Amara's scream cut through the air before she could stop it. It was sharp and piercing like something had been ripped right out of her chest.

She heard the words over and over in her head: "Chief Johnson's house has been burned down."

Her legs gave out, and she held on to the desk's edge to keep her balance. The silver pen she almost used to sign her life away fell to the floor and rolled out of reach.

Her dad.

Her family.

Pictures flashed into her mind: her father's weak body, her mother's tired eyes, and her younger brother's hopeful smile. Flames are eating it all up.

She looked at Ademola, her voice hoarse and barely human. "What did you do?"

Ademola's jaw got tense. For a split second, his mask exposed a darker and more wild side.

Then it vanished, to be replaced by that frozen, recognizable apathy.

His voice was frighteningly calm as he muted the line by pressing a button on the phone.

"Amara, please sit down."

Tears were already streaming down her face as she gave a sharp shake of her head.

"You have no right to tell me to sit down!

My family—my father—they might be—

"They're still alive." His piercing tone cut her panic in two.

"I wouldn't murder them. That wouldn't accomplish my Purpose.

With her entire body shaking, she yelled, "Purpose?" "You're destroying everything we own, destroying homes, and playing with people's lives—and you talk about purpose?"

He moved in closer, hovering over her, his pricey fragrance's subtle scent now mingled with the imaginary smoke in her head.

“Your family is alive, Amara. But don’t mistake mercy for weakness.

Every minute you hesitate, every second you disobey me, they will suffer. I will make sure I deal with you.”

The words struck her like a blade.

Her sob caught in her throat. For the first time, she saw the true scale of the trap she was in. This has gone beyond just a contract. This wasn’t even about her father’s debts anymore.

This was war.

And she was the prize.

The silence stretched, broken only by Amara’s ragged breathing. The silver pen was shining like a weapon, ready to be used, and the contract was still on the desk.

Amara’s fingers squeezed into her fists at her side. She wanted to fight back, to scream, to break free of the suffocating noose Ademola had tied around her life.

But one picture kept coming back to her: her father coughing weakly in a burning house.

Her lips trembled. “You’re a monster.”

Ademola remained unshaken.. “I’m a survivor.”

Before she could respond, the office door swung open.

Ifeoluwa’s voice cut through the air like a whip.

“A survivor, Ademola? Or just a coward with a disguise of authority?

Amara’s head snapped toward her. She hadn’t even heard the elevator. Ifeoluwa stood in the doorway, her navy silk dress now shadowed by the dim hallway light. But now, her eyes were as sharp as ever, those fierce, calculating eyes, but her face was still looking pale.

Ifeoluwa looked directly at Amara and said, "I told you he is not the man you think he is."

Ademola’s nostrils flared. “I warned you to leave.”

Ifeoluwa responded, "And I warned you that your sins won't stay buried forever," as she stepped fully into the room.

The tension was unbearable.

Amara felt like she was drowning between two storms.

Her trembling voice broke the silence. “What… what does this have to do with me?”

Ifeoluwa’s eyes softened, just for a heartbeat. “Everything.”

Ademola’s grumble hardened.

“Enough.” The glass of water on the desk shook as his hand slammed the desk.

"Ifeoluwa, get out of here. Right now.

But Ifeoluwa didn’t move.

Rather, she faced Amara and spoke in a low, urgent tone.

"Amara, don't sign it. Doing so will bind you not just to him, but to everything he has created in the dark, and trust me, ashes are the foundation of his empire.

The word ashes burned through Amara’s chest.

Her father’s house.

Her family’s safety.

Her stolen freedom.

The pen on the desk seemed to pulse in her vision, silver and sharp, but it was like a knife aimed at her soul.

Ademola’s voice dropped, cold as a grave. “If she doesn’t sign it, her father’s ashes will be real as she could ever think.”

Amara noticed the sparkle in Ifeoluwa's eyes as she grumbled.

Anger. rage. Fear?

And for the first time, Amara realized something terrifying.

Ifeoluwa wasn’t here just to protect her.

She had her own battle with Ademola, which is why she was here.

The sound of the pen scraping against the polished wood echoed like a scream as Amara pushed it away with her shaking hands.

“I can’t… I can’t do this.”

Ademola’s eyes narrowed, like a dangerous storm gathering in their depths.

He leaned across the desk, his voice low and venomous.

“You just sealed your father’s fate.”

Before she could answer, the muted office phone lit up again, vibrating against the desk. Ademola stabbed the button, his face unreadable.

A voice came through, urgent, panicked. “Sir, we tried to contain it, but—it wasn’t just the house.

The fire spread. There were people inside.”

Amara’s knees buckled. She stumbled backward, her scream raw, “No!”

Ademola’s face hardened, his jaw tightening to stone. Ifeoluwa stepped forward, her hand gripping Amara’s shaking arm, but her eyes were locked on him, full of fury.

She shouted, "Ademola, you've gone too far."

The phone's voice then broke the silence with the words, "Chief Johnson… we can't find him."

Amara’s body went cold, her ears ringing with silence. She turned to Ademola, her voice barely a whisper but sharp as glass:

“If my father is dead… I swear, Ademola, I’ll never forgive you.”

And for the first time, she saw something shimmer in his eyes—something he quickly buried.

However, it was too late. The damage was already done.