1: The Unexpected Visitor

At exactly 11:47 p.m., my phone vibrated.

Unknown number.

DON'T OPEN YOUR DOOR. NO MATTER WHO KNOCKS.

I frowned at the message.

Before I could reply, someone knocked three times.

I looked through the peephole.

Daniel.

The man I had loved so deeply that losing him had nearly destroyed me. The man who had disappeared two years ago, leaving me with a broken heart, a ruined family business, and questions nobody would answer.

And the man who had just returned looking like a terrible decision dressed in an expensive black shirt.

I opened the door.

"You're insane," I whispered.

"Good evening to you too, Amara."

"What do you want?"

"Five minutes."

"You had two years."

His jaw tightened. "I know."

"No, Daniel. You don't know anything. You don't know what I went through after you left. You don't know how my father died with people calling him a thief. You don't know how I had to smile at my engagement party while your best friend put a ring on my finger."

Something flickered in his eyes.

"You're engaged to Kene?"

I laughed bitterly. "Don't act surprised. You disappeared. He stayed."

Daniel looked past me into the apartment.

"Can I come in?"

"Absolutely not."

"Amara, your life is in danger."

I nearly laughed again.

"Is that supposed to be your new pickup line?"

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a photograph.

My laughter died.

It showed my fiancé, Kene, standing beside my father outside his office. Between them was a suitcase filled with cash.

On the back, someone had written a date.

The date my father's company collapsed.

"Where did you get this?"

"From the man who helped Kene move the money."

My hands began to shake.

"That's impossible."

"Then explain why your fiancé transferred millions into an account belonging to my brother three days before your father was arrested."

I stared at him.

His brother had died in a car accident six months earlier.

Or so everybody believed.

"You're lying," I whispered.

Daniel stepped closer.

"I wish I were."

For a moment, neither of us spoke. I became painfully aware of how close he was, how familiar his cologne smelled, and how much I hated the fact that my heart still reacted to him.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" I asked.

"Because the last time I tried, someone put a gun to my head."

My breath caught.

He lifted his hand as though he wanted to touch my cheek, but stopped before his fingers reached me.

"I came back because I couldn't protect you from a distance anymore."

"Protect me?" I snapped. "You abandoned me!"

"I left because I thought you would be safer without me."

"Well, congratulations. I was miserable."

His expression changed.

"Amara..."

"Don't."

He lowered his head, and for one dangerous second, I thought he was going to kiss me.

I wanted him to.

That was the most humiliating part.

Instead, he whispered, "Tell me you don't feel anything for me anymore, and I'll walk out of that door."

I stared at his mouth.

Then at his eyes.

"You're a bastard."

"I know."

"I hate you."

"I know."

"Then why are you still standing there?"

His voice dropped.

"Because you haven't told me to leave."

A Kiss That Changed Everything

I grabbed the front of his shirt and kissed him.

It was a terrible idea. A reckless, furious, two-years-too-late kind of kiss.

He froze for a heartbeat before kissing me back, one hand settling carefully at my waist. Every angry speech I'd prepared disappeared from my mind. I remembered his warmth, the way he used to make me laugh, and the night he promised he would never become a stranger.

When we finally pulled apart, I was breathing hard.

"This changes nothing," I whispered.

He rested his forehead against mine.

"Then why are you holding on to me?"

I released him immediately.

"Get out."

A small, almost sad smile crossed his face.

The Secret He Couldn't Hide

"There's the Amara I remember."

He turned toward the door.

And I hated myself for wanting him to stay.

Then his phone rang.

He answered.

"Yes?"

A man's voice came through the speaker, loud enough for me to hear.

"Did you tell her?"

"Not yet."

"Then you have a problem. Kene knows you're there."

Daniel went completely still.

The voice continued.

"He's already on his way. And he's bringing the woman who killed your mother."

The call ended.

I looked at Daniel.

"My mother died of cancer."

He didn't answer.

"Daniel. My mother died of cancer."

He slowly turned toward me.

"Amara, there's something you need to understand."

A knock interrupted him.

Three sharp knocks.

I backed away from the door.

Then I heard the voice.

"Mummy's baby. Open the door."

My knees nearly gave way.

It was my mother's voice.

The same gentle voice that used to sing me to sleep when I was little.

The same voice I had heard in my dreams every night since her funeral.

Daniel pulled me behind him.

"Whatever happens," he whispered, "don't let her see the photograph."

The handle began to turn.

And then my phone vibrated again.

A message from Kene.

BABY, I'M OUTSIDE. WHY IS DANIEL IN YOUR APARTMENT?

I looked through the peephole.

There were two people standing in the corridor.

Kene.

And my mother.

But that wasn't what made me scream.

My mother was holding a photograph of me as a little girl.

Beside her stood my father.

And behind them was Daniel.

A much younger Daniel.

On the back of the photograph, someone had written four words:

THEY SOLD HER DAUGHTER.

I turned to face the man I had just kissed.

"Daniel," I whispered. "What does this mean?"

He looked at me with tears in his eyes.

Then he said the one thing I never expected to hear.

"Amara, you're not your father's biological daughter."

The door burst open.

And my mother smiled.

"Finally," she said. "Now we can tell her why she was never supposed to marry Kene."

TO BE CONTINUED...