The door eased open, and Thomas stepped out.
He looked tired, drawn, but the second his eyes met hers, something flickered across his face. Surprise, yes. But also something softer. Something he hadn't managed to shut away completely.
"Dija?" he asked, his voice low, cautious. "Are you… are you alright?"
She nodded slowly, though her lips trembled. "I had a fight with my mother," she said, trying to hold her voice steady. "A big one. I left the house."
Thomas's eyes didn't leave hers. His hand opened the gate gently, no hesitation this time.
"You left?" he echoed, stepping closer. "For good?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "I just… I couldn't stay there. Not after everything."
For a beat, he said nothing. And then, quietly, he reached for the handle of her suitcase. "Come on," he said. "You shouldn't be out here."
She let him take the luggage from her, her fingers brushing his briefly. He turned and led the way inside, not speaking again, but his presence beside her was calm. Steady.
As the gate clicked shut behind them, Dija exhaled—for the first time all day.
He hadn't said much.
But he hadn't shut the door either.
And in this quiet, unexpected grace…
She felt something like hope.
Meanwhile at the Lewises, the house was quiet, blanketed in late-night stillness. The kind that pressed in on the walls like unspoken thoughts.
Daniel sat in his study, untouched food still on the tray beside him. The glow from his laptop screen reflected off his glasses, but his fingers hadn't touched the keyboard in minutes.
He wasn't angry.
Not exactly.
Just tired. Disappointed. Worn down by the same cycle, Esther giving too much, and others always taking more than they should.
A soft knock came at the door.
He didn't answer.
It creaked open anyway.
"Daniel?" her voice, careful. Hesitant.
She closed the door behind her and stood for a moment before walking slowly around the desk. "Can we talk?"
He didn't look up. "I'm working."
"I know." She came to stand beside him, watching his profile, the clenched jaw, the furrowed brow. "But… thank you."
Still no response.
"For dropping the charges against Sarah," she added gently. "I know it wasn't easy. I know you didn't agree with me and I shouldn't have asked. But I just… I couldn't say no to my mom."
Her voice barely carried across the room, but the weight of her words did.
Her mother had called after the news broke—grateful, relieved, even triumphant. The call had caught Esther off guard. She'd thought Daniel meant it when he said no. But somehow… he'd changed his mind.
And she knew why. It wasn't for Sarah. It wasn't even for her mother.
It was for her.
"Also.."
"Esther, please leave," Daniel said quietly, his tone polite but distant. "I have work to do."
He didn't raise his voice. He didn't look at her. But the space between them stretched, cold and silent.
Esther exhaled slowly, nodding. "I see now how wrong I was. I let them put me in that position again, and… I'm sorry, Daniel. Not just for asking, but for disappointing you."
He finally leaned back in his chair and met her eyes. The warmth she was used to finding in his gaze wasn't fully there, but it wasn't gone either.
"You weren't wrong to care," he said, voice steady, even. "But Esther… being kind doesn't mean being blind. At some point, you have to choose yourself. You can't keep saving people who only remember you when they need rescuing."
Her eyes dropped for a moment. The truth in his words pressed deep into her, dragging up years of small sacrifices, little bruises she never noticed until they ached.
Then she looked up. "I know. I do. And I promise, from now on… I'll stand up for myself. For us."
She meant it when she said it. But deep inside, doubt curled like a shadow. Her mother. Her sisters. Her history. They held pieces of her Daniel couldn't touch.
And still, she wanted to believe.
That maybe, just maybe, this time, she could choose him.
Daniel watched her. The flicker of vulnerability in her eyes, the softness in her voice. The woman he'd married. The one he loved, even when she frustrated him beyond reason.
And for a moment, the hard edge in his chest eased.
He didn't smile. But he didn't ask her to leave again either.
Esther stepped closer, her hand resting lightly on the edge of his desk. "Will you come upstairs?" she asked softly. "Sleep in our room tonight?"
Daniel's expression softened, but the weight hadn't fully lifted from his shoulders. "I still have work," he said. "And honestly… I just need to clear my head."
She nodded, masking the quiet sting of rejection. Then offered a small smile. "Alright. Then I'll stay here with you."
He raised a brow. "Esther, there's no bed in here."
"Exactly." She sat down on the small couch tucked against the wall, curling her legs beneath her. "So I guess that means you'll have to take breaks. Stretch. Maybe even talk to me."
He exhaled, long and slow, half a sigh, half a chuckle. "You're impossible."
"And yet, you married me." She grinned, leaning back against the armrest.
Daniel shook his head, finally closing the laptop.
And as the silence settled again between them, this time it didn't feel so heavy.
Just two people. Flawed, tired, but trying.
Trying together.
Hoping tomorrow would be a different story.
And it was.
The next morning met Esther behind her desk, a mug of coffee cooling beside a neat stack of case files. She was only settling in when she looked up, and froze.
A tall figure sat calmly across from her. One she hadn't expected.
"Kadiatu?" she blinked.
Her assistant had failed to announce her. Again.
"Ma'am," Esther greeted, rising to her feet. "Good morning."
Kadiatu stood and offered a tight, practiced smile. "I apologize for the unannounced visit. But I need to speak with you."
Esther nodded slowly and gestured for her to sit. "Of course. What's this about?"
There was a beat, and then Kadiatu leaned forward, wasting no time. "I need you to talk to your friend. Dija. Convince her to come back home."
Esther's brows gently lifted. The last she had heard from Dija was a quiet call after the breakup, no mention of her leaving home.
"She left?" Esther asked.
Kadiatu's lips pressed together tightly. "Yes. Packed her things and ran off like a child chasing fantasy. And it's all because of that… that boy."
Her voice was clipped, edged with restrained fury. "He's a low-class errand boy, and I will not have my daughter ruin her life over some low budget assistant "
Esther leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly. "Ma'am, I'm honored you think I can help. But with all due respect, I can't talk Dija out of her choices, especially not if they bring her peace."
Kadiatu rolled her eyes, leaning forward across the desk now. "Let's drop the act, Esther," she snapped. "We both know the only reason you married Daniel was for his wealth. So please, don't let my daughter throw her life away chasing love from someone beneath her."
A sharp silence followed.
Esther smiled, thin, polite, but not warm. "With all due respect, that's not why I married Daniel," she said, her voice calm but clear. "I married him because I love him. And because he loves me."
Kadiatu scoffed quietly, but Esther didn't flinch.
"And Dija?" Esther continued. "She's like a sister to me. I want what's best for her. But what you think is best… might not be what she needs."
Kadiatu exhaled, her tone softening just slightly. "I mean no offense. Truly. I just… I want my daughter to have a good life. She was raised in a certain way. There's a standard, a lifestyle. That boy, Thomas, he can't give her that."
"But maybe," Esther replied gently, "what he gives her is love. Safety. Respect."
Kadiatu's fingers tensed against the edge of the desk. "And what if it's not enough?"
Esther met her gaze. "Then let her find out on her own."
But Kadiatu had a different option, bring her daughter home, willing or not. She wasn't about to let her years of effort molding Dija into a better version of herself go to waste.
The sun had risen high over the Ten Subdivision, casting long shadows over the sleek, low-rise building that housed LewisTech's Advanced Systems Unit. The walls gleamed, glass and steel in harmony, but the real fire was inside, Project Sentinel X.
Inside Lab 4, the air smelled of soldered metal and industrial-grade silicone. The faint hum of cooling units and soft beeps from console monitors filled the silence. A sharp click echoed, Alie fastening a micro-servo cable into the robotic spine.
Daniel stood near the observation pane, arms folded, eyes sharp. The tension in his shoulders had only grown since his last call with the Minister of Defense, another "friendly" reminder that the budget was tight and expectations tighter.
"How far are we?" Alie asked, his voice filtering through the clear glass.
Inside, Ibrahim crouched beside the metal frame of Sentinel X, tightening bolts along its right arm. The machine towered at just over seven feet, sleek, humanoid, painted matte black, and still, like a sleeping beast.
"Its systems are up and almost ready," Ibrahim replied, not looking up. "Just a few final integrations, motion sync, voice stability. It's talking now, but it still sounds… off."
Daniel pushed off from the wall and walked over, his boots tapping lightly on the floor.
"When will we have it up and running?"
Ibrahim gave a small smile but saw Daniel's jaw was tight, unreadable. He straightened and dusted his hands on his coat.
"If all goes well, we can initiate basic mobility trials by Friday. Full AI behavioral mapping by end of next week."
Daniel nodded once. "Make it Wednesday."
"Sir.." Ibrahim hesitated, but Alie gave a subtle shake of his head.
"Ibrahim," Daniel continued, tone low but firm, "we've been on this for eight months. I know it's not about rushing, but the world outside isn't going to wait for us to get every decimal point perfect."
There was a silence. The kind that carried weight.
He turned toward the glass, eyes fixed on the motionless robot.
"Sentinel isn't just a machine," Daniel said. "It's a statement. A warning to anyone thinking this country is asleep. The Prime Minister knows that. The generals are watching us. So, we can't afford stumbles."
Alie stepped forward, arms crossed. "There's been talk about moving it to the barracks early, for 'live training'. Commander Bangura mentioned it this morning."
Daniel's face darkened slightly. "No."
The air tensed.
"Respectfully," Alie added, "he think it's time the military starts interfacing, see what it's made of."
"I said no." Daniel's voice cut in clean and controlled. "It's still in early calibration. One glitch in live mode and the same people rushing us will turn on us. Let it breathe first."
The robot stirred faintly, a hiss of internal hydraulics cycling through its limbs. All eyes turned to it.
Daniel didn't blink.
Then, he softened, just a touch. "I'll talk to the Prime Minister." His voice was lower now, but anchored. As much as Sentinel X was government property, he wasn't about to let politics force their hand, or let his team fall because of someone else's impatience. "And the Commander as well."
Alie nodded. "Copy that."
For a brief moment, the lab was quiet again. Just the steady hum of tech and the low pulse of pressure systems running through Sentinel's chassis.
Daniel walked closer to the robot, eyes trailing up its frame. The machine was a marvel, sleek plating, joint articulation, adaptive AI, but it wasn't ready. Not yet. Not when one error could cost them lives, or worse, control.
He turned to Ibrahim. "Push up the limb simulations and balance sequence trials. No more theory, get real movement on the record by Tuesday. I want footage we can show."
"Yes, sir," Ibrahim said quickly, already flipping through his notes.
Daniel gave a slow breath and ran a hand across the back of his neck, the weight of responsibility settling across his shoulders again. These were the moments people didn't see, the hours between the headlines, the pressure that came before success.
He took one last look at the robot, then turned for the exit.
"I'll be in my office," he said. "If Sentinel stirs, I want to know, immediately."
As the doors slid open, Alie called after him, "Hey, Daniel."
He paused, looking back.
"You're doing good. Just thought you should hear it."
Daniel gave a half-nod. "We'll see. The world doesn't clap for the builder until the beast starts walking."
And then he was gone, disappearing into the corridor, back to emails, politics, and quiet wars no one else could see.
Just like the one igniting behind the gleaming walls of Jalloh Dynamics, a war dressed in suits and circuits, but no less lethal.
It was 2:00 p.m., and the boardroom on the fifth floor felt more like a bunker than a workspace. The shades were drawn. Two sleek monitors glowed at the end of the long table, their screens filled with lines of code, internal schematics, and encrypted files. Stolen files.
Alhaji stood at the head of the table, his fingers drumming slowly against polished wood. His eyes burned with cold ambition. Beside him, Sarah sat with a tablet on her lap, arms crossed, unreadable.
On the screens, blueprints of Sentinel X flickered, fragmented, inconsistent, some even corrupted. The AI core mapping was incomplete, the weapon protocols scattered and redacted. Someone at LewisTech had done a damn good job hiding the vital veins. But not good enough to keep Alhaji from seeing potential.
"Talk to me," he said sharply, eyes never leaving the data. "Where are we?"
Dr. Benson, the lead robotics engineer, shifted in his chair. His sleeves were rolled up, eyes slightly bloodshot from hours in front of the screen.
"We've cracked most of the mobility algorithms," Benson began, tapping the screen. "But the neural sync and behavioral command codes, those are scrambled. Possibly encrypted layers not even Sarah had access to."
"She brought us 60%," added Zane, the AI specialist. "Maybe 65. Enough to get the skeleton… not the soul."
Alhaji turned slowly, his jaw clenched.
"So what you're telling me," he said, voice like ice, "is that I'm paying five of the best engineers on this continent and none of you can build me a robot?"
"We can build a robot," Benson replied, "but not their robot. Sentinel X's core is designed with adaptive learning. If we get that wrong, we'll have a machine that moves like a soldier but thinks like a toddler."
Alhaji's eyes narrowed.
"Then build it anyway," he snapped. "Build it smarter. Build it stronger. I don't care if you have to write your own code from scratch. Do you understand me? I want Daniel's little invention buried beneath mine."
There was a beat of silence in the room. Sarah shifted in her seat, but didn't speak. She'd seen this look before, the storm in Alhaji's chest. It was never about innovation. It was about conquest.
"You have three months," Alhaji continued, stepping forward. "Not a day more. I want my prototype walking, talking, and obeying before Daniel's Sentinel ever leaves the lab. I want the world to see that Jalloh Dynamics leads the next age, not LewisTech. Not him."
"But three months.."
"Figure it out!" Alhaji thundered, slamming a hand on the table. "You have the money. You have the tools. Now show me why I brought you here."
He turned and stormed toward the window, gazing out over the city, fingers tightening behind his back.
"Daniel thinks he's untouchable," he said quietly. "I'm going to show him just how wrong he is, when. I bring his empire down…"
He glanced back at the room.
"By the time he perfects it, I'll have already sold mine to three governments."
A silence followed, heavy, tense, fueled by pressure and the promise of power.
Zane muttered, "If we push at this rate, we'll need triple manpower."
"You'll get it," Alhaji said. "Work in shifts. I want this place alive day and night."
He walked back to the table and stared at the fragmented screen.
"Make my ghost. Make my soldier. And when it stands…"
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"…we'll remind Daniel who he's really at war with."