Adanna never believed in fate—not since the day her mother died and left her alone in a world that didn't care. She had learned to survive, to sew, to build something out of nothing. Her fashion designs were her escape from a life of hardship. When her tiny shop in Surulere got a sudden order from a private client with deep pockets and no face, she almost turned it down. But the money could save her business.
It was only one suit.
That's what she thought.
Until she met him.
Dante Uzochi was tall, powerful, and impossibly intimidating. He wasn't just rich—he was dangerous. Every movement was calculated, every word chosen to make you feel like he was two steps ahead. And the way he looked at her? It was as though he had been searching for her for years.
"Miss Adanna," he said, slowly circling her the first time they met, "you're not what I expected. You're better."
She tried to be professional, tried to hand him the finished suit and leave. But Dante wasn't interested in suits.
He wanted her.
And what Dante wanted, he always got.
At first, it was subtle. A bouquet of black roses delivered to her shop. A private driver waiting outside her house. Payments made into her account without request. He claimed it was appreciation. She knew better.
It wasn't kindness.
It was possession.
When she tried to return the money, he sent more.
When she blocked his number, he showed up in person.
"You're scared," he said, eyes dark with something unreadable. "But don't confuse fear with destiny."
She should've run. But she didn't.
Part of her was curious. Part of her was drawn. And part of her remembered the name Dante Uzochi—not from fashion, not from the internet… but from her past.
He had been there once.
Ten years ago.
The night her sister disappeared.
The night her mother died.
That name was whispered in her family's tragedy, but no one believed her when she said it. Now, here he was, flesh and blood, with his eyes fixed on her like she was his second chance.
Adanna tried to hold on to her normal life—her boyfriend Somto, her shop, her peace—but Dante's world began to bleed into hers.
Somto got into an accident he couldn't explain.
Her landlord received a strange offer to sell the building.
Clients stopped coming, without reason.
And Dante kept showing up, each time more intense.
"I can't love you," she told him one night, standing outside her home. "You are everything I've tried to escape."
"I don't need you to love me," he said, stepping close. "I need you to belong to me."
Tears stung her eyes. "That's not love. That's obsession."
He leaned in, voice low. "Maybe. But obsession never lets go."
And he didn't.
Even when she ran to Abuja, he found her.
Even when she changed her number, he tracked her.
He bought the property beside her aunt's house. He paid off her debts. He protected her from people she didn't know were coming after her.
But his love came with a price.
Adanna was losing herself. Her voice. Her freedom.
And then she found the photo.
Tucked inside a file in Dante's office—the photo of her sister. Her missing sister.
The girl with the same eyes. The same nose. The girl they said ran away.
She didn't run.
She was taken.
By him.
Adanna dropped the file and backed away.
Dante walked in, calm, as if he had expected this moment.
"I tried to love her," he whispered. "But she was weak. She fought me. She hated the part of me that wanted to protect her."
Adanna's hands shook. "And me? You chose me to… what? Replace her?"
"No," he said, stepping forward. "You're not her. You're stronger. You don't break. That's why I love you. That's why you're mine."
Adanna looked at the man who had twisted love into something monstrous. And for the first time, she saw clearly:
His obsession was never about her. It was about control.
She ran.
But even as she ran, she knew the truth.
Some love doesn't chase you.
It hunts you.
Adanna didn't know how long she had been running—hours, maybe days. The train to Benin was loud and slow, giving her time to think. She was wearing a hoodie now, blending in. Her hair was wrapped tightly, her phone left behind.
She didn't cry anymore.
She couldn't.
The photo of her sister stayed burned into her memory. Her eyes. Her sadness. Her fear. And Dante's words.
"I tried to love her."
Love should never feel like imprisonment.
And yet… a part of her mourned him. The way he'd looked at her like she was salvation. The way he touched her so carefully. The way he protected her, even while suffocating her.
Could a monster love?
Could a curse feel like comfort?
When she arrived in Benin, she met with a lawyer who worked with victims of powerful men. She told her story. All of it. She showed the photo. The file. The bruises hidden under silk dresses.
They believed her.
The case opened quietly—Dante was too rich to go down loudly. But justice had to start somewhere. One brick at a time.
Months passed.
She reopened her shop in a new city, under her full name—Adanna Chiamaka Ibeh. No more hiding. She stitched freedom into every dress she made.
And sometimes, late at night, when the rain poured and her heart felt empty, she thought of Dante.
Not with fear.
But with a strange ache.
And that was the real love story.
Not the one where he held her.
But the one where she let