The wedding was in less than forty-eight hours, and Zina was trying to decide whether she was more anxious about the dress fitting… or the possibility of dying mysteriously before the honeymoon.
The sun had barely risen when a sleek black SUV pulled up in front of their flat. A man in all black handed her a box with the Umeziri crest stamped in gold. Inside was a custom-fit designer dress—not white, not ivory.
Black silk.
She stared at it, then back at him. "Is this a funeral?"
"Miss Obianuju," the man said coolly. "You are to wear this to the reading of the contract. Your presence is required at Umeziri Estate."
She clenched her jaw. "Of course it is."
🏛️ Umeziri Estate – Ikoyi Island
She had never seen anything like it.
The estate sat behind tall black gates, hidden by trees older than the country itself. The driveway curved into a clearing, revealing a mansion that didn't just look rich—it looked cursed.
A mix of European gothic and ancient Igbo architecture.
Stone statues watched from the rooftop like guardians—or sentinels.
Zina was escorted through an arched doorway into a wide sitting room where a fire burned… even though it was over 30°C outside.
Kain was already there, of course. Unbothered. Impeccable.
He looked her over once.
"You wear black well."
"And you still talk like a Bond villain," she snapped.
He smirked.
A notary entered the room and placed a thick scroll on the table. Not a file. A literal parchment scroll. Red ribbon. Wax seal. Zina narrowed her eyes.
"This is the binding document," Kain said. "You must hear it read aloud before signing the ceremonial copy."
She raised a brow. "Ceremonial? What is this, a cult?"
His eyes glinted. "Something like that."
📜 The Reading Begins
The notary began speaking. Not in English. Not in Yoruba. Not in Igbo.
Something older. The words crawled up Zina's skin like whispers, yet somehow… she understood every line.
"…the bride, by blood and soul, is offered in contract to the bearer of the Shadow Name. She shall dwell within the cursed walls, uphold the Five Boundaries, and protect the Vessel…"
She interrupted. "What's 'the Vessel'?"
Kain didn't answer.
The notary kept reading.
"…if she bears the mark willingly, her life shall be spared. If she defies the mark, her soul shall be forfeit to the Gate Between…"
She backed up slightly. "Okay. No. What the hell is this?"
"You've already signed the legal version," Kain said calmly. "This is the original version."
"Original from where? 1472?"
He didn't laugh. He didn't blink.
"I told you, Zina. Some debts are older than money."
She turned to walk out.
But the door slammed shut behind her.
Not gently.
Not with wind.
Like something decided she wasn't leaving.
---
🩸 The Marking
"You agreed," Kain said softly. "Now the bond must be sealed."
The notary stepped forward with a small blade. Zina's heart galloped.
"No. Nope. We're not doing blood magic today—"
Kain raised one hand.
The notary stopped.
He walked up to her, reached out, and gently took her left hand. His skin was warm. Too warm.
"I won't cut you," he said.
Instead, he pressed his thumb into her palm.
Zina gasped.
A sharp, burning pain pulsed through her hand—not unbearable, but deep, ancient, electric. She snatched her hand back and stared.
A faint symbol now glowed in her skin.
Like a sigil.
Like something watching.
"What… did you do?"
Kain stepped back.
"Welcome to the contract, Mrs. Umeziri."