Chapter Seven
POV
Mira
A Life Borrowed, A Life Claimed
Florida was different in every way. The sun here didn't scorch like Abuja's; it caressed instead, wrapping the world in soft warmth. The air smelled of salt and citrus, the ocean stretching endlessly like a mirror reflecting the sky.
Palm trees swayed lazily, and the streets were alive with sound-Spanish, English, Haitian Creole, Yoruba whispered into phone calls. Everything shimmered, too bright, too clean, too foreign.
'I should have felt free.
But freedom had a shadow.
And mine had golden eyes.
The first few days blurred together; paperwork, long walks, and quiet meals eaten alone in a rented apartment overlooking the bay.
I told myself I was fine. That the past, with its power and danger, was behind me. That I could build something ordinary.
But even as I unpacked boxes and hung my suits neatly in the closet, I felt it-the invisible tether.
The pulse beneath my skin that didn't belong to me alone.
By the second week, I have resume work.
"Closing the deal that brought me, I can't stand been idle, bills need to be paid". 'And girls are not smiling!
A small petroleum consultancy downtown; nothing glamorous, but it paid, and it kept me busy. The office was on the eighth floor of a glass tower that caught the sunrise like a mirror. The air-conditioning hummed, coffee brewed constantly, and the click of keyboards filled the silence like rain.
"Welcome aboard, Mira!"
Henry Collins, my new supervisor, was a large man with a too-small tie and the personality of a friendly bull.
"Heard you used to run a division back home," he said, handing me a thick stack of files.
"You'll find this place slower. American systems take time to trust outsiders."
I smiled politely. "I'm used to building trust, sir."
He grinned. "Good. You'll need it." 'Thanks Sir.
They gave me a cubicle by the window, a company laptop that wheezed when it booted, and a nameplate that read M. James. Somehow, seeing my name there made this new life feel almost real.
My coworkers were kind in the way people are when they don't yet know what you've survived. '
Danielle, a redhead with a voice like laughter, quickly adopted me.
"You're from Nigeria, right?" she said on my third day, leaning over the cubicle wall with the energy of a puppy.
"Yes," I said, surprised by her directness.
She grinned. "My ex was from Lagos. He made me jollof rice once. Burned my kitchen down, but it was worth it."
'Oh, that must be an eyes saw of a JOLLOF rice!
We looked at each other and bust into laugh!
I laughed-genuinely, for the first time in weeks.
"Well," I said, "if it burned, you did it wrong. The trick is in the pepper."
"What.... You don't mean it!
Danielle clapped her hands. "Then you have to make it for me someday!
Oh, and by the way-you're coming to the Friday night party."
I blinked. "Party?"
Hmmmm, I go to party down home but am not-all a party girl!
"Company thing. Beach bar. Dancing, drinks, bad karaoke. You can't say no-it's the initiation ritual."
I hesitated. "I don't really."
"No excuses!" she said, pointing dramatically. "You're coming."
And so, that Friday night, I went.
The bar was a seaside shack strung with glowing fairy lights that winked against the waves. Music pulsed through the air; Afrobeats, Latin pop, laughter.
People danced barefoot on the sand, their faces glowing with sweat and joy. The smell of saltwater mingled with perfume and fried food.
For a while, it felt almost like home.
"Now this is freedom," Danielle yelled over the music, handing me a drink that fizzed gold in the light.
"Welcome to Florida nightlife!"
I smiled, taking a sip. "Tastes like bottled sunlight."
She laughed. "Exactly. Now dance before I drag you!"
I let her pull me toward the crowd. My hips found the rhythm easily; old habits from another life.
For a heartbeat, I let go. I let the music drown the memory of golden eyes, of power, of fate. I laughed until my cheeks hurt.
'And then....
'The scent.
It cut through everything-salt, perfume, smoke.
Rain-soaked earth. Wild pine. Thunder and wind. "Him".
My body froze. The glass slipped in my hand, spilling golden fizz onto the sand. My heart slammed against my ribs.
'No. Not here. Not now.
I turned, scanning the edge of the beach, where the fairy lights ended and the dark began.
And there-half-hidden in the shadows; he stood.
Tall. Still. The outline of a man carved from the night itself. The breeze lifted his dark hair, and for an instant, the faint glow of gold flickered in his eyes.
'He didn't move closer.
He didn't need to.
His gaze reached across the sand and claimed me.
"Mira?" Danielle's voice broke the spell. "You okay?"
I blinked, gasping. The shadow was gone. Only waves, only darkness.
"I yeah," I lied. "Just… dizzy."
"Too much sugar," she said with concern. "Come sit."
I nodded numbly, letting her guide me to a bench. My fingers trembled. My heartbeat refused to slow.
That night, sleep didn't come.
When it did, it was no mercy.
I stood in a forest beneath a silver moon. Mist curled between towering trees. The air shimmered with energy; ancient, alive.
'Wolves circled silently, their eyes glowing amber. And there, in the clearing, he waited.
'The Alpha King.
He stepped toward me, every movement deliberate, predatory. The air trembled around him. His gaze pinned me where I stood, heart wild, breath shallow.
"You can dance among mortals," he said, voice low, like velvet laced with thunder. "You can hide behind their laughter, their lights.
But your soul…" He reached out, his fingers brushing the air between us. "…your soul already dances with mine."
His hand found mine, and fire bloomed beneath my skin.
My knees weakened. The tether between us flared; bright, unbearable.
"You don't belong to this borrowed life,
'Mira," he whispered. "You never did."
I gasped and stumbled back but the forest melted away. Suddenly, I was back in the ballroom, chandeliers flickering, his golden eyes across the crowd.
The dream and memory blurred, merging into one unbroken truth.
He had found me once. He would find me again.
I woke with a strangled cry. The sheets were tangled around me, my skin damp with sweat. The night outside was still and heavy. But the scent-his scent-lingered.
Wild earth. Rain. Possession.
I sat up, clutching the pendant at my throat; a simple chain, once a gift from my mother.
"Not again," I whispered. "Not here."
But deep inside, my heart betrayed me. Because even as fear pulsed through my veins, another feeling rose beside it.
Longing.
The Alpha King wasn't just my curse. He was my connection; to something vast, ancient, eternal. No city lights or oceans could dim that truth.
And as dawn crept through my window, washing the room in soft gold, I realized something terrible and beautiful.
Florida had given me a job, laughter, even friendship. But none of it truly belonged to me.
Because my life here was borrowed.
And the one who claimed me was coming to collect.