As the tall woman walked into the room, Amara's fingers were frozen on the pen.

Her presence commanded attention as quickly as sunlight overtakes a shadow, and her fragrance filled the room.

She possessed a sense of beauty, grace, and confidence that Amara never experienced.

Like it was designed just for her, her garment, made of navy silk, hugged her curves with the latest design, and her jewelry, elegant and expensive, her hair was sleek, her keen eyes scanned through the contract and Amara as if she already knew everything.

Amara sighed in surprise.

Who was she?

Ademola tightened his jaw.

His exquisitely carved mask cracked for the first time since Amara had met him. There was a flash of discomfort, almost anger, in his face.

His voice was low and sharp, a warning wrapped in velvet:

"You shouldn't be here."

The woman ignored him. Leaning across the desk, she took another step inside, her high-heeled shoes clicking on the marble floor. With a stubborn bang, she dropped the silver pen on the contract while hurriedly removing it from Amara's trembling hand.

"No," she replied coldly.

“She won’t be signing this.”

Amara blinked in disbelief. Her voice was hesitant and small.

"Pardon me, but who are you?"

At last, the woman turned to face her, her eyes softening slightly, but not with kindness, but rather with pity.

She confidently stated, "My name is Ifeoluwa."

Then her voice grew as sharp as a knife. "And I don't get forced into things that I don't understand, unlike you."

The name moved Amara, but she was unable to pinpoint it. A recognition that was too far away for her to understand.

Ademola suddenly rose to his feet, his massive frame creating a long shadow on the desk. "Enough," he said suddenly. He stared at Ifeoluwa with his burning eye.

"Go!. Right now.

Ifeoluwa, however, merely laughed.

Or what? Will you also threaten me?

Tension pulsed through the room.

Amara shivered.

She had two options: one that would condemn her, and another that would place her completely in the middle of a conflict she didn't comprehend.

Her hand hovered once more, and tears pulled at her eyes.

"Why me?" she said in a crackly whisper. "Why are you treating me like this?"

Ademola's eyes popped with something bare, then vanished under his icy control.

"Because the debt that isn't recorded on paper can only be paid by you," he stated.

Amara's heart became frozen.

What did you mean by that?

Ifeoluwa's phone rang violently before she could ask him any more questions.

Her confident expression wavered as she looked at the screen.

Just one second. Amara took notice.

Then Ifeoluwa's eyes lit up as she looked up. "It's not over," she said. She spoke softly, almost in a whisper, to Amara.

"Take caution. He is not the man you think he is.

She then walked out of the office, leaving an impression of silence behind her.

Amara felt her heart pounding in her ears.

Questions, fear, and something else she dared not name echoed in her chest.

Ademola, however, no longer appeared shaken. He had put his mask back on, cold and unforgiving.

His eyes were gazing at her as he carefully and gradually slid the pen back to her hand.

He said, "Sign it." "Or you'll live your entire life regretting the decision."

Amara's breathing was quick, and her voice shaken.

Her whole world was waiting for her to make another move as her hand moved toward the pen.

The office lights suddenly flashed as her shaking hands touched the pen, and a chilly voice vibrated over Ademola's desk phone on speaker:

"Mr. Adewale... we are done. Chief Johnson's house has been burned down.

The scream escaped Amara's throat.