The final briefing was set for noon, and the venue buzzed with the energy of Nigeria's finest designers. Lagos Fashion Week was not just a show it was the show. An industry-defining stage.
Bernice stood at the back of the conference room, her palms slightly clammy, her tablet clutched in hand. Alexandra leaned close and whispered, "Twelve minutes. Make every second count."
She nodded, took a steady breath, and walked to the front.
The lights dimmed slightly as her presentation began. With calm precision, she introduced herself and the company's vision. Then, she unveiled a few of her exclusive designs clean lines, bold colors, African roots with a futuristic edge. The room stilled. Eyes widened.
Her confidence grew with each slide.
By the eighth minute, she was fielding questions. One designer from Akwa-Inom asked about sustainability; she gave a crisp answer. Another from Ghana asked about her inspirations. She referenced her mother and her love for vintage Ankara patterns.
By the twelfth minute, she wrapped up with a line that silenced the room.
"We don't just wear fashion; we wear stories. And Africa has stories the world hasn't heard yet."
Thunderous applause followed.
After the presentation, several designers approached her. They handed her business cards, complimented her boldness, and asked about potential collaborations. Alexandra stood in a corner, watching it all unfold his expression unreadable, but his nod was one of approval.
And then came the announcement: High Fashion Studio—Alexandra's fashion company has been granted access to showcase at Lagos Fashion Week.
It was a win.
No, her win.
Back in Abuja
The office welcomed her like a queen. Streamers, cheers, even a small cake with "To New Heights!" written on it.
Alexandra waited for the noise to die down before pulling her aside.
"You did well," he said, hands in his pockets. "Take tomorrow off. You've earned it. And… clear your head."
She smiled faintly. "Thank you."
That Evening — At Home
The apartment was quiet. Peaceful. Too peaceful.
Then she heard the lock turn. Her body froze.
Tunde.
He stepped in like he owned the place. A small bag in his hand, and that familiar smirk on his lips.
"I figured you'd be tired from the trip," he said. "Thought I'd surprise you."
"I need to rest," she said calmly. "Please leave."
"Just listen to me, Bernice. I've been trying to reach you…"
"I said, leave."
He took a step closer, his tone changing. "So that's it? After everything? Because of what you think you heard?"
She tried to move past him, but he grabbed her wrist.
"Tunde, don't—"
His grip tightened, then he twisted her pinky finger. A crack. She screamed.
Realizing what he'd done, he let go, eyes wide. "Shit… Bernice, I didn't mean—"
"Help!" she screamed.
He panicked and bolted out the door.
Later That Week
She had just stepped out of her office when she saw him again Tunde.
He stood by the entrance like a predator, eyes wild.
"Bernice, talk to me!" he yelled, grabbing her arm.
Before she could react, Alexandra's car pulled up beside them.
He stepped out slowly. Tall. Calm. Dangerous.
"Is there a problem here?" he asked coldly.
Tunde backed away, glaring. "I'll get you back. One way or another."
He ran.
Alexandra didn't say a word. Just watched him disappear before turning to Bernice. "You okay?"
She nodded stiffly, not trusting her voice.
He nodded once. "Get in. I'll drop you home."
She quickly hopped in and gave him the address to her home…
Later That Night
She thought the drama was over.
She was wrong.
As she stepped into her compound, she saw a figure near her door.
Efe.
She leaned against the wall casually, dressed in jeans and a top too bright for the night.
"I've been waiting. You've been avoiding me," she said with a sly smile.
Bernice folded her arms. "What do you want?"
"To talk. Like friends."
"We're not friends."
Efe's smile vanished. "So now you're too big to talk to me?"
"I know everything, Efe. I heard you and Tunde. I know I was just a pawn."
Efe's eyes narrowed. "You think you've won now because you're flying to Lagos and speaking big grammar with Alexandra?"
Bernice turned to unlock her door.
That was her mistake.
In one sharp movement, Efe stepped forward, whispered, "You ruined everything," and stabbed her.
Bernice gasped, staggering backward.
From the street, Alexandra had been watching. His gut hadn't allowed him to drive far.
He saw her fall.
He saw Efe run.
He ran forward and caught Bernice in his arms. Her blood stained his shirt.
"Bernice!" he shouted, shaking her. "Stay with me!"
Her eyes fluttered, lips trembling. "I… I didn't want to be weak again…"
"Don't talk. You're going to be okay. I've got you."
As his car engine roared down the street toward the hospital, Alexandra gripped the wheel with one hand, the other holding Bernice's bloodied palm.
He didn't understand everything.
But one thing was certain.
He was never letting anyone hurt her again.