Chapter One: The Woman in the Wedding Dress
The first time Amara heard her husband order her death, she was standing outside his bedroom with a glass of water in her hand.
It was 11:47 p.m.
Rain hammered against the windows of the Lagos mansion, and the electricity had gone out everywhere except the emergency lights glowing along the corridor. She had been married to Daniel Okafor for exactly twenty-three days.
Twenty-three days of sleeping beside a man who barely looked at her.
Twenty-three days of wondering why a billionaire had chosen a poor girl from Surulere to become his wife.
Now she finally had her answer.
“Make sure it happens before Friday,” Daniel said over the phone.
Amara stopped breathing.
“No mistakes this time,” he continued. “My wife must not discover what happened to her sister.”
The glass slipped from Amara’s fingers.
It struck the marble floor and shattered.
Silence.
Then Daniel spoke again.
“Who is there?”
Amara ran.
She rushed into her bedroom, locked the door and pressed both hands against her mouth to stop herself from screaming. Her heart pounded so violently that she thought it might burst through her chest.
Her sister.
What had Daniel done to her sister?
Three months earlier, Amara’s younger sister, Nneka, had disappeared after accepting a job at one of Daniel’s companies. The police had called it a possible case of voluntary disappearance. Daniel had comforted Amara during the investigation, paid for private detectives and promised her that he would bring Nneka home.
He had even married her.
Now she understood why he had been so generous.
The bedroom door handle turned.
“Amara?” Daniel called gently. “Darling, open the door.”
She wiped her tears and forced her voice to remain steady.
“I’m changing.”
“At midnight?”
“I spilled water on my dress.”
There was a pause.
Then he laughed softly.
“Open the door, sweetheart. I have a surprise for you.”
She didn’t move.
“Amara.”
His voice had changed.
“Open. The. Door.”
She looked around desperately for somewhere to hide. Her eyes landed on the balcony, but they were on the fourth floor. Below, the garden was a dark blur beneath the rain.
The lock clicked.
Daniel had a spare key.
Amara grabbed her phone and hurried into the bathroom just as the bedroom door opened.
“Baby?” he called.
She opened the tap and splashed water on her face, hoping he wouldn’t notice that she had been crying.
When she returned, Daniel stood beside the bed holding a small black box.
He was handsome in the sort of way that made strangers turn their heads. Tall, impeccably dressed, with a smile that could convince an entire room that he was incapable of doing anything wrong.
Tonight, that smile terrified her.
“I bought you something,” he said.
Inside the box was a diamond necklace.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
“Put it on.”
Her hands trembled as she lifted the necklace. Daniel stepped behind her and fastened it around her neck.
His fingers rested against her skin for a moment too long.
“Do you love me, Amara?”
She stared at their reflections in the mirror.
“Of course.”
“Good.” He kissed her cheek. “Because tomorrow, we’re going on a little trip.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere quiet. Just the two of us.”
His eyes met hers in the mirror.
“And Amara?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t ever listen to my private conversations again.”
Her blood turned cold.
He knew.
Daniel smiled, kissed her forehead and walked out of the room.
The moment the door closed, Amara grabbed her phone.
There was one person she could trust: Tobi, her sister’s former boyfriend. He had warned her about Daniel months ago, but she had refused to believe him.
She typed with shaking fingers.
TOBI, I KNOW WHAT DANIEL DID. I NEED YOUR HELP. PLEASE CALL ME.
Before she could send the message, her phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
The message contained only seven words.
YOUR SISTER IS ALIVE. DON’T TRUST YOUR HUSBAND.
Amara stared at the screen.
Another message arrived.
AND WHATEVER YOU DO, DON’T GO ON THAT TRIP.
Then a photograph appeared.
It showed a woman sitting inside a dark room, her face bruised, her wrists tied to a chair.
Amara dropped the phone.
She knew that face.
It was Nneka.
But the date displayed beneath the photograph was tomorrow.
Someone was sending her a photograph from the future.
And beneath it was one final message:
YOU HAVE UNTIL MIDNIGHT TO SAVE HER.