Sit."
She sat.
Daniel picked up her CV.
"You worked as an administrative assistant before?"
"Yes."
"Why did you leave?"
"Better opportunity."
He looked at her.
"That's not the real reason."
Amara frowned.
"Excuse me?"
He placed the CV on the desk.
"Nothing."
He stood.
"You start today."
She blinked.
"Today?"
"Do you have somewhere else to be?"
"No."
"Good."
He walked past her.
Then stopped.
"One more thing."
Amara looked up.
"Yes, sir?"
"Don't lie to me."
She frowned.
"I don't."
Daniel stared at her for a moment.
"You will."
Then he walked away.
Amara watched him disappear through the door.
"What kind of man is this?"
She had no idea.
But she was about to find out.
What she didn't know was that Daniel had been waiting for her to walk through that door.
And the reason had nothing to do with her CV.
On his desk was an old photograph.
A photograph of a man.
And beside him stood a little girl.
Daniel picked it up.
He stared at the little girl.
Then at the door Amara had just walked through.
"You're finally here," he whispered.
