Chapter 1 THE NIGHT OF NO RETURN

The night air was heavy, almost suffocating, as I stood outside the black gate, my hands trembling. The street was quiet too quiet. Only the distant hum of a generator reminded me that the world was still moving. But mine had stopped the moment I decided to come here.

I inhaled deeply, then knocked.

A few seconds later, the gate creaked open. Chris stood there in boxers and a white singlet, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Vanessa? This late?"

"I need to talk," I said, barely meeting his eyes.

He stepped aside, still groggy. I walked past him, each step feeling like a countdown to something irreversible.

Inside the house, nothing had changed. The same expensive chairs, the smell of strong cologne and engine oil, Chris was the kind of man you'd walk past on the street without taking a second look. Fair in complexion and chubby, he wasn't breathtaking, he was just there. Not the type of man I would ever dream of dating if I had a choice. But life doesn't always give you the freedom to choose, especially when survival is on the line.

He had a large round tummy that often made his clothes look like they were fighting for air. His height was average, neither short enough to call small nor tall enough to be impressive. And then there was his bald head, always shiny as if he oiled it deliberately. It gave him an older look than his actual age and somehow made his features seem more exaggerated than they already were.

His eyes were a deep brown, often darting around as though he was suspicious of everyone. But what bothered me the most about Chris wasn't just how he looked, it was how he spoke. Every time he opened his mouth, a few drops of saliva would fly out with his words. I often had to flinch or turn my face slightly to avoid them. It wasn't just irritating, it was unbearable. Watching his wet lips move, knowing I'd have to sit there and pretend to be okay with everything, was torture.

He had this confidence about him that I never understood. Maybe it came from the money he had money that made him feel powerful, wanted, and entitled. Maybe he believed that because he could provide, he automatically became desirable. But he wasn't. Not to me.

Every time we were together, I felt like I was pretending. Pretending to be interested. Pretending to care. Pretending not to feel disgusted when he reached out to touch me or spoke too closely. His laugh was loud, his cologne too strong, and his ego too big. He loved attention, loved the way people treated him like a "big man" just because of his wealth. But beneath all that noise, he lacked something deeper real connection, real charm, real decency.

Chris was a man with money, yes. But that's all he ever had. And sadly, for a while, that was enough for my mother. But never for me.

"Sit," he said. I didn't.

"I... I can't do this anymore, Chris," I blurted. My voice cracked. "We need to break up."

Chris blinked slowly. "What?"

"I've tried. For two years, I've tried. But I don't love you. I never have."

Silence fell like a hammer.

Chris's expression twisted hurt, confusion, and anger all at once. "So... what is this? Joke night?"

"I'm serious," I whispered. "I stayed because Mum said... she said we needed the money. But I'm tired of pretending. I can't live like this."

Chris laughed bitterly, a sound that didn't reach his eyes. "So I was just your ATM?"

"No! I never .... Chris, please. I'm sorry."

He stood up slowly. "Sorry? After everything I've done for you? I bought you phones, clothes and so many other expensive stuffs."

"I'll pay you back," I said quickly.

"With what?" he snapped. "You have a job now?"

I looked down. My heart was racing. "No, but I'll find a way."

He stepped closer. "Or... you pay me tonight. In full."

I stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean." His eyes were cold now. "Sleep with me. Then we're even."

My breath caught. I wanted to scream, to run, to disappear. But all I did was stand there paralyzed.

"Mum was right," I thought bitterly. "Money over everything even me." "Money over everything, even me."

"See, Chris, we can talk about this," I said shakily, my voice trembling. "There's no need to go this far."

I backed away slowly, heart pounding in my chest. Deep down, I knew the truth, I had never even let Chris touch me in that way, not once in the two years we had dated. And now, the look in his eyes was no longer love, it was possession.

"Oh, come on, Vanessa," he growled, stepping closer. "You really think I'm going to let you walk away, just like that? After everything? Without me taking something back?"

I opened my mouth to protest, but the words never came. In one sudden, terrifying motion, he grabbed my arm and dragged me down the hallway. I struggled, pleaded, begged "Please, Chris, don't do this!" but he wasn't listening.

Within seconds, I was thrown onto his bed.

I tried to rise, but he was already there blocking me, ignoring my cries. My eyes widened in horror as he removed his singlet, then his boxers. This couldn't be happening. Not like this.

"No... please..." I whispered, my voice cracking.

But outside, the world remained silent. No one heard. No one came.

And then, my nightmare became real.

When it was over, I lay there numb, broken, and exposed. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I stared at the ceiling, trying to disconnect from the pain. Chris stood at the edge of the bed, a wicked grin on his face, his tongue flicking out mockingly as if proud of what he had done.

I turned my face away, covered myself with shaking hands, and wept.

You're probably wondering how I ended up in this mess. My name is Vanessa and this is my story.

I was in the kitchen, washing dishes, singing along to one of my favorite Bruno Mars songs when a message notification lit up my phone screen. Curious, I quickly rinsed the soap from my hands, dried them on my clothes, and grabbed the phone.

One look and I froze.

"I've been offered admission to study Mass Communication," the message read.

My heart skipped. I screamed with pure joy, nearly tossing my phone into the sink by accident. I was happy truly happy for the first time in a long while.

After writing JAMB three grueling times, I had finally made it into the university. Not just any university my dream university: UNILAG. And not just any course I was offered Mass Communication, exactly what I prayed for, cried for, and worked for.

I was happy because it wasn't just my dream coming true. It was my dad's too. After all the sacrifices he made going hungry some nights, burying his own dreams just so we could chase ours I was finally the university girl he could boast of. After all the sacrifices he made going hungry some nights, burying his own dreams just so we could chase ours. I was finally the university girl he could boast of. He could stand tall, chest out, and proudly say, "That's my daughter."

It meant more to me than words could ever explain.

In seconds, my dad and siblings came rushing out of their rooms, worry plastered on their faces.

"What is it, Nessa?" my father asked, scanning me for injuries. Mr. Uche Lawrence, my father is the definition of love wrapped in quiet strength. Fair in complexion, tall, and moderately built not too slim, not too fat. Fair in complexion, tall, and moderately built, not too slim, not too fat. He owns a modest skincare business, and with it, he's carried the weight of raising me and my siblings alone since the day my mother walked out on us.

He's always been a gentle man, not just in words but in heart. Even after my mother abandoned us, after everything she said and did, he never let bitterness harden him. I remember the day it all began to fall apart like it was yesterday.

I was just 12, hiding behind the door, listening.

She had asked him for money again and he, with the heaviness of responsibility in his voice, told her he didn't have any at that moment. "Honey, please," he said, "I promise to give you the money next week. I used the one I had to pay Michael and Gabriel's school fees. The school was going to send them out. I couldn't bear to see our children humiliated."

"You are a worthless man," she spat. "You can't even take care of your wife."

That moment stung.

He reminded her of the shop he'd rented for her, the chance he gave her to run her own business, the love he poured into our home. But it wasn't enough. Nothing was ever enough.

She hissed, picked up her bag, and walked out. My father collapsed in tears, blaming himself for not being able to give her the life she wanted. And that was only the beginning.

I still remember the day the truth broke him. We were watching Nat Geo Wild laughing, curious about how the lion was about to catch its prey when his phone rang. It was a loud call; the TV was blaring. His friend, a barrister, didn't mince words.

"I saw your wife going into a hotel with a man," he said. "She insulted me when I confronted her. Uche, your wife is cheating on you. Be careful."

My father's smile vanished instantly. That day, the house went silent with pain.

When he confronted her, she didn't deny it.

"Yes," she said. "I slept with another man. A man who could give me what you never could money, clothes, a better life."

And for the first time in my life, I saw my father raise his hand at someone. At her. He didn't shout. He didn't curse. He just broke. My mother packed her bags, ready to leave, and I came out of hiding, sobbing, begging her not to go. My siblings joined me. We cried, not understanding how a mother could walk away so easily.

But she did.

And my father he sat on the floor, lost. Broken.

That was ten years ago.

I'm 22 now. Grown. And proud to see that my father though never remarried has moved on. He still smiles, still puts us first, and still loves with everything he has. He's not perfect. But he's everything a real man should be.

My siblings gathered around, wide-eyed and eager.

"I got in!" I shouted. "I've been given admission!"

"Oh my God! Sis, congratulations!" my younger sister, Faithful, squealed, hugging me tightly. "I'm so happy for you!"

Her words melted something in me.

Just a few days earlier, we had a heated argument. In the middle of her anger, she'd said something that cut deep: "Aren't you too old to still be in this house? Please move out so I can have peace."

I knew she didn't mean it. She came to apologize later, teary-eyed and sorry. But hearing her cheer me on now truly happy for me meant the world.

Faithful. Slim, dark-skinned, with curves that turned heads. Sometimes I looked at her and wondered if we were even related. Her light brown eyes sparkled against her thick, dark short hair. She was breathtaking.

Then there was me chubby, dark-skinned, with a stubborn belly, no curves, deep-set dark eyes, and a front hairline that never quite made peace with the rest of my face. I loved her, though even when I envied her.

"Congratulations, Nessa!" two voices echoed behind us.

I turned and smiled. Michael and Gabriel my twin brothers. Always in sync, looked so alike you'd think they were one person duplicated. But personality-wise, they were night and day. Michael was the lively spark always cracking jokes, making everyone laugh, and lighting up any room he walked into. He was my favorite, if I'm being honest. We were close, like best friends in sibling form.

Gabriel, on the other hand, was the quiet one calm, thoughtful, and observant. He rarely smiled, kept to himself, and while I loved him just as much, we weren't as close. It was like there was a wall between us that never quite came down.

They tackled me in a group hug, lifting me off the ground for a second.

I laughed, my heart full.

That day, everything felt right. My dreams were just beginning.