Chapter 1: The Interview

Amara Okafor stood outside the glass doors of Adebayo Holdings, staring at her reflection.

She adjusted the collar of her cream blouse, smoothed the black skirt she had ironed twice that morning, and took a deep breath.

“God, please,” she whispered. “I really need this job.”

For three months, she had sent applications to different companies across Lagos. Some never replied. Others invited her for interviews only to send polite rejection emails days later.

This job was different.

The salary could help her pay the rent on time, restock her mother's struggling tailoring shop, and finally stop pretending that everything was fine.

Her phone vibrated.

Mummy calling…

Amara answered immediately.

“Good morning, Mummy.”

“My daughter, have you reached the place?”

“Yes, I'm here. I'm about to go inside.”

“Remember to speak confidently. Don't let anybody intimidate you. You are educated, and you have sense.”

Amara smiled faintly. “I know, Mummy.”

“And Amara?”

“Yes?”

“Whatever happens, don't come home crying. God has a plan for you.”

“I won't cry,” Amara promised.

She ended the call, lifted her chin, and walked inside.

The receptionist smiled when she gave her name.

“Miss Okafor? The managing director will see you now. Please take the elevator to the tenth floor.”

Amara froze.

The managing director?

She had expected an interview with the human resources department, not the managing director himself.

Still, she thanked the receptionist and entered the elevator.

By the time the doors opened, her palms were damp.

A young man in a navy suit led her down a corridor to an office with a nameplate that read:

DANIEL ADEBAYO — MANAGING DIRECTOR.

Amara stopped breathing.

No.

It couldn't be.

The assistant opened the door. “Sir, Miss Okafor is here.”

“Send her in.”

That voice.

Three years could pass. Ten years could pass. She would still recognise that voice anywhere.

Amara stepped into the office.

A man stood beside the floor-to-ceiling windows, one hand in his pocket. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit, and his expensive watch caught the morning sunlight.

He turned.

Their eyes met.

For one terrible second, the world seemed to stop.

Daniel Adebayo.

The man who had promised never to leave her.

The man who had disappeared three years ago without a goodbye.

The man she had cried over until she became ashamed of her own tears.

He looked older now, more confident, more distant. But his eyes were the same.

“Amara,” he said quietly.

She gripped the strap of her handbag.

“Good morning, sir.”

His jaw tightened at the word sir.

“Please, sit down.”

“I'd rather stand.”

Something flickered across his face, but he returned to his desk.

“It's been a long time.”

“Three years, two months, and eleven days,” she replied before she could stop herself.

Silence filled the office.

Daniel stared at her.

She hated herself for remembering. Hated that some part of her had counted the days even after she told everyone she was over him.

He gestured towards the chair again.

“Please.”

This time, she sat.

Daniel opened the file on his desk. “Your qualifications are impressive. Your previous employers gave you good recommendations.”

“Thank you.”

“You're applying for the personal assistant position.”

“Yes.”

“Do you know who I am?”

Amara looked directly at him.

“Unfortunately.”

His fingers paused on the file.

“Amara—”

“Are we having an interview, Mr Adebayo, or are you planning to discuss our past?”

He leaned back slowly.

“You've changed.”

“You taught me how.”

The words landed between them like a slap.

For a moment, Daniel looked as though he wanted to say something. Instead, he closed the file.

“Why do you want this job?”

Because her mother's business was failing.

Because the landlord had threatened to lock their shop.

Because she was tired of borrowing money and pretending she wasn't afraid.

Because she had bills to pay and pride could not feed her.

But she said, “I'm qualified for the position, and I believe I can do the work.”

“Even if working here means seeing me every day?”

Her heart twisted.

“I'm here for a job, not a relationship.”

Daniel looked away first.

“Fair enough.”

He signed a document and pushed it across the desk.

“You're hired.”

Amara blinked.

“Excuse me?”

“You start Monday. My assistant will send you the employment details.”

She stared at him suspiciously. “You haven't asked me enough questions.”

“I've read your application.”

“That's not how interviews work.”

A faint smile touched his lips. “You always did argue with me.”

“And you always thought you could get your way.”

The smile disappeared.

“Not always.”

For a moment, she saw the young man she had loved—the one who used to buy her roasted corn after evening lectures, hold her hand beneath the table, and tell her that one day he would give her a life she would never have to struggle for.

Then she remembered the empty calls, the unanswered messages, and the night she waited for him until midnight.

She stood.

“Thank you for the opportunity, sir.”

“Amara.”

She stopped at the door without turning.

“I never stopped loving you.”

Her fingers tightened around the handle.

Three years ago, those words would have made her run into his arms.

Today, they only hurt.

“Then you should have acted like it,” she whispered.

She walked out before he could answer.

By the time she reached the ground floor, her eyes were burning. She refused to cry. Not here. Not because of him.

Outside the building, she finally allowed herself to breathe.

She had a job.

That was what mattered.

Her phone vibrated.

An unknown number.

Unknown: So you finally met him again.

Amara frowned.

Amara: Who is this?

The reply came almost immediately.

Unknown: Someone who knows why Daniel abandoned you.

Her stomach tightened.

Amara: What do you want?

A photograph arrived.

Amara opened it.

The image showed Daniel standing outside her mother's tailoring shop on the night he disappeared three years ago.

But Daniel wasn't alone.

Her mother stood in front of him, tears streaming down her face. In Daniel's hand was a brown envelope.

Amara zoomed in on the photograph, her hands beginning to shake.

Another message appeared.

Unknown: Ask your mother how much she was paid to keep you away from him.

Amara's world tilted.

Her mother?

The woman who had held her while she cried? The woman who had sworn she knew nothing about Daniel's disappearance?

A car horn sounded behind her, but she barely heard it.

She called her mother.

It rang once.

Twice.

Then her mother answered.

“Amara, my daughter! How did the interview go?”

Amara struggled to speak.

“Mummy…”

“Yes, darling?”

She stared at the photograph again.

“Mummy, what did you do?”

Silence.

And in that silence, Amara heard her mother begin to cry.