Amara didn't return to the company..
She didn't answer Damien's calls either. She left the phone in "Do Not Disturb" mode and then finally powered it off. The silence that followed was not peace it was a heavy, breathless fog pressing down on her.
All she wanted was space.
No moon-blessed prophecy.
No glowing wrist.
No intense eyed billionaire watching her like she held the universe in her hands.
Just one day to feel… human again.
She curled up on the foam mattress on the floor of the small Lekki flat she shared with Deborah. The rickety fan above her creaked as it rotated, making a ticking sound that counted each second she spent pretending she was normal.
She pinched her arm again.
Nothing.
No waking up in another reality. No dream-like unraveling. The pain was real. Her confusion was real. Whatever had happened between her and Damien whatever secrets the moonlight seemed to whisper at night it was happening.
Still, she tried to escape it.
She reached for the framed photo of her parents on the tiny wooden shelf beside her mattress. Their eyes smiled back at her, caught in time, full of dreams they hadn't lived long enough to see. She touched the glass gently.
"Mom… are you seeing this?" she whispered. "I wish you were here. I really do."
Her mother's laughter echoed faintly in her mind. She remembered the scent of her perfume soft and flowery, always mixed with the aroma of okra soup. Her father's voice, too, deep and reassuring as he read bedtime stories under candlelight whenever the power was out.
She blinked quickly. Even crying felt dangerous these days. Like it would break whatever thread was holding her to the ground.
She hadn't told anyone what was going on ,not even her best friend, Deborah. The thought of trying to explain things to her was laughable.
"I can already hear her voice," Amara muttered under her breath. "'Girl, are you high? You better go to MFM before you start levitating in your sleep.'"
Deborah, her roommate and childhood friend, had a flair for the dramatic and a taste for luxury. She called herself a Lekki big girl. Designer clothes, flawless makeup, rich men, and champagne on Wednesdays. That was her entire vibe. She'd been trying to drag Amara into that lifestyle since the day they moved in together.
But Amara wasn't interested in late-night clubbing, sugar daddies, or champagne-fueled dramas.
"Your so-called righteous life will kill you one day," Deborah had said once, adjusting her thirty inch Peruvian wig while looking at herself in the mirror. "You keep living like you're in a Nigerian nun movie."
Amara had laughed it off that day. But now, her "righteous" life had led her to a billionaire with glowing eyes, talking about prophecies, fated unions, and a moon-blessed mark on her wrist.
"I need air," she said aloud.
Throwing on a hoodie and jeans, she slipped out of the flat, walked down the street, and took a turn that led her to a quiet corner of Lekki.
There, tucked between a boutique spa and a plant store, stood a little café with warm lights and a wooden sign: Maya Café.
⸻
Scene: Maya Café
The bell above the door jingled as Amara stepped in. Instantly, the warm scent of pastries and coffee wrapped around her like a hug. For a moment, it felt like nothing magical existed. Just croissants, jazz music, and people sipping cappuccinos while typing on laptops.
She exhaled.
This was better.
No Damien. No shadows. No destiny.
Just caffeine.
She stood at the entrance, unsure whether to approach the counter or wait to be seated. Then, someone approached her a man.
Tall.
Dark shirt rolled up at the sleeves.
Black apron.
No name tag. No logo. No ID badge.
Just… him.
"Sit anywhere you like," he said, his voice smooth, calm.
There was no Lagos hustle in his tone. No fake British accent either. His words rolled out softly, like he wasn't in a hurry to be anyone but himself.
Amara blinked. "Uh… okay. Thanks."
She chose a booth near the window and slid into it, her heart weirdly fluttering. She stole a glance at him as he walked away. His movements were quiet. Controlled. Like someone who knew more than he let on.
There was something off.
Something too quiet.
She couldn't explain it, but he didn't feel like a waiter.
Where was his badge? His pad? His customer service smile?
When he returned, he carried only a single cup on a small tray.
"I figured caramel macchiato," he said, setting it down gently. "You looked like you needed something soft."
"Uh…" She blinked. "Thanks, I guess?"
"No problem." He gave a faint smile. "You're not from around here, are you?"
"Lagos-born," she said quickly. "Why?"
"No reason." He stepped back. "Let me know if you need anything else."
She watched him walk away without taking anyone else's order.
None of the other staff seemed to notice him. One barista behind the counter worked quietly, eyes glued to her phone. The cashier barely looked up. Yet this man Lucas, if she were to guess his vibe moved like he owned the place.
But there were no posters with his name.
No menus listing him as the manager.
Nothing.
She sipped the drink cautiously.
It was perfect.
Sweet, warm, with a hint of cinnamon.
Still, something didn't sit right.
————
Amara pulled out her phone and switched it on. She hadn't checked it all day. Missed calls from Damien. A few messages from Deborah, probably about some party in Ikoyi. She ignored them all.
The rain had stopped by the time Amara turned into the narrow walkway that led to Deborah's apartment. Puddles glistened under the streetlight. Everything was quiet—too quiet. Lagos at night was never truly silent, but tonight, not even the frogs croaked.
Her skin prickled.
She picked up her pace.
Halfway to the door, her shadow moved—but she hadn't.
She froze.
Another shadow slid beside hers on the wall. Then another. They warped unnaturally, long and crooked, twisting like smoke in the wind. No footsteps. No breathing. Just darkness crawling toward her like it had a purpose.
"No, no, no…"
She ran.
Her key shook in her hand as she tried to fit it into the lock. Behind her, she could feel them—cold, silent presences growing closer. One of the shadows darted across the wall and lunged at her.
A hand caught her wrist. Not hers.
She screamed.
Before she could even turn, something warm and fast wrapped around her waist and in a blur, she was lifted off the ground.
"Hold on!" a voice ordered.
Lucas.
He held her tightly as he jumped—no, flew—through the alley, landing several feet away like gravity meant nothing to him.
Amara gasped for air as they ran. "Wh-what was that?!"
"They're not supposed to attack this early," he muttered, scanning the shadows. "They're breaching boundaries…"
More shadows slithered across the ground, stretching like claws. Lucas muttered something under his breath—words Amara didn't understand. The air shimmered around them, and the shadows suddenly stopped like they'd hit a wall of glass.
"What the hell is going on?" she panted.
"No time," he said. "We have to go."
⸻
Scene: The Mansion in Ikoyi
Amara was half-asleep by the time the car stopped. She hadn't even seen him call a driver. One second they were in Lekki, and the next, she was pulling into a large compound in Ikoyi with tall gates, marble tiles, and soft garden lights flickering like stars.
She stepped out, staring.
This wasn't a waiter's house.
This was a multi-million naira estate.
Inside, the home was just as extravagant glass chandeliers, cream-colored floors, velvet drapes, a black grand piano, and walls lined with oil paintings and Edo bronze sculptures. The air smelled of roasted coffee beans and sandalwood.
Amara's voice trembled. "You said you worked at a café."
Lucas shrugged off his coat. "I never said I was a waiter."
"But you wore an apron—"
"It was just part of the cover."
She blinked. Her chest tightened. "So you've been watching me."
He gave her a careful look. "I've been protecting you."
Amara moved back slowly toward the kitchen counter. Her hands trembled as they found the drawer handle. She pulled it open.
A row of silverware.
She grabbed a knife.
Lucas was facing the fridge, his back turned. "You hungry? I've got chicken suya and jollof from—"
"Turn around," she snapped.
He did.
Only to find a knife pressed against his chest.
"I swear to God," Amara said, voice cracking, "if you don't tell me the truth, I'll—"
He raised his hands. "Alright."
"I'm not playing, Lucas! What are those things? Why do they follow me? Who are you?!"
His expression didn't change. Calm. Like he'd been expecting this.
"I'm from a family of witches," he said quietly. "Edo witches. My bloodline traces back to ancient Benin—priestesses and warriors who guarded the balance between light and shadow. My power was passed to me when I turned twenty-one."
Amara's mouth dried. She kept the knife in place. "Witches?"
"Yes. Real ones. Before Nollywood made them scream and wear white chalk, we were spiritual guardians. Not evil. Not good. Just powerful."
"What do the shadow things want from me?"
"You," he said. "They want you, Amara."
Her fingers tightened on the handle. "Why?"
Lucas looked at her like she was something delicate.
"Because you're not just some girl who wants a quiet life in Lekki," he said. "You are the Moon-Blessed. A prophecy reborn. Whether you like it or not, your presence tips the balance between dimensions."
She blinked rapidly. "What—"
"You're light, Amara. Pure, raw light. You weren't just chosen. You are the prophecy."
She lowered the knife an inch. "Why should I believe you?"
He took a step closer.
"Because tonight, they tried to kill you. And I was the only one who came."
Amara sat on the velvet couch, knife long abandoned. Lucas handed her a bottle of water and sat across from her, elbows on his knees.
"Everything Damien told you was true," he said. "But there are things he didn't tell you. Things even he might not know."
"Like what?"
Lucas hesitated. "Like the fact that the Moon-Blessed doesn't just restore balance—she can also destroy it. Depending on who controls her."
Amara frowned. "I'm not anyone's puppet."
"Good," he said. "Because people will try to make you one."
"Why were you following me?" she asked. "Be honest."
"I wasn't following you at first," he admitted. "I was assigned to watch over this quadrant to monitor any magical shifts in Lagos. But the moment you entered Maya Café, my senses went off. I felt your aura before I saw you."
"Aura?"
Lucas nodded. "It was like standing in front of lightning. Unstable, beautiful, dangerous. Then I saw the mark."
Amara looked at her wrist. The glow had faded, but the skin still shimmered faintly like moonlight trapped under the surface.
"So what now?" she asked. "You keep babysitting me until I explode?"
He smirked. "Something like that."
_______
Later that night, Lucas gave her a guest room. It was bigger than her entire apartment in Lekki. Soft lights, a vanity desk, and a bed that felt like clouds.
She lay there, staring at the ceiling, heart still pounding.
She was being hunted.
Lucas was a witch.
She was a moon-blessed prophecy.
None of this felt real. And yet… the cut on her palm from earlier, the mark on her wrist, the taste of the macchiato he'd made for her ,all of it grounded her.
She turned to look at the window. The curtains fluttered gently as a breeze slipped in.
And there, just at the edge of the balcony, stood Lucas. Watching the stars. Silent. Still.
Protecting her.
_______
Amara awoke to the scent of lavender and grilled yam.
For a moment, she forgot where she was. The sheets were silk, the walls painted soft gold, and sunlight spilled through curtains that cost more than her monthly rent. The night before felt like a dream — shadow creatures, Lucas's mansion, the knife in her hand.
She sat up, heart beating fast.
Where was Lucas?
She crept downstairs, barefoot, her hand brushing the polished bannister. The house was too quiet. A clock ticked. A bird chirped outside.
Then she heard it—a voice.
No, two voices.
Low, angry, and familiar.
She turned the corner and froze.
Damien.
He stood in the middle of the living room like a storm in human form. Hair wild, eyes dark, shirt wrinkled like he hadn't slept. And facing him, with that maddening calm, was Lucas—leaning casually against the kitchen island, coffee cup in hand.
"I should burn this place down," Damien growled.
Lucas sipped slowly. "Good morning to you too, Damien."
"Where is she?"
Amara stepped out before Damien could unleash whatever fury he was building.
"I'm here."
Damien's gaze snapped to her. "Pack your things. We're leaving."
"No," she said.
He blinked. "No?"
"I'm staying."
Lucas arched an eyebrow.
Damien's voice dropped. "You don't know what you're saying."
"I know exactly what I'm saying," she said, arms crossed. "Lucas saved my life last night. Where were you?"
Damien ran a hand through his hair, clearly struggling to stay calm. "Amara, you don't understand. He's not who you think he is."
She swallowed. "And you are?"
Lucas chuckled. "Ouch."
Damien stepped closer to her, lowering his voice. "They found the mark, didn't they? The shadows attacked?"
She nodded.
"I told you this would happen. I told you not to ignore the signs." His voice softened. "Amara, please. I'm not here to control you. I just want to protect you."
"That's what he said," she muttered.
Damien turned to Lucas. "You've always been a coward, Lucas. Hiding in plain sight, pretending to be harmless. But you're not. You work for them."
The air snapped like static.
Amara frowned. "What is he talking about?"
Lucas's smile dropped. "He's delusional."
Damien pointed a finger. "You're working for the Cult of the Red Moon. You didn't save her. You were guiding the shadows toward her."
Amara blinked, heart thudding. "That's not true…"
Lucas placed his cup down slowly. "I told you, Damien. That was before. I broke ties with them two years ago."
Damien scoffed. "And I'm supposed to believe that?"
"They wanted me to bring her in," Lucas said calmly, "but I didn't. I protected her. Ask her."
Amara stared at him. Her hands trembled slightly.
"You never said anything about working for anyone."
"I didn't lie," he said. "I just didn't tell you everything."
Damien stepped in front of her, blocking Lucas from view. "You're not safe here. Every second you stay, they get closer. The Red Moon watches everything through him."
Lucas's jaw twitched. "She's free to choose, Damien. You of all people should respect that."
"I don't trust you," Damien said coldly.
Lucas's eyes flicked to Amara. "Do you trust me?"
She didn't answer.
They stood in tense silence.
—————
Two powerful men.
One room.
Her heart—a battlefield.
Amara backed away. "I… I need to think."
Damien looked wounded, but nodded. "Don't take too long."
He turned and walked out, slamming the door so hard the paintings shook.
Lucas exhaled deeply. "That man has the emotional range of a machete."
Amara looked at him. "Is it true?"
He didn't pretend not to know what she meant.
"Yes," he said. "I used to work with them. But I left. When I learned what they truly were. I swear, I never planned to harm you."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I didn't think you'd trust me if you knew."
She paced in a circle, head in her hands. "Now I don't know what to believe."
Lucas came closer. "I didn't lie about everything. I still meant it when I said you're special. And I meant it when I said I'd protect you."
"You said I'm light," she whispered.
"You are," he said. "But light attracts everything beauty, curiosity… danger."
She looked up at him.
There was something in his eyes. Not just secrecy. Something wounded. Something lonely.
"Why did you really save me, Lucas?"
He stepped closer.
"Because the moment I saw you… I knew. You were different. Not just powerful. Alive. Real. You made everything else feel like background noise."
Her breath caught.
"But I also knew," he added quietly, "that I wasn't the only one who'd seen your light."
That evening, she sat by the window in the guest room, watching clouds gather over Ikoyi.
Deborah had called twice. She didn't answer.
Her phone buzzed again.
Damien.
She ignored it.
Her instincts were screaming, pulling her in two directions. Damien had been honest but angry, forceful. Lucas was calm, attentive but full of secrets.
And yet, somehow, her body felt safer near Lucas, even if her mind said otherwise.
She stood and crept down the hallway. Lucas was in the library, surrounded by books and flickering candles.
She watched him from the doorway.
"Is it true," she asked, "that the Cult of the Red Moon can use people like puppets?"
Lucas looked up slowly. "Yes."
"Are you still their puppet?"
His smile was sad. "I'm trying not to be."
She should have been scared.
But she wasn't.
Instead, as he walked past her, brushing her shoulder lightly with his hand, butterflies exploded in her stomach.
______________
The door slammed. Damien was gone.
But his parting words lingered like smoke in the room.
"Next time, I won't ask. I'll take you."
Amara's pulse fluttered. Something about the intensity in Damien's eyes shook her. Not because she didn't believe him but because she did.
As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, Lucas turned to her.
His expression didn't shift.
No fear. No panic. No anger.
Just calm control.
"We can't stay here," he said.
Amara rubbed her arms, suddenly aware of how cold the room had gotten. "Why not? You said this place was safe."
"Not anymore," Lucas replied. "Damien knows this address. His tech team will track us down within hours using our digital trail. He's obsessive like that. His people are trained to trace magical energy signatures and IP activity even mine."
Amara's throat tightened. "So what do we do?"
"We disappear."
Before she could protest, Lucas walked over to her and cupped her face gently.
"I need you to trust me, Amara. Please."
She hesitated. The word please echoed strangely in her mind. Like it wasn't a request—but a plea laced with magic.
"Where would we go?"
"A sanctuary," he said. "A place no one can track. Not Damien. Not even the Red Moon cult."
She tilted her head. "I thought you weren't with them anymore."
"I'm not," he replied swiftly. "But I still know the places they once used. Hidden chambers. Underground sanctuaries, protected by old blood magic. I can keep you there safe. No one will find us."
Amara stepped back.
"Underground?" she repeated.
"It's just a house," he said, reaching for her hand. "From the outside, it looks like nothing. But inside it's beautiful. Protected. Sacred."
She bit her lip.
Everything in her gut told her to say no. But her heart had other ideas. Somewhere between the fear, the tension, and the confusion, she had fallen for him. Lucas, with his sharp jawline, his mysterious past, his silver-tongued words.
And those eyes those compelling, seductive eyes they made her forget everything else.
"Okay," she whispered.
⸻
Scene: Shadows in Pursuit
Elsewhere in Lagos, Damien stood in a dim warehouse on the island. His most trusted spy, a thin woman with skin like onyx and eyes like silver, stood at his side. Her name was Zina—and she'd once infiltrated the Red Moon's inner circle before burning their shrine to the ground.
"They've moved," Zina reported, scanning the faint blue screen of her tracking device. "He's scrambling his magical signature now, but we planted a latent glyph on her wrist when you kissed her hand last week. That's what we're tracking."
Damien folded his arms, jaw tight. "He's taking her underground. I can feel it."
Zina narrowed her eyes. "Then we have to move. Before the mark fades."
Damien's voice dropped, steel in every word. "I don't care what it takes. Bring her back. Before he does what I know he's planning."
Scene: The House That Isn't a House
The drive was long, winding through bridges, water-slicked roads, and backstreets that made Amara dizzy.
By the time they arrived, night had fallen.
The house stood at the edge of an abandoned part of Ikoyi. Modest. Hidden behind vines and a rusted gate. To any passerby, it looked empty.
Lucas parked and stepped out.
"No one comes here," he said softly, unlocking the front door. "It's shielded from satellites. Protected by old enchantments passed down through my bloodline."
She followed him inside.
The moment the door closed behind them, everything changed.
The walls shimmered.
What had appeared old and dusty now gleamed with marble and velvet. The floor pulsed slightly beneath her feet, like the house was alive. Strange symbols etched into the wood glowed faintly. A chandelier of floating light hovered above the living room.
Amara's breath caught. "This isn't just a house…"
"It's a sanctum," Lucas said.
He moved behind her, brushing her shoulder lightly with his fingers.
"No one can hurt you here."
Amara turned to face him, still mesmerized. "How do you know so much magic?"
"I told you," he said. "I'm from a long line of Edo witches. Not all of them good. But I chose a different path."
Then his eyes softened.
"And I chose you."
——————
Amara sat on a velvet couch, arms wrapped around her knees.
Lucas walked toward her, his movements slow, deliberate, like a cat studying its prey. But there was no malice in his eyes only intensity.
"I didn't plan for this," he said.
She looked up. "Plan for what?"
"You."
He knelt in front of her, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her cheek.
"You're powerful. Beautiful. Brave. Everything I was warned to avoid. But I couldn't help myself."
Amara's heart thumped loudly in her chest.
"I told them I wouldn't bring you in," he said. "But now…"
"Now?" she echoed, barely a whisper.
"I don't want them to have you. I want you by my side."
He leaned in. His lips brushed hers gently once. Then again.
"I want you with me, Amara. Forever."
She was trembling now, from confusion or emotion, she didn't know.
His voice dropped, deeper than before.
"Say you'll stay."
She nodded slowly, mesmerized.
But in the farthest corner of her heart a whisper of doubt remained.
———
Zina crouched outside the house, hidden behind a shimmer-cloak that made her invisible to magical detection.
She saw everything. She heard enough.
She pressed the earpiece in her ear.
"He's got her. He confessed his feelings. But there's something strange in the energy of the house—it's pulsing. Like it's waiting to be activated."
Damien's voice crackled on the other end. "That's not just a sanctuary. It's one of their old vessels."
"A ritual chamber?"
"Worse," he said. "A binding sanctum."
Zina's breath caught.
"You don't think he's going to—"
"He's not just hiding her," Damien said grimly. "He's preparing to bind her soul to his."
————
Back inside, Lucas led Amara deeper into the house—past hallways of light, past mirrors that didn't reflect, until they reached a chamber with symbols on the floor.
Candles lit themselves.
Music played from nowhere.
The room pulsed with heat.
Amara felt dizzy.
"Where are we?"
Lucas's hand never left her back. "This is where the bond is sealed. If you want it."
She turned to him. "Bond?"
"A union," he said. "It'll protect you from Damien. From the Red Moon. From anyone."
He lifted a small crystal vial filled with dark liquid.
"All you have to do is drink."
She stared at the vial. It shimmered. Whispered.
Her hands trembled as she reached for it.
Amara stared at the vial in her palm. It shimmered like liquid moonlight, yet burned with crimson at its core.
Her lips trembled.
"This will protect you," Lucas said, voice low and compelling. "From Damien. From the Red Moon. From everyone who wants to use you."
Her hand trembled.
She had questions. Doubts. Whispers that told her this wasn't just about safety—it was something deeper. Binding.
But his voice wrapped around her like a spell.
"I love you, Amara. I won't let anyone take you."
She drank.
The moment the thick liquid slid down her throat, a jolt of fire bloomed in her chest. Her body arched, her vision swirled, and the room around her pulsed in vibrant color.
Lucas caught her in his arms.
"It's beginning," he whispered. "We have to finish the bond."
Amara tried to speak, but her mouth couldn't form words. Energy buzzed through her veins. Her skin glowed faintly with golden light. Symbols on the floor blazed to life.
Lucas pressed his lips to hers—not like before. This kiss was possessive, commanding, urgent.
He carried her to the ceremonial bed in the center of the room, layered in red silk and glowing petals. His eyes gleamed with ethereal power.
"The bond must be sealed through union," he said.
Amara nodded, barely able to speak. "Lucas… I—"
His fingers brushed her cheek.
"I'll be gentle," he promised. "It's the only way to complete the ritual."
As his body lowered over hers, Amara gave in to the moment. Her body burned for him, her heart pounding like a sacred drum. She was no longer a girl afraid of destiny she was embracing it, with him.
Lucas kissed her again this time, deeper, slower. His lips devoured her fear and uncertainty, replacing them with something far more dangerous: desire.
He pulled her into his arms, their bodies molding together as if they had done this in every lifetime before.
Each piece of clothing slipped away, not in a frenzy, but like petals falling from a sacred bloom. He worshipped her with his touch, memorizing every inch of her skin like a prayer.
_______
A blast of blue light shattered the door.
Lucas flung back, shielding Amara instinctively as magic sizzled through the air.
"Get away from her!" Damien's voice boomed through the chamber like thunder.
Flanked by two cloaked figures and Zina at his side, Damien stormed into the room, a glowing spear of energy in his hand.
Amara gasped, her body still lit from the potion, the ritual only half-complete.
Lucas snarled, stepping in front of her. "You shouldn't be here."
"I told you," Damien growled, his gaze never leaving Amara, "next time I wouldn't ask."
Zina flicked her wrist, a protective dome forming around Amara to shield her from stray magic. "The ritual isn't finished. If you don't stop now, you'll bind her soul to his—forever."
Lucas looked back at Amara.
Her eyes widened, realization flooding in. "Lucas… you didn't tell me… it was forever."
He hesitated.
"You wouldn't have come if I did."
Damien's jaw clenched. "You tricked her into it. Just like your people always do. Red Moon never changed you just switched faces."
Lucas's eyes glinted with fury. "She chose me!"
"She was enchanted," Damien countered, raising his hand.
And then war broke loose.
Magic cracked through the chamber.
Lucas and Damien clashed like gods flashes of red and blue lighting up the sanctuary. The symbols on the floor sizzled and died as their powers collided. The air smelled of burning stone and thunder.
Amara crouched inside the protective dome, heart racing.
Everything was unraveling.
The sanctuary. The bond. Her trust.
Her fingers reached for the vial remnants still glowing on the floor, her breath catching in her throat.
Was she now linked to Lucas?
And what would Damien do to her if she was?