THE BEGINNING OF THE END
"Hope… Hope… Hope!!!"
Her voice tore through the air like a blade, trembling, desperate, breaking. I heard her — faintly, as though from behind a thick sheet of glass — but her hands never reached me. They stretched toward the water, clawing at the empty air where I had been only seconds earlier. But I was already sinking.
The ocean swallowed me faster than fear could catch up.
The world above blurred into wavering shadows, ripples of sunlight twisting into strange shapes as I drifted farther down. My lungs burned with the urge to breathe. My limbs felt heavy. A cold numbness spread slowly from my fingertips to the edges of my consciousness.
And yet… I wasn't panicking.
I thought death would come with hysteria, with regret, with frantic attempts to live. But all I felt was a strange, peaceful ache. I knew Emily was safe — that was all that mattered. If saving her meant losing myself, then the exchange was one I would make a thousand times over.
I wasn't scared of dying.
I was scared of what came after.
For years, I'd avoided the topic — afterlife, heaven, hell, reincarnation. It all sounded too abstract, too unprovable. I believed only in what I could see and touch. But in that moment, the cold wrapped around me like a second skin, and the darkness became a living thing. That was when I remembered Luke's voice — deep, calm, infuriatingly sure of itself — echoing from somewhere far away.
"Death is only a transition to life… an afterlife."
At the time he'd said it, I had rolled my eyes, dismissed his words as poetic nonsense. But now, drifting in the silent black, those words clung to me like a lifeline. And for the first time… they made sense.
Hopeful — ironically — for whatever waited on the other side, I closed my eyes and let the ocean take me.
---
My name is Hope Atkins…
At twenty-six, I lived the life most girls only repost on Pinterest moodboards. I had a luxurious apartment nestled in Banana Island — marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows, a walk-in closet bigger than some Lagos bedrooms. I owned a thriving fashion empire, Hope's Fashion World, a brand featured in international magazines and worn by celebrities.
And to top it all off, I was engaged to the most handsome, successful, annoyingly perfect man I had ever met — Iyke. The love of my life. The calm to my chaos. The boy who once carried my books in secondary school and somehow grew into a man every woman wished was single.
It often felt like life handed me everything on a platinum platter. At times, I wondered if my parents gave me the wrong name. I rarely had to hope for anything; things simply aligned.
Or so I believed.
What I didn't understand then — what I now painfully recognize — is that ignorance can feel like bliss when you have absolutely no idea what's coming.
I didn't believe in God, not fully. I believed in something, some force greater than humans, but nothing as structured as religion. Miracles? No. Hard work? Always. Fate? Sometimes. But the idea of divine intervention? I found it naive.
Looking back now… I laugh at how confidently foolish I was.
---
★ Three Years Earlier ★
Beep! Beep! Beep!
My alarm screamed like a nagging mother. I groaned, face buried in my pillow, head pounding like someone had set up a construction site in my skull. The previous night played back in blurry flashes — neon lights, loud music, laughter, and way too many shots I should never have agreed to.
Shay and Adrian — the devil twins — had dragged me to a new club on the Island. Izzy joined us later, insisting I needed a break.
"Live a little," they'd said.
"Work will survive without you for one night," they'd said.
Lies. All of it.
Running a fashion house wasn't child's play. Orders poured in from every corner of the world. Designs needed sketching. Collections needed reviewing. Fabrics needed sourcing. And because I personally designed every piece, the workload was insane.
But how would my friends understand?
Shay and Adrian were top-tier male models — the type brands fought over. Their schedules depended on events. Izzy? She owned a chain of luxury spas across Nigeria, a business so smooth she barely lifted a finger thanks to her overly competent manager.
I blinked at my bedside clock. 6:30 a.m.
Damn.
I needed to be at work by 7:30. A very important client was arriving by 8.
I scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping on the carpet. My phone was nowhere in sight. After a frantic search, I found it on the floor under my bed — how it ended up there, I had no idea. A missed call from Iyke sat at the top of my screen.
Guilt pinched me.
I dialled him back immediately.
"Hey babe," he said, voice warm even through sleepiness. "You finally woke up."
"I'm sorry," I said with a groan. "The twins almost killed me last night."
He laughed — that soft, teasing laugh that always melted something in my chest.
"Well, you sound alive enough. Did you at least have fun?"
"Define fun," I muttered, rubbing my temples.
We talked for a few minutes — him teasing me about being a workaholic, me pretending to be offended — before he mentioned visiting over the weekend. I smiled like a fool. Iyke always had that effect. He was my first crush, first love, first everything. While others gathered heartbreaks like souvenirs, I somehow met my soulmate before I even knew what being in love meant.
He was home.
---
How We Met
It happened in SS1, on a random Tuesday afternoon.
Our English teacher had sent me to collect a stack of novels from the school library. I was walking down the hallway, daydreaming about absolutely nothing in particular, when I saw him.
Iyke.
Tall, quiet, lost in his own world as he walked toward me, arms filled with books. His face — which I'm convinced was crafted on God's day of extra beauty — was tilted downward, focused.
I stared too long.
Way too long.
And rammed straight into the wall.
Books flew. My ego shattered.
He heard the crash, looked up, and rushed over. His fingertips brushed my forehead.
"You're bleeding," he said gently.
I hadn't even noticed.
Embarrassed beyond belief, I handed him my stack of books and mumbled, "Please help me take it to my teacher."
He nodded, introduced himself, and left.
Later that day, he showed up at the sickbay to check on me.
And just like that… friendship began.
The rest, as the cliché goes, is history.
---
Back to the Present
I pulled into the office parking lot at exactly 7:33 a.m. — two minutes late, which for me was a sin. As soon as I stepped out, Ariel, my PA of five years, walked briskly toward me.
"Good morning, ma," she said, handing me a neatly organized folder. "The representative from Zarah's Collection is almost here. And Izzy called — your home line wasn't going through."
"Alright, thank you, Ariel. Inform the HRO and GM to proceed as planned. And tell the receptionist to alert me when he arrives."
"Will do," she said and hurried off, heels clicking like music.
I immediately called Izzy. She answered before it even finished ringing.
"Girl! What happened to your home line? I nearly drove to your house!"
I laughed. "Relax. The phone probably died under my bed. And yes, I'm alive."
She snorted. "Those twins will finish you one day. Anyway, Dubai is still happening this weekend, right?"
"Of course."
We chatted for a few minutes before a message popped up from my receptionist.
He's here.
"Duty calls," I said.
"Go get that money, baby girl!" Izzy added dramatically.
I hung up with a smile and straightened my blazer.
Time to work.
---
The Meeting
When I stepped into the conference room, everyone stood up — my GM, HRO, and two unfamiliar men. One of them immediately drew my attention.
Tall. Striking. An air of quiet confidence that filled the room without effort.
He stepped forward, extending his hand.
"Good morning, ma. I'm Luke Adams, CEO of Zarah's Collection. And this is my assistant, Bankole Smith."
His handshake was firm but gentle. A tingle shot through me — short, sharp, unexpected. His eyes lingered on mine for a moment longer than necessary. Something in his gaze… unsettled me.
I didn't like the feeling.
Or maybe I liked it too much.
We took our seats, and he spoke with a calm, melodic voice that made each sentence linger.
"I'll be working with you for a year," he said. "I look forward to doing beautiful things with you."
Beautiful things with you.
The phrase echoed repeatedly in my mind. It shouldn't have affected me. I was engaged — happily, securely. But something about this man felt… dangerous. Like he carried a story in his eyes I wasn't prepared to hear.
I barely knew him, yet I already understood one thing:
Luke Adams was going to be a disaster.
For my peace.
For my heart.
For my perfectly structured life.
And I didn't even see it coming.
---
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