I woke up feeling… mushy.
Not the kind of mushy that makes you smile. No. The kind that sits heavy in your chest, like your soul has melted into syrup and doesn't want to hold you up anymore. My head ached with thoughts I didn't invite. My heart felt like a cage, rattling with anxiety. I didn't want to face the day—I wanted to slip back into the dream I'd just left behind.
Because for once, I'd felt peace.
Where do you even find peace in a life like mine?
I've searched. God knows I have. Flipping pillows, flipping calendars, flipping between decisions I regret and the ones I never had the courage to make. But peace was always out of reach—mocking me from a distance I couldn't afford.
Every day felt like running in circles. Broke. Drowning in debt. Suffocating under the weight of bills I couldn't pay, dreams I couldn't afford, and expectations I never asked for.
I needed freedom.
Financial freedom. Emotional freedom. Just… freedom.
But how?
Through loans that promised relief but delivered harassment?
Through men who whispered lies with money-stained hands?
I'd tried everything—except giving up. And some days, I wasn't even sure I hadn't done that too.
I was avoiding my landlord like he was a debt-collecting ghost. Mr. Ajayi knocked every morning like it was his divine mission to remind me I was behind on rent. I stopped answering the door altogether. I lived like a fugitive in my own home—tiptoeing, holding my breath, as if being quiet could hide the shame.
The bills piled up like unopened wounds on my front door. Electricity. Water. Internet I hadn't touched in weeks because I couldn't afford data. They stared at me, mocking reminders of everything I couldn't control.
And sometimes… the darkness in my mind whispered the same thing:
End it.
But I couldn't. Not because I was brave. But because even that required a kind of courage I didn't have. So I lived. Halfway. Barely.
Then came the sound—sharp and sudden. My phone buzzed on the pillow beside me. For a second, I thought, maybe this is it. Maybe I've finally passed out and that's an angel calling me home.
But no such luck.
It was Trina. Again.
My best friend. My chaos. The only person who still believed I was okay because I wore my pain like designer perfume—undetectable unless you leaned in.
On the second ring, I answered.
"Ohhh, see who decided to pick up her damn phone!" Her voice exploded in my ear, full of sass and sunshine.
I smiled weakly. "Hey."
"Girl, I missed you! I just clocked out of work after my boss turned me into his personal slave. I need a drink, a dance, and a damn exorcism. Let's go out."
"Out… like outside-out?" I asked, half-dreading the thought.
"Yes, babe. Club. Tonight. I'm not asking, I'm telling. You've been locked in that apartment so long you probably forgot what the moon looks like."
I sighed. "Trina—"
"No excuses. Put on something hot. I'm coming over."
Before I could argue, she hung up.
That's the thing about Trina—she never asks for permission to save me. She just shows up, chaos and all.
An hour later, she barged into my apartment like a glittery hurricane. Picked my dress. Painted my face. Complimented features I didn't even like. We laughed in front of the mirror, twerking to bad music and pretending life wasn't as heavy as it really was.
I didn't even recognize the girl staring back at me—red lips, smoky eyes, pain hidden under foundation and fake confidence.
She looked free. I envied her.
The club was alive, loud, and lawless. The bouncer waved us in like we were royalty. Perks of being regulars in a city that didn't ask questions.
As soon as we stepped inside, the music wrapped itself around me like a blanket I didn't know I needed. Trina disappeared to the dance floor—grinding stress out of her system like therapy on heels.
I found our usual booth in the corner and settled in, nursing a cheap drink and watching people lose themselves under strobe lights and bass drops. The air smelled like sweat, sin, and escape.
I sipped slowly, eyes drifting to the VIP section upstairs. The kind of space I'd only seen on Instagram—where Lagos big boys poured champagne like water and girls looked like walking filters.
I watched them—not with jealousy, but longing.
I didn't want their lives.
I wanted their freedom.
The kind that comes with money. With security. With power.
Then it happened.
Our eyes met.
He was up there. Sitting like he owned the air. Dressed in sleek black, face carved by angels and probably sin. There was a stillness about him that commanded attention—not loud, not flashy… just undeniably in control.
My breath caught.
Why was he looking at me?
And not just a glance. A stare.
My heart thudded. I blinked, looked away, then back again.
Still there.
Still staring.
Then—he smiled.
Not the friendly kind. Not the flirtatious kind.
The kind of smile predators give prey just before the pounce.
And yet… something about it didn't scare me.
It intrigued me.
It burned.
In that moment, the air between us shifted. I didn't know his name. I didn't know his story. But I knew—this was no accident.
Fate didn't knock tonight.
It broke the damn door down.
And maybe… just maybe… I'd finally met the man who would either destroy me completely—
Or save me from everything I couldn't survive alone.