Naya didn't believe in omens.
But the power went out just as she slid the signed marriage contract into her drawer.
Thunder cracked outside.
Typical Lagos weather—moody, loud, unapologetic.
Much like her soon-to-be husband.
She lit a candle, sat at her desk, and stared into the flickering light. Her name was now printed beside Kian Adeyemi's in black ink.
A legal promise.
A quiet trap.
She'd expected to feel relief. Instead, her stomach felt hollow—like she'd swallowed a dare she didn't understand yet.
---
Kian was already planning the next step.
Wedding photos. Court registration. One joint appearance to shut down the blog headlines.
Clean. Quick. Controlled.
But then he saw Tami drawing at the coffee table—stick figures holding hands under a rainbow. One of the figures had Naya's hair.
"You drew Miss Naya?" he asked.
"She's my new stepmom, right?"
He paused.
"Who told you that?"
"No one. But she's going to live here, isn't she?"
Smart girl. Too smart.
He crouched beside her. "She'll be around, yes. But it's not a fairy tale, Tami. Just… grown-up stuff."
Tami nodded solemnly. "Okay. Can she braid?"
Kian chuckled. "I'll ask."
Tami had found out about Naya earlier when she picked up her dad's phone to play a game. A message from Naya had popped up, and her curiosity got the better of her. She hadn't meant to snoop, but her father's phone was always left unlocked. As she peeked at Naya's profile picture, Tami couldn't help but notice how pretty she was. Her hair looked lovely, and she seemed smart. But Tami's mind began to wander - would Naya be a kind stepmom? She didn't want someone evil like the stepmother in Snow White. Tami decided to keep an open mind, hoping Naya would complete her father, complete them.....and complete their home.
---
The next morning, Naya showed up at his apartment with a small suitcase and three hard rules:
1. Separate bedrooms.
2. No surprises.
3. No questions about the past.
She walked in like a tenant, not a bride.
Kian didn't argue.
But as she set her things down and stood in the center of his living room, her eyes scanned the space—neutral walls, clean floors, a quiet energy she wasn't used to.
And for the first time, she looked… unsure.
He offered her a glass of water.
She took it. "Thank you."
He didn't say you're welcome.
He said, "This is your home now. You don't have to keep your shoes on."
She looked at him.
Soft.
Almost grateful.
Then she kicked her heels off and walked barefoot across the floor.