FablingVerse

Keywords: Once Upon A Forever, Prologue, Free Web Novel, Nigerian Story, Reincarnation, Doomed Love, Fated Love, Lara, Slice of Life.

Lara 

Kira moved like she was at war with the kitchen. Pots clanged. Plates clicked. Cups rattled as she cleaned with frantic precision.

Lara leaned against the doorframe, watching. Her gaze drifted to the bottles of alcohol still on the counter. She picked them up and began sliding them into the cupboard.

“Careful with that one,” Kira said without looking.

“Which one?” Lara asked.

“All of them. They are all expensive.”

Lara smirked as she shelved the last bottle.

“Hey, how’s your head?”

“Better. That hangover soup worked.”

Lara leaned against the counter, watching Kira stack plates in the rack.

“I need a job,” Lara said quietly. “Something solid. Something to hold onto.”

“A job?” Kira snorted. “Babe, we were both last in class. We failed WAEC and JAMB. What job?”

“Should we rob a bank?”

“Yes,” Kira said, placing the final plate away. “Better to be trapped by the government than by Tyrie.”

“I’m joking.”

Kira wiped her hands on her gown. “I can call a friend. You could work as a waitress. He’ll pay you like a manager for a month or two. I’ll sell some things in the meantime.”

“Why didn’t I think of selling things?”

“Because Tyrie would hear. You need to stay invisible. Your stuff is already here. I’ll sell mine. Mark bought me some valuable gifts.”

“You know Tyrie knows where you live, too,” Lara said.

“That’s why you need the job. You can’t sit around paranoid.”

Lara nodded.

“But honestly,” Kira added, “Mark might be our best option.”

“Why?”

“He seems desperate to get rid of his nephew. I’m sure he will be willing to pay at least two million up front.” Kira said. “That will at least be able to get you good running shoes.”

Lara frowned. “I’m still not sold.”

Kira smirked. “I know, sounds silly, but this nephew—David—is untouchable. Cold. I’ve seen him once at a family event. Really handsome. Every woman wanted a piece of him, but damn, that man is cold.”

Lara leaned forward, curious despite herself. “And you think I’d have a chance?”

“Babe! You are magnetic, electrifying!” Kira pulled Lara’s face towards hers. “You are unnecessarily beautiful.”

“I am rough, uneducated. Practically useless to anything other than fighting and running,” Lara countered.

Kira sighed. “Still, you are beautiful.”

Lara laughed.

“Besides, even if you don’t get him, you may find a client, work as a Runzgirl, and find a powerful backer,” Kira said.

“I have zero seduction skills, Kira,” Lara said. “What part of useless and trapped don’t you understand? Chief Badmus might have been good to me, but ultimately, I just ended up as a caged bird, only good at fighting, reading people, and being realistic.”

Kira exhaled. “Well, at least you are no longer suicidal.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You still look down on yourself,” Kira said. “For someone who’s good at accepting reality, you reject a lot about yourself.”

“But seriously, no woman?” Lara began.

“Well, there was one once,” Kira said. “I heard he was really into her, but she was married and so her husband killed her. But, outside of her, there is also this woman, always with his mother. I heard she is his fiancée. But he doesn’t seem to like her.”

“If it’s like this, why haven’t you tried to seduce David yourself?”

Kira laughed—a short, incredulous sound that carried both amusement and warning. “Please. Mark would kill me. That insecure old man. He would think it was a good idea at first, then he would drown in jealousy and become unbearable if I succeeded. But then if I failed, his insecurity would slowly plot my demise because he would think me disloyal and no longer worth keeping.”

Lara tilted her head.

“Sounds like a dangerous man,” Lara said.

“Yes, but on the scale of Tyrie, he is a paper tiger to you.”

“Really?”

“One man’s devil is another man’s demon,” Kira smiled.

Lara tilted her head, intrigued.

“So you think I can beat him in a fight?”

“What I think is this,” Kira said. “If you fail at seducing David, you can simply return to your life, or find a sugar daddy. If you succeed, then you can manipulate David into getting rid of all your problems, and if Mark tries to fight you for betraying him, you are strong, great at fighting, and smart. It’s easier to get rid of Mark than Tyrie. I’ve seen you fight and take a beating.”

Lara smiled. “Are you trying to get me to kill Mark for you?”

Kira laughed. “I mean, that would be a bonus.”

Lara chuckled. “I’m starting to feel like drinking again.” Then she grew serious. “You are suggesting getting into a new cage to escape my old cage.”

Kira nodded. “All way na way.”

“I need assurance,” Lara said. “Call Mark. Ask him about the bet.”

Kira hurried to the living room with Lara trailing behind her, rummaged through her bag for her phone.

She dialed. Her flirtatious tone softened when she heard his strained breathing.

“Mark, baby… are you okay?”

“I… I’m fine,” he said, but she could hear the sharp intake of breath behind the words, the little fractures in his voice.

Kira’s tone shifted, business-like now, her eyes flicking to Lara as she placed the call on speaker. “My friend… she’s thinking about trying to seduce David. For the five million.”

Silence.

“I’ll send you two invites,” Mark said. “She’ll attend the family banquet.”

Kira nodded, her lips twitching with amusement. “Baby, she’ll need a seductive makeover, and ‘reassurance’.”

“Fine,” his voice held a mixture of irritation and compliance.

“Send something for your baby, too,” Kira said softly, and ended the call, tucking her phone back into her bag.

“Okay, Kira,” he said.

“Okay, daddy,” Kira said. “See you at the banquet.”

“See,” Kira said, hanging up.

“Wow,” Lara said. “He clearly sounded hurt, but you didn’t even seem worried.”

“I’m playing the role of a pampered princess,” Kira said. “If he needs care, he should find his wife.”

Lara scoffed. “Okay, let’s keep this as plan B and scale up.”

“What do you mean by scale up?”

“Well, I go for the job, try a quiet life, hope Tyrie won’t come for me. If that fails, I try plan B: go for David. And if that fails or turns into a bigger trap, I simply return to Tyrie, plan his murder, dismantle the gang from the inside, fish out all their police connections and deals, gain his trust, submit, and then kill him.”

“You’ve really thought this through.”

“Yes,” Lara said. “No matter what, I’ll live this life till I’m a hundred.”

Kira reclined on the couch and patted it for Lara to join her.

Lara sat and leaned on her shoulder.

“My sweet little baby,” Kira patted Lara’s head. “Everything will be alright.”

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ONCE UPON A FOREVER 

Keywords: Once Upon A Forever, Prologue, Free Web Novel, Nigerian Story, Reincarnation, Doomed Love, Fated Love, Mark, Slice of Life.

Mark  

Mark’s face twisted, a vein pulsing in his temple as he stared at the door. The last threads of his composure finally snapped.

Ayo, one of the six guards stationed in the office, stepped forward.

“Sir… what’s the plan?”

Mark turned on him. “Plan?”

“Mr. David still won’t hurt you. There are other ways—”

Mark glared, then burst into a sharp, manic laugh.

Ayo flinched, swallowing the final scrap of hope he had offered.

“He was never supposed to drive that car so soon,” Mark muttered, sinking back into his chair. “Damn it.”

He dragged a hand over his face. “Why is that bastard so untouchable?”

No one answered.

“I should have inherited everything,” Mark went on. “Since when does a father skip his own son and give everything to his grandson?”

He stood and began pacing. “What method haven’t I tried to get rid of him?”

Ayo stiffened by the window. “Sir… maybe—”

Mark turned, hope flickering.

The office door swung open.

Mark froze. For one sickening second, he thought David had come to finish him.

Instead, Queen walked in.

No guards. No entourage. Just her.

Her heels clicked against the marble, slicing through the tension. The air seemed to shrink around her.

Mark stared. “What the hell are you—”

The slap cut him off.

Ayo’s head snapped to the side. His cheek flushed red.

“How dare you not inform me that he tampered with my son’s car?” Queen said calmly, wiping her palm with a handkerchief.

“I was going to tell you, ma,” Ayo said shakily. “I didn’t think he’d drive it so soon.”

“You will return to my side after this.”

“Witch!” Mark shouted. “Are you deaf?”

Queen looked at him. Said nothing. The silence crushed.

“David promised your father not to kill you,” she said at last. “I didn’t.”

Mark snarled. “Who do you think you are? You outsider—”

*Slap.*

His eyes widened.

“You slapped me.”

Queen did not answer.

Mark raised his hand to strike her back.

Ayo lunged, grabbing his wrist.

“Ayo?” Mark stared.

Ayo shoved his hand away and stepped in front of Queen.

“Traitor,” Mark hissed.

Queen smiled.

“Kill them!” Mark roared. “All of you!”

The other five guards rushed forward.

“You bitch! Even if you die here, David will thank me!” Mark continued. “Kill her!”

But they did not run toward Queen.

They went for Mark.

They seized him, slammed him down, fists and boots crashing into his body.

“Beat him until he is clinging between life and death,” she said, voice flat.

Mark barely had time to understand before pain erased everything else.

Hands pinned him. Someone punched him in the gut. Blood sprayed from his mouth.

“Stop,” Queen said.

Two guards hauled him upright.

“What is this?” Mark gasped. “How—why—”

“Too loud.”

A fist crushed into his ribs.

“This is only one of my hands,” Queen said. “Since the first time you tried to kill my son, I’ve been replacing your people.”

Mark looked around at the men who were supposed to protect him.

Despair finally reached him.

“Chuwudi… even you?”

Chuwudi did not answer. There was nothing left to say.

“He still has a mouth,” Queen said.

They descended on him again.

Pain. Bone. Breath tearing out of him.

Queen crouched in front of him and grabbed his face, forcing his eyes to meet hers.

“Outsider,” she said softly. “Let me tell you something, Mark. After you made your brother infertile, I got pregnant with your father’s child. David is your father’s son.”

“You monster,” Mark spat through blood. “I’ll kill you—”

She shoved his head aside.

“You were never anything but a pawn.”

Mark stared at her, seeing her for the first time.

“God will punish you.”

“A god who let you live this long has no authority over me.”

Mark tried to talk.

“He can still talk,” Queen observed.

The guards descended on him again.

“Beat him until he is clinging between life and death,” she’d said, like she was asking for tea.

Finally, Mark’s world collapsed into sound and flashes of agony. He tried to curse, to command, to promise vengeance, but his words drowned under the weight of their fists.

Now he lay broken.

“Let him be,” Queen said.

The guards stepped back.

“We could have lived like a family,” Queen said. “After all, I’m technically your stepmother. But you just had to touch my bottom line. You keep provoking me.”

Mark said nothing.

“I never expected that David would actually keep his promise to that old man. Since he is unwilling to kill you, I should warn you that I am willing.”

“You… you better kill me—I’ll never let your son go.”

Queen seemed taken aback. She froze, as if remembering a traumatic memory.

Then she snapped out of it, shaking her head as if forbidding a scary and troublesome thought.

“The last person who said that to me still screams in my dreams.”

She laughed, and kept laughing, like a maniac, as she turned and walked out.

The guards followed, and just like that, the assault had come to an end.

Mark lay there, twitching, staring at the door.

“David… will pay for this.”

And even he wasn’t sure anymore if he believed it. 

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ONCE UPON A FOREVER 

Keywords: Once Upon A Forever, Prologue, Free WebNovel, Nigerian Story, Reincarnation, Doomed Love, Fated Love, David, Slice of Life.

David  

David’s shoes clicked sharply against the marble floor, each step deliberate. The secretary stiffened, almost vibrating with nervous energy as he approached. She recognized him; his picture hung on the wall behind her, tagged ‘Chairman,’ right next to that of the President of Nigeria and the Governor of Lagos.

Her fingers twitched above the intercom, a half-formed call dying in her throat as Tony’s hand lifted slightly—a silent warning that froze her mid-motion.

David didn’t speak. His eyes swept the reception, noting every detail: scratches on the marble edges, a faint smudge of a fingerprint on the polished brass nameplate, the way the fluorescent lights flickered near the ceiling. Each detail harmless on its own, but together forming a report on his uncle’s negligence.

The secretary stepped back hastily, trying to appear composed, but her gaze kept darting to the portrait.

David walked past her, Tony following behind, holding a small wooden box.

The elevator doors slid open with a muted hiss. David stepped inside first, then Tony, ensuring no one came in after them. Inside, David’s gaze swept the small reflective walls, noting the subtle hum of the motor, the security camera in the corner. His eyes lingered on it, certain Mark was watching.

The elevator descended in silence.

The doors pinged open. Tony stepped out first, then David followed, before Tony fell back to walk behind him.

The door to Mark’s office loomed. David did not hesitate. He opened it and walked in.

David’s footsteps were quiet, controlled, the echo swallowed by the cavernous luxury of the office. The walls, lined with mahogany shelves heavy with legal tomes and gilded awards, seemed to lean inward.

Uncle Mark was already standing, anticipating him. His hand shot out, a forced smile plastered across his face.

“David, my boy! It’s… good to see you.”

David frowned at Mark’s hand, then allowed his gaze to sweep the room in a slow, methodical scan. Six men, broad-shouldered and silent as statues, were positioned—two near the door, one by the windows, one beside the shelves, two flanking the desk. Each looked ready to pounce.

David didn’t acknowledge the guards. He noticed the TV on the wall, showing surveillance footage of the office, including Mark’s office. His annoyance subsided before his eyes returned to his uncle, measuring the tremor in his smile, the stiffness in his shoulders, the twitch of his hand. Fear leaked through the façade.

“Sit,” Mark said, voice pitched higher than usual.

David clenched his fist, took in a slow breath, and let it out, remaining standing. He let the silence stretch, letting discomfort settle over the room like fog. His gaze flicked again to the guards.

“Six,” he said, almost to himself. Then louder, “For a conversation with your nephew?”

Mark’s hand tightened on the edge of his desk. “Security… precautions. You understand, right?”

A flicker of disgust crossed David’s face, but he held it back. “I understand. But I also understand optics. Too many guards, and everyone assumes you’re either guilty or afraid. Neither looks good for a man of your… stature.”

Mark laughed nervously, a sound that didn’t reach his eyes. “I… I suppose.” He motioned toward the chair opposite his desk. “Please, sit.”

David moved slowly, predator-like, toward his uncle’s chair, gesturing for him to move. Mark hesitated, but David’s gaze warned him. He moved aside.

David sat down. From Mark’s chair, he could see the guards, Mark, Tony, the surveillance, and the door. The guards’ eyes never left him. A bead of sweat appeared at Mark’s temple. Tony looked like he was holding back a smile.

“David…” Mark started, hands fidgeting on the desk. “We… your father, my brother, we need to discuss family matters. The trust. Your father’s wishes, my father’s—”

David leaned back, trying to appear calm even as his fist clenched tightly. His eyes were sharp, assessing, as if deciding how to deal with Mark.

“You’re rambling. It’s annoying.”

Mark’s breath caught. One guard subtly shifted, anticipating a spark, but David didn’t flinch.

David lifted his hand. Mark flinched, caught between instinct and composure.

“I… I just—” Mark started, but David’s raised brow cut through the room. Silence stretched.

Mark’s knees betrayed him with a subtle wobble.

Tony, silent as a shadow, stepped forward and placed the wooden box on the desk. David pointed at it. “Open it,” he commanded, voice carrying a subtle menace.

Mark’s hands shook as he lifted the lid, feigning steadiness. His eyes widened at the contents, and finally, all the fear he had tried to conceal flooded out.

“You promised my father you wouldn’t kill me,” Mark blurted.

Inside the box were two severed hands, pale under the office lights, fingers slightly curled as if frozen mid-motion.

David leaned back, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at his lips. His eyes, cold and calculating, never left Mark.

“You must recognize them,” he said softly, deliberate.

Mark swallowed, wetting his dry lips. “This… was necessary?” he stammered, voice tight with fear.

David’s eyes sharpened, a subtle tightening around them, like a trap snapping shut. “Was it?” His tone held no malice.

Mark’s hands twitched over the desk, a silent plea for mercy he could not voice.

“Messing with my car brakes for a mere million naira,” David said, forcing a casual tone, “he’s lucky I only took his hands.”

Mark’s eyes widened. “I—I didn’t instruct him to… tamper with the car! Yes, I paid him, but it was not for your car—he was also looking at my car, I swear—”

David cut him off with a lifted hand. “I don’t want to hear it.” His tone carried no anger, though that was all he felt. He leaned back slightly, fingers steepled, eyes pinning Mark to the floor.

“Mark,” he continued, “the only reason I allowed you your vain life is because Mr. Ashimolowo wagered my right to kill you for this inheritance—and I am a man of my word.”

He let the silence press, suffocating, before continuing. “It’s been over a year since the old man died, and I became patriarch. Even if I kill you now, I lose nothing.” His eyes glinted, cold, calculating.

Mark’s shoulders slumped. “David… I—please, it wasn’t personal…”

“I am a man of my word, Uncle Mark. I won’t kill you.”

Mark sighed, relieved.

David smiled. Noticing that his smile unsettled his uncle more than his neutral face, his eyes softened. “Don’t tempt me to make living unbearable for you.”

David stood and walked out, Tony behind him, the little gift box still sitting on Mark’s desk, doing its job.

In the car park, David stood beside the sleek black car, hands casually in his pockets. Tony moved ahead to check the vehicle.

“All clear, sir,” Tony said.

David took his place in the driver’s seat, Tony behind the wheel.

A movement at the driveway caught his attention: a black luxury Jeep with tinted windows rolled smoothly into the lot. His mother, Queen, stepped out of the driver’s seat.

Tony smirked. “Looks like Madam’s here… to do what nobody asked her to do.”

David scoffed and rolled his eyes. Tony smiled; David let out a soft chuckle.

“By the way, David, why haven’t you done anything about Mark?”

“He’s a nuisance,” David said. “But every time I suppress him, the other vultures hold back.”

David stared out the window, exhaustion finally showing.

“The mechanic’s son,” he muttered.

“I set a trust for him,” Tony said.

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ONCE UPON A FOREVER 

Keywords: Once Upon A Forever, Chapter 8, Free Web Novel, Nigerian Story, Reincarnation, Doomed Love, Fated Love, Kira, Slice of Life.

Kira 

Kira’s heart thumped hard as she braced herself to knock on the door. She knocked once, and when she did not get an answer, she knocked again, frantic. “Lara!” she called, her voice high and cracking at the edges. She rapped on the door, fists stinging, before shoving her shoulder against it. Nothing.

Her fingers trembled as she fumbled for her tote bag. Throwing it open, she dug through it. Alcohol bottles, phone, charger, a half-empty bottle of water, phone. She dialed Lara’s number, her hand shaking.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up…” she muttered under her breath. Each ring felt like an eternity.

Finally, the door creaked open. Lara appeared, hair mussed, skin wet, eyes slightly red and glassy. Kira blinked at her, trying to mask her relief with mock sternness.

Relief washed over her. She hugged her, breathing out her concerns before pulling back and looking at her friend with a playful glint.

“Well, well, well,” Kira said, hands on her hips. “Look who decided to stay. You look a zombie who took a bath. What’s that smell, vomit?”

Lara blinked, trying to focus, her mouth opening then closing as if she were weighing how much truth to reveal. She did an ojigi bow. “I… I’m fine. Sorry about the smell, detergents can onluy do so much,” she said, her voice soft, a little hoarse.

The bow threw Kira off, but she shrugged it away, though the concern in her tone betrayed her bravado. “Ha, we’ll get used to it.” She hugged Lara again. This time, Lara hugged her back. “Glad you’re fine.”

“Yeah, oh, sorry about the Tenjaku, it finished,” Lara said.

Kira laughed. “It did its job.” She guided Lara back in, to the couch, easing her down like she was handling a wounded bird. “Come on, tell me now. How do you feel? How was last night?”

Lara slumped, letting her head tip back against the cushions. Her eyes half-closed, lips parted. Kira crouched in front of her, tilting her chin up just enough to meet her gaze.

“Will you believe me if I say I’ve been reborn?” Lara whispered, barely audible.

Kira leaned closer, her voice teasing but laced with tenderness. “Well, whiskey can do that.”

“I mean, I no longer want to die, rather I want to kill him,” Lara continued.

“We can plan towards that,” Kira said.

She was now beginning to notice the usual street noise that drifted into her little, cluttered home.

“So, how did you decide on killing the bastard?” Kira asked.

“I think I got poisoned last night, I may have died, but then I saw all my past lives. Will you believe it? In all my past lives I’ve been a slave, poor, trapped, never been free.”

Kira could not understand her friend, but she decided against interrupting her for clarity, so she egged her on. “Trapped?”

“It’s hard to explain, but I’m tied to a prince by a blood pact, and every lifetime he comes for me. I run. I die.”

Kira raised an eyebrow.

Lara rolled her eyes, frustration creeping into the softness of her voice. “I’m not joking. I saw it, Kira. I remember being everything. I—”

“So, is Tyrie the Prince?” Kira asked.

“No, I’ll know the prince when I meet him.”

Kira stared at Lara, unsure of how to respond.

“I want to be free in this life even if it’s once,” Lara said. “Tyrie is strong, and the new head of a thriving crime syndicate. Killing him will not be easy, and even if we succeed, his gang will kill us. I can’t drag you down with me.”

Lara held her head in her hand, the hangover headache kicking in.

Kira held Lara’s face in her palms. “You’ve really though this through.”

Lara gave a weak laugh, the sound brittle but alive. “I don’t want to die anymore,” she said. Her voice trembled, but there was a new edge to it, soft but steady. “I’m tired, I don’t want to be trapped any more, but I also don’t want to kill myself. I’m tired. I’m tired of dying.”

“You’re allowed to be tired,” Kira said softly. “Not just from your past lives, which, babe, I must be honest, I’m low-key giving you the side eyes. But from this life, the life where I got to know you, you. You’ve been fighting ghosts no one else can see. Even soldiers sleep.”

The kettle whistled in the kitchen. Kira stood, tugging Lara’s hand as she did. “You’re making coffee?” she asked.

Kira nodded.

“Okay! Coffee and a murder plan. Get up.”

Lara laughed. “You just called me crazy in a beautiful way”

“I also called you strong?” Kira scoffed.

Lara laughed again. “Coffee and murder plan, how do you come up with these.”

Kira joined in, pulling Lara into the kitchen.

Kira moved to turn off the whistling kettle, noticed the empty bottle of Tenjaku on the kitchen counter, smirked, and remembered the drinks in her bag.

“Wait!”

She turned off the burner and hurried out of the kitchen, returning a second later with her tote bag, and pulled out the five bottles of alcohol. The five included a new Tenjaku.

Lara’s eyes lit up.

“If we can’t come up with an airtight murder plan over coffee, we may need to come up with a crazy one over vodka,” Kira joked.

Lara laughed and hugged her. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Kira said.

Reassured, Kira pulled back, got the mugs from the shelf, and proceeded to make the coffee. Then she opened the fridge. “Great. My hangover stash is still here.”

She pulled out a bowl of soup with boiled eggs, popped it in the microwave, then handed the coffee mugs to Lara.

“Here, I’ll bring the soup.”

Lara took the cups out of the kitchen.

Kira grabbed two bowls. The microwave dinged. She dished the soup and went to join Lara.

She handed Lara her bowl, then plopped down next to her.

“I had a second to think,” Kira said.

“Rather than a grand murder scheme, that will leave both of us dead, because you know there is no way I’ll let you kill alone,” Kira said, blowing on her soup. “Why not try to escape, vanish from here, to a country where Tyrie will never find you?”

“With which money?” Lara asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Okay, this is a crazy idea,” Kira began. “Last night, something strange happened. Mark got a call, panicked, and called off the cruise. But before that, he had been talking about paying anyone who could seduce his nephew 5 million naira.”

“Your sugar daddy?” Lara said. “Sounds like he was joking.”

“He has the money.”

“Is he not the same man who would rather pay your bills than give me money?” Lara asked.

“Yes, he is an insecure control freak,” Kira stated. “But I know he’s serious about this.”

“So, basically he wants more than seducing his nephew.”

“Yes.”

“And he still hasn’t found anyone to?” Lara asked.

“He has. But his nephew never falls.”

“Sounds messy, like a completely different type of trap. Not worth it.”

Kira sighed. “True.”

“I’ll rather just Kill Tyrie.”

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ONCE UPON A FOREVER 

Keywords: Once Upon A Forever, Prologue, Free Web Novel, Nigerian Story, Reincarnation, Doomed Love, Fated Love, Queen, Slice of Life.

Lara 

Lara slipped off her shoes by the door as she entered Kira’s home. It was empty and safe. Her place was cramped, but it had warmth. It had bright throw pillows, a calendar from three years ago, and a dull cactus by her window, Kira’s idea of a low-cost air freshener.

She let her bag fall onto the couch, its weight hitting the cushions with a dull thud, letting dust rise from the threads. She inhaled; the dust seemed to calm her nerves, unlike the leather ones at Chief Badmus’s place, which she was used to pretending were comfortable.

Her eyes drifted toward the small kitchen. She walked in and flipped the light switch. It blinked three times before staying on. She moved toward the cabinet, tracing her fingers over the wooden edges.

There it was. Tenjaku. The label was peeling, and the bottle was full, but she could see that Kira had taken a sip from it. Behind it were several empty alcohol bottles, all big brands. She smiled at how Kira treasured her drinks. And yet, she was willing to let her drink it.

Lara reached for it.

She stared at her reflection in the glass, her face framed by exhaustion, her eyes heavy with questions she didn’t dare voice.

“Oh well, it’s either you or cyanide,” she muttered under her breath, twisting the cap open. The scent hit her—smoky, sweet, like an escape.

She grabbed a mug from Kira’s tired plate rack, poured a little in it, and took a sip. It didn’t burn like most whisky; it went down smoothly, almost like whisky-flavored water.

“Wow, smooth.” She poured more into the mug and chugged.

Then she walked into the living room with the bottle and mug.

“Is this really alcoholic?” she asked, as she began scanning the textured label. “40%?”

She sat on the couch next to her bag and picked up the album on the wooden center table. She felt the first wave from her last chug.

“Can I really not escape this life?” Lara asked her bottle.

She noticed how the kitchen lights hit the bottle and the drink glowed. She opened the album; it was filled with pictures of her and Kira, from Kira showing up to support her fights at the rings, to nights in the club, then on a beach, and something hit her.

“I’ve never smiled.”

She opened the bottle, poured more into the mug, and chugged.

Her fingers flipped through more pages in the album, and she finally settled on one page. It was of Chief Badmus holding up her hand in the ring, looking proud, but she looked more fearful than happy, yet the man who had raised her was smiling from ear to ear.

“At least he made living in debt seem like home.” She poured more drinks. “You said I was precious to you! Why did you die?”

She poured herself more drinks as her tears began to flow. Since Chief Badmus died, this was her first chance to mourn him; up until now, all she had felt was numbness at the news of his passing.

She chugged.

“Do you know, while you were admitted in the ICU, he locked me up in a basement? He flogged me, he starved me, he called me a useless gutter rat, a fetish for a disgusting old man who was grooming me. He said once you died, he’ll destroy me and give me to his men. He only let me out because the lawyer refused to read your will if I was not present and unarmed.”



She tipped the bottle to pour in the mug, but changed her mind and chugged.

“I’ve never had anything, but you gave me things. You even acted like a father should; you never scolded me for failing in school, you created a fighting division for me since I said I couldn’t handle school and was always getting in fights. I know you also wanted to make sure that I was strong and could protect myself. But what if the enemy is stronger than me?”

Her hands could no longer hold up the weight of the drink and slowly fell to her side.

“If you were going to die, you should have given me a clean way out, first.”

She lifted the bottle to her lips again and chugged until the last drop emptied into her mouth. She looked at the empty bottle and laughed bitterly.

“Kira will be mad that I finished you.”

She shrugged and dropped the bottle, and leaned back. The room began to spin. She closed her eyes, thinking sleep would come next.

A minute later, she slipped to the floor, eyes open, but gone.

“I should kill him! Then I’ll kill myself!”

She rummaged through her bag for the cyanide.

“I’ll sneak back in, pour this in his morning coffee!” She lifted up the cyanide and hurried for the door but tripped over her bag, hit her head on the table. The glass bottle fell to the ground and broke, and so did Lara’s great escape plan.

Like falling down a rabbit hole, she slipped through herself—time splintering into colors and faces she half-recognized. A rush of incense, the sharp smell of rain-soaked wood, the whisper of silk brushing tatami mats.

She was barefoot, standing in a long line of trembling girls in pale robes. The matron paced before them, her geta clacking like small thunder. “Smile, lower,” the woman hissed, gripping Lara’s chin hard enough to bruise. “You’re not a bride, you’re slaves. You breathe when spoken to.”

Lara—no, the maid—bowed too quickly. The matron smacked the back of her head. Laughter rippled through the line. She bit her tongue, tasting iron. Obedience was survival. She knew that. Still, her hands trembled behind her back, folded too neatly to be real calm.

“Clumsy thing,” someone sneered from behind her. The shogun’s wife’s maid, lips painted like blood. She reached out, shoved Lara’s shoulder just as the matron turned away.

The world tilted. Her sandals caught the edge of the stairs. For a breathless second, she was weightless. Then—hands. Firm, warm, catching her by the waist.

The boy who caught her wasn’t a boy. He was dressed like a prince from the poems—dark layered silk, a crest shining faintly at his chest. His eyes met hers, steady and startled all at once. Neither moved.

“Are you hurt?” he asked softly.

She tried to kneel, but he didn’t let go. “No, my lord.” Her voice came out smaller than she meant it to.

Something flickered in his gaze—something forbidden. He reached into his sleeve, pulled out a small dagger, and threw it at the Queen’s maid. She fell instantly.

The other maids panicked, but no one dared to come close.

The shock of the scene sent her to the next.

She was cornered on the Young Prince’s bed, afraid, unsure, yet captivated.

“Give me your hand,” he said.

He was on his knees. He moved closer; something about seeing him like that for her made her feel stronger, but she knew her slave fate was strong.

She hesitated. “My lord—”

“Please.”

Her pulse stuttered. She raised her hand. His touch was cool.

He lifted up her palm and kissed it. Then, fast, before she could form any objection, he took out a dagger and slashed her palm. She screamed, but he immediately muffled it with a kiss.

She tried to pull back her hand, but he held on until she stopped struggling. Then quickly, he slashed his palm without flinching and pressed it on hers.

Their blood mixed; his felt hotter than hers. His voice was low, urgent. “No matter the lifetime, Haruka, I will always only ever belong to you, and only ever love you. If my love ever causes you pain, may I suffer that pain a thousand times over.”

Something inside her cracked open. It wasn’t joy; it was closer to terror, and it was power. She felt the pain from the cut fade as she cupped the prince’s face with her bloodied palm.

“Why me?” she asked.

“Why is not important.” The prince leaned into her palm, letting her blood smear his face. “I love you, and will only ever love you. We don’t need to understand why.”

And then—light. Screams. The smell of smoke. She was down another rabbit hole.



The maid, still a teenager, but a few years had passed from the blood pact, was kneeling before the shogun’s wife. Her hair had been torn loose; her white robes were stained dark. The queen’s voice was calm, distant, like someone reciting scripture. “End it. Let her ghost learn silence.”

Two soldiers stepped forward. The sword glinted. Haruka tried to breathe, but the air refused her.

When the blade fell, she didn’t feel pain. Only falling again; through time, through herself, through centuries.

Rain, rot, and prayers that never reached heaven—London stank of them all. In the alley behind St. Dunstan’s chapel, smoke curled from a dying candle someone had left by a broken door. The girl—Lara again, though now Cecily—was small, no more than 13, bones sharp under rags, her fingers blackened from digging through waste for scraps of bread.

The church bell tolled the hour. Each chime echoed like a warning. She flinched, clutching a half-rotten apple to her chest as if it were gold.

“Oi, wait!” a man shouted somewhere behind her.

Her breath hitched. She ran. Bare feet slapped against wet stone, splashing through puddles thick with soot. Her lungs burned. She didn’t look back; she never did. Survival was always forward.

Then the rumble came. Wheels on cobblestone, horses neighing, the whip crack of reins. She turned too late.

The cart struck her.

The world folded in on itself. Light bent and dissolved.

When it returned, she was somewhere hotter. The sky itself looked bruised. Seville. Lara, now Clarencia, was tied up and burning.

A crowd pressed in around her; she couldn’t make out the faces beyond the thick smoke that engulfed her.

She had refused to cry, to grace their Christian righteousness with her weeping.

“Burn the Witch!” She recognized the woman’s voice. “That witch bewitched my son! Burn her!”

She closed her eyes in surrender.

Then arms wrapped around her.

It was him. He would burn with her.

She fell again.

The world dimmed, curling inward like smoke.

Then heat. Salt. Drums.

Elmina.

The air reeked of sweat and blood, thick enough to taste. Lara, as Adwoa, eighteen, skin a careful blend of a master’s and her mother’s, knelt on the packed dirt of the fortress yard. Her wrists were bound. Her hair matted. She trembled, but not from fear anymore.

“Look,” a voice ordered in Portuguese.

A rough hand seized her chin, forced her gaze upward. A Ghanaian man was tied to a post before her, his back torn open, raw beneath the sun. The whip rose and fell, each crack splitting the air like thunder. He did not scream. His defiance was heavier than sound.

She held her breath, refused to cry.

She failed when his body went limp.

The man holding her sneered. He was young, handsome, almost pretty. His eyes were pale, emptied by years of hate.

“You see?” he said in broken Twi. “This is what happens when you let others touch what’s mine.”

What’s his? The words twisted in her gut.

He shoved her forward; she stumbled, her cheek scraping the dirt, and the world slid into later.

Night fell.

The young Portuguese man forced his way into her room, into her body, into the certainty of ownership. He made sure she understood who she belonged to.

After, he slept beside her, heavy and unafraid, his arm locked around her as if she were incapable of harm.

She eased herself free.

The room was quiet. She reached for a knife from the cutlery stack, its weight steady in her hand. She looked at him and imagined the blade sinking in. But she knew the ending. If he lived, her suffering would deepen. If he died, she would run—and to where? She would live a life worse than a female dog in heat, or be fed alive to the fishes.

He would find another girl to own.

But losing her would hurt him.

It would tell him one thing.

Her life was hers.

“Bastard,” she said.

He startled awake, then noticed the knife. He relaxed, propping his head on his hand, a lazy smirk pulling at his mouth.

“What?” he said. “Thinking of killing me?”

She lifted the blade, pointed it at him.

He laughed softly. “Stop being cute. Drop the knife.”

Her resolve crystallized. In one fluid motion, she turned the blade inward and drew it cleanly across her own throat.



His smile vanished.

She smiled, catching the perfect terror in his eyes as he scrambled forward, hands clutching desperately at her neck, trying to stanch the life he could never own.

Then the floor seemed to give way as she felt herself slip into another dream.

Lara’s, now Mary’s, mind twisted through centuries like smoke caught in a draft. The summer air in Richmond pressed warm against her skin, but it carried the iron tang of cannon smoke, even if the war had been technically over for a year. She was eighteen, caught in the swirl of a ballroom, the skirts of her dress brushing polished wood floors.

He spun her, laughed low and husky, eyes glittering with a fascination that made her chest tighten. She could smell the faint scent of his cologne, tobacco and something sweeter, the sort of intoxicating combination that made her heart hammer against her ribs.

“You’re impossible,” he murmured.

“I’m… careful,” she said, voice catching. Her words sounded like a lie even as she spoke them.

His hands were warm, steady on her waist, and for a single, dazzling moment, she let herself forget the world outside; the war, the blackened streets, the cries from Richmond’s hospitals. She let herself be spun, dipped, held.

But the dream shifted. Now she stood over him, white and ghostly in the flickering lamplight. His chest rose and fell unevenly, his breaths shallow. His eyes held hers, the astonishment and grief mingling into a heavy cocktail.

“Don’t take it personally,” she whispered, voice tight, clawing at herself for any flicker of defiance. “I love my country, my freedom… more than I can love any man.”

Tears ran down his face, unbidden, and she pressed a finger to his lips.

And then the world turned again.

Tokyo, 1987. Neon lights, billboards screaming in kanji, the first notes of idol pop echoing from a nearby record store. She was Sakura, seventeen, and vibrant.

A boy, tall and electrifying in his appearance and intensity, trapped her against the wall, pressing his chest to hers. His hands were firm, protective, possessive, yet gentle in that strange, terrifying way.

“You have to wait for me,” he said between breaths, his voice trembling but defiant, eyes wide and bright.

He smiled, that reckless, dangerous smile that made her pulse race, and pressed a fleeting kiss to her lips. The rain began to fall, fat drops soaking through her hair, her clothes clinging to her like a second skin. She kissed him back, eyes closed, and for a heartbeat she believed in forever.

He held his jacket over his head and ran back into the stadium.

She watched him go, smiling.

Then the scream—the tire’s roar, metal crunching against flesh. She opened her eyes just in time to see the truck hit her.

She fell again, but this time, she was back in Kira’s sitting room, blacked out from excessive alcohol consumption and a concussion, her face in a pool of her own vomit, next to the broken bottle of cyanide.

 Previous Chapter   |   Next Chapter

ONCE UPON A FOREVER 

Keywords: Once Upon A Forever, Prologue, Free Web Novel, Nigerian Story, Reincarnation, Doomed Love, Fated Love, Alexis, David, Slice of Life.

Alexis

Alexis swung open the door and stepped into her parents’ home. The living room lights were still on and warm. It was a mansion and grand, but in no way as grand as the Ashimolowos’. Her father sat stiffly on the couch, glasses low on his nose, a newspaper crumpled and unread in his lap. Her mother hovered nearby, wringing her hands, eyes darting to the clock, then back to Alexis like she’d been doing it all night.

“You’re back,” her father said. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried scrutiny, disappointment, fear. If she’d been a teenager she would have flinched, but now she was grown—and she had been at her future in-laws’ home.

“Yes, Daddy,” Alexis said lightly, dropping her clutch on the console like she was shaking off dust. “I was with Mrs. Queen Ashimolowo.”

The name alone made her father’s jaw tighten. It was the look she knew too well—the judgement, the pity that stung worse than anger.

“Mrs. Queen Ashimolowo,” he repeated, lowering his glasses. “David’s mother.”

“Mhm mhm,” Alexis hummed, pretending not to see the shift in his expression from concern to disappointment to anger. She unbuckled her heels, stretching her legs with the grace of someone who believed the world watched her every movement. “She invited me. We were picking outfits for their family banquet, tomorrow.”

Her mother’s brows rose, hope and worry tangled together.



Her father’s voice sharpened. “And you stayed there up to now? It’s 12 midnight, Alexis.”

“It wasn’t that late,” she said.

“No decent woman stays out that late unless she’s looking for trouble,” he said flatly.

Alexis smiled thinly. “Then maybe I found it.”

Her father’s eyes darkened. Her mother winced, a soft sound catching in her throat, but she said nothing.

“Don’t test me, Alexis,” he warned.

She finally looked at him, really looked, like he was background noise she was being forced to acknowledge. “We had a lot of dresses to try on.”

Her father exhaled through his nose. “You need to stay away from that woman, and you need to give up on her son. David could not give you a clearer message than he already has. The man doesn’t want you. Getting close to his mother will not make him see you differently. Anybody with eyes can see he doesn’t even like his mother.”

That cut, but she didn’t let it show. “He’s just… complicated.”

“Complicated?” His voice rose, tinged with pity he didn’t want to feel. “He’s dangerous! Have you never wondered why their family is on the top yet nobody comes for them? Everyone knows it, except you. You think you’re special? You are a pawn. Queen is using you to scare other women away.”

Her mother whispered, “Let her be, Emeka. She’s young.”

“She’s foolish,” he snapped. “By the time Queen is done with you, you’ll be old and with no options left.”

Alexis’s smile sharpened. “She gave me something tonight.”

She unclasped the necklace. The diamonds caught the light, glittering cold and sharp.

Her mother gasped. “Oh my goodness… Alexis, that’s—”

“Yes, it’s real diamond,” Alexis said, lifting it so it scattered light across the room. “She put it on me herself. And David saw it. He looked at me, he smiled when he saw it on me. So she said I could keep it.”

Her mother drifted closer, mesmerised. “Real diamonds,” she breathed.



Alexis placed it around her mother’s neck, and the older woman’s eyes fluttered shut as if she were wearing royalty itself.

Her father’s face hardened. “Take that thing off my wife’s neck.”

“It’s fine,” her mother said softly, fingers touching the stones. “It’s so… warm.”

Alexis’s smile tilted, smug and pointed at her father.

He stood slowly, voice low. “Woman, take that off. Your daughter is digging her grave, and you’re handing her the shovel.”

Her mother swallowed, removed the necklace carefully, and handed it back.

Alexis scoffed.

“It’s strange, Dad,” she said. “When I spend time with Mrs. Queen, you get agitated. You pretend to be the dutiful father, but you never refuse the business she sends you. Hypocritical.”

Her father flinched—because it was true.

“You should be grateful she even notices me,” Alexis went on. “You think your import business thrives because you’re brilliant? It thrives because they let it. The Ashimolowos pull the strings in this country and the strings that keep this roof over our heads.”

Her mother looked away.

Her father deflated into the couch, guilt dragging him down.

“You don’t understand, Daddy. Queen likes me. She said I have grace, poise, the kind that belongs in a family like hers.” Alexis’s voice softened. “She’s grooming me to become her daughter-in-law.”

Her father’s face went white, then red. He stepped forward, hand lifting. “Grooming…”

“Daddy,” she cut in quickly, “you need to let me make my choice.”

“I’ve set up a blind date for you. Robert’s son,” he said, defeated. “Stop embarrassing yourself over that boy who won’t even look at you. How many times must you be humiliated before you understand? He wants nothing to do with you.”

Her nails dug into her palms, but she kept smiling. “You’re wrong. David just doesn’t trust easily. He’s… careful. When he opens up, it’ll be to someone who already understands him. Like his mother. Like me.”

Her father slumped, tired and helpless. “As long as you go on these blind dates, I’ll get off your case with David.”

“Okay,” Alexis said, gathering her things before heading upstairs.

Her mother watched her leave with a hopeful little smile.

Her father poured himself a drink and added ice, each ice a sign of defeat.

Alexis walked into her room with a sigh. Her father would never understand her or how close she was to getting David until she got him.

Her room was flush with rose-gold vanity, imported silk sheets, perfume bottles arranged on her dress-up table. Above it was a curved large mirror.

She tossed her purse onto the bed and turned towards the vanity mirror, deliberately crafted to hide a shelf behind it. Catching a sight of her reflection, she nodded at her beauty; it was impossible that David would not love her.

She looked down at the necklace dangling in her hand, walked over to the mirror, placed it around her neck, her fingers grazing her neck. The gleam from the diamond was bright. She leaned closer, tracing the curve of the pendant.

“Beautiful.”

She smiled wider. “He’ll see me soon,” she murmured. “Eventually.”

She clasped the necklace behind her neck.

Her fingers moved from her neck to the surface of the mirror, her nails scraping lightly along its ornate frame like a lover’s teasing touch. The mechanism clicked softly, and the panel swung outward on silent hinges, revealing her sacred shrine.

Her eyes feasting on the collage of his images lining the walls behind the mirror.

Her David, captured in moments she had stolen: baby pictures stolen from his family album; his boyish teenage grins caught when he thought no one was looking; David walking into the owner’s seat of his Maybach; David working out at the gym, sweat glistening on his broad chest, his muscles straining under weights.

She ran her finger over a picture of David in his early twenties, sharp-suited and brooding. This was the moment he learned that the hussy he had been dating was dead; his face betrayed no emotion, jaw set like chiselled marble.

Her lips curled in a smug smile. “I had to get rid of that hussy. You understood. That’s why you did not react that day.”

Her hand moved to the shelf beneath the photographs—a collection of small, strange objects she thought of as tokens: a tie pin once worn by him, a napkin she’d kept from a dinner years ago, a cufflink she claimed had fallen during one of Queen’s luncheons, a discarded phone case she’d fished from his trash, a ring he’d lost that she ‘found’ and never returned, even strands of his hair and nail clippings pilfered from his floor before he had become so guarded. Each item had its place.

Below that, the lower shelf held dildos in every sinful shape, sleek vibrators that hummed faintly if she willed them to life, plugs and harnesses that mirrored the power she’d wield over him in her fantasies, each one styled to match a phase of his stolen essence; the sleek one for his youthful vigour, the brutal ridged beast for his current ruthless edge. But her gaze locked on the prize: the biggest black dildo, thick and veined like a promise of possession, its silicone skin gleaming under the shrine’s soft glow. Engraved along its base on a polished wooden paddle pedestal were the words “David.”

She lifted it reverently, her palm wrapping around its girth, feeling the weight that would soon echo David’s real cock buried deep inside her, stretching her walls until she screamed his name in ecstasy. A shiver raced through her core, heat pooling between her thighs, her pussy clenching with aching need as she brought it to her lips, kissing the tip.

“My love,” she murmured to the empty air, her voice a silken sigh. “I see you, I love everything about you, your coldness, your cruelty, your untouched soul that aches for my love. I am your destined queen, the only one who will be there for you at the end of your life.” She stroked the length slowly, her fingers gliding from base to head, imagining it pulsing with his life force, pre-cum beading at the tip just for her.

Her free hand slipped under her skirt, fingers dipping into her slick folds, circling her clit as she ground the dildo against her thigh. “David, I will be your wife.”



She slid the necklace off her throat and laid it in the centre of the upper shelf, its reflection rippling through the photographs. Her pulse slowed to a quiet rhythm in the silence, but the fire in her veins burned hotter. “You’ll see,” she said softly, pressing the dildo’s tip against her lips once more, tongue flicking out to taste the silicone as if it were him.

Previous Chapter   |   Next Chapter

ONCE UPON A FOREVER 

Keywords: Once Upon A Forever, Prologue, Free Web Novel, Nigerian Story, Reincarnation, Doomed Love, Fated Love, Queen, Slice of Life.

Queen  

Queen smiled at Alexis, admiring the way the outside floodlights mimicked the afternoon sun with its light pouring in through the glass windows, sliding across her gold marble floor and illuminating Alexis’s studded evening gown.

Alexis stood in front of the full-length mirror in the living room, one hand on her hip, smoothing her curve, the other patting down her silk hair.

She was indeed beautiful, a pity her son would never spare her a glance.

More gowns were draped across the couch like sleeping women: silk, velvet, sequin, each more sexy than the next.

“This one,” Alexis said. “I like this one.”

“It makes your eyes pop,” Queen said.

“Lisavera! It’s a one-of-a-kind designer.” Alexis turned to watch how the dress accentuated her round butt and made her breasts look perkier, giving her perfect round mounds that slightly popped out but looked firmly fitted.

Queen smiled. After David had left that night without a single word to them, despite standing in plain view, she had tried to distract herself by focusing on Alexis. She called the maids to bring out some dresses which she had requested earlier that day.

Alexis had come around to discuss the family banquet and asked if she could join her as her plus one. She knew it was not to keep an old woman like her company; it was to keep herself around David, so that one day David might finally look at her.

But she was still company and a distraction from her loneliness.

“This looks like the gown that will finally turn that stubborn son’s head.” Queen smirked at the beam that took over Alexis’s face. “But I think my son prefers a more innocent look,” Queen added.

She turned to the couch and pulled up another gown: a pale champagne silk that caught the light and turned it into smoke. The neckline was round and high to fully hide the chest, but dipped into an intense V at the back.

“Try this.”

Alexis hesitated. “Mai Atafo?”

“Custom.”

Queen smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She watched Alexis slip into the gown. The fabric kissed her skin, the silk obeying her body like it had been waiting its whole life to touch her. For a moment, Queen forgot to breathe.

“If this does not capture my son’s attention, nothing will,” she murmured, almost to herself.

Queen clapped her hands once. “Ngozi!”

The maid appeared instantly, head bowed. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Go to my room. The black drawer. Bring the diamond necklace, the one in the white box.”

“Yes, madam.”

Queen walked toward Alexis, circling her slowly. “Do you know why I like you?” she asked.

Alexis smiled carefully. “Because I remind you of you?”

Queen’s laugh was a low hum. “Clever girl. No. Because you listen.”

The maid returned, carrying the box like it contained her life. Queen took it and flicked it open. The diamonds burned white in the light; perfect, cold, and likely pulled from somebody’s bloodied, dying hands.

She stepped close. “Lift your hair.”

Alexis obeyed. Queen fastened the necklace around her throat, fingers grazing skin longer than necessary. “Beautiful,” she said, her voice honeyed and slow. “You look like a queen.”

Alexis met her eyes in the mirror.

Queen smoothed a strand of Alexis’s hair over her shoulder and whispered, almost tenderly, “Now, my dear, you look exactly like my future daughter-in-law.”

Alexis froze—just a flicker—and Queen saw it: the hope, the longing. She pressed a hand to her shoulder in reassurance. “You are so beautiful.”

The chandelier above shimmered, and for a moment, Queen saw the reflection of herself in the glass; older, lonelier, desperate.

Alexis smiled shyly, lifting a hand to touch the gems. “Do you really think he’ll notice?”

“Oh, he’ll notice,” Queen murmured, stepping back so Alexis could admire her reflection.

“Even if he pretends not to. David is just like my late husband. The more they want you, the colder they act toward you. You just have to keep feeding them without letting them know you’re the one feeding them, and one day, they’ll discover that they cannot live without you.”

The door slammed.

The echo cracked through the quiet.

David strode in with a quiet violence around him. His jaw was set hard, the muscles in his forearm tense like he’d been clenching his fists all the way home.
Alexis turned instantly, smile blooming like a nervous flower. “David,” she said, voice too bright, “look what…”

He walked right past her.

No glance. Not even a flicker.

Queen’s stomach twisted, rage rising and softening at the same time.

“David,” she said, stepping forward, the hem of her gown whispering against the marble floor.

“What happened, my darling? Did someone upset you again?”

He brushed past her, the scent of his cologne sharp enough to cut. “Don’t,” he muttered.
She touched his arm—light, maternal. “At least tell me what it is. Was it the board? That driver? I told you to fire him—”

She saw it, the flash of exhaustion beneath his anger.

She knew he would never confide in her, yet she felt the need to push. “David, I’m only asking because I care…”

He turned sharply, eyes meeting hers for half a second, sharp and empty. Then, for a flicker of a second, as if the light from the diamonds had caught his eyes, he glanced at Alexis before his attention returned to the hand touching him.

He shoved her hand away. Not hard. But enough.

The sting went deeper than the touch.

Alexis gasped softly behind them, clutching the necklace, making David glare at her.

For a moment, Queen couldn’t breathe. Then she gathered herself, spine straight, smile trembling but intact. “It’s fine. I’ll find out myself.”

David said nothing. His silence was a punishment she’d grown too used to. He started toward the hallway and up the stairs, his steps echoing across the marble, each one colder than the last.

Alexis shifted beside her, voice uncertain. “Something bad must have happened. He wasn’t angry when he left.”

Queen inhaled slowly, pulling herself upright again, gathering the shards of her dignity the way she always did.

“That’s right,” she said, voice silk over glass. “I will call someone and find out.”

Alexis nodded. “Did you notice? He looked at me twice!” She turned back toward the mirror. The diamonds still burned bright, too bright, as if mocking her reflection.

“I did,” Queen said softly, almost bitterly. “You should keep the necklace.”

Alexis beamed. “Really?”

Queen sank slowly onto the edge of the chaise, one hand to her chest like she needed to steady her own heart. The diamonds on Alexis’s neck scattered light across the floor.

Alexis hesitated, noticed, and stopped celebrating the gift. She knelt in front of her, gown pooling around her knees. “He doesn’t mean it,” she said softly. “David’s just… stressed. He knows how much he cares about you.”

Queen let out a broken little laugh, half sigh, half performance. “My son hasn’t smiled in years. I think the last time he smiled was when he dated that vixen.”

Alexis’s face darkened. “That married woman who tried to take advantage of him when he was young.”

“Glad she is dead,” Queen said. “Even though I wonder how she miraculously disappeared, I’m still glad she is gone.”

“God is likely watching out for David,” Alexis beamed.

“But I do miss seeing his smile.”

Alexis smiled faintly.

Queen tilted her head, studying the girl. Alexis’s face glowed with her secret, foolish and beautiful. It was almost tender to watch.

“You should take off the gown,” Queen said, her voice gentle. “Let the maids pack it for you.”

Alexis’s eyes softened. She reached behind her, fingers tracing the intense V of the back, and began slipping out of the pale champagne silk. Under the light, the fabric still seeming like smoke as it peeled from her skin. She folded it carefully, reluctant to let it go. Queen made a small gesture, and a maid stepped forward, took the dress, slipped it into a shopping bag, and placed it beside Alexis.

“We used to be such good friends,” Alexis murmured.

Queen almost smiled. True, they used to be friends, but David, from her memories, had always been distant and selective with his affection.

“And I’m sure your relationship can someday return to what it used to be.”

The girl’s shoulders relaxed, a faint flush of hope painting her cheeks. Queen watched it bloom, indulgent. Hope made people obedient. Hope kept them useful.

“You know, I think David needs someone as kind and soft as you around him,” Queen said, leaning closer. “I think you can make him smile again.”

Alexis looked up, eyes full of fragile hope.

A silence settled, warm and brittle.

Queen looked at her again, young and glowing and clueless. She rose, smoothed her gown, and let her smile return. “It’s late,” she said gently, brushing a strand of hair from Alexis’s face. “You should rest. Tomorrow, you need to steal the show.”

Alexis stood reluctantly, still cradling the necklace with her fingers.

“Your parents will get worried if you don’t leave now,” Queen said with a soft smile.

“Yes,” Alexis whispered. “Good night, Mum.”

Queen waved at the girl, then turned toward the window as Alexis’s perfume thinned and drifted from the room.

“Take these back,” she commanded, and the maids who had been standing in wait hurriedly began tidying up the living room, carrying the remaining dresses with the careful precision their price tags demanded.

She stood in the living room long after Alexis’s perfume had faded, the house heavy with the kind of silence that made her skin crawl. The chandeliers threw weak reflections along the marble floor, trembling slightly as if afraid to breathe.

She began walking and stopped before David’s grey walnut door, lifted her hand, and hesitated.

The wood between them felt alive, like it could hear her thoughts, and was loudly screaming at her not to.

She resisted, knocked once. The sound was soft, almost apologetic. “David?” Her voice wavered, more fragile than she intended.

Nothing.

She knocked again, harder this time. “David, it’s me.”

Still no sound.

She pressed her palm to the door, as though warmth could pass through. “My love,” she whispered. “I know you’re angry. I know you think I meddle. I know you can’t stand me. I know you hate me. But everything I’ve ever done, everything I’ve ever wanted to do, has been to protect you.”

A faint hum came from within—maybe the whir of his television, maybe just silence pretending to be sound.

“You carry so much on your shoulders,” she went on softly. “I see it, even if you think I don’t. The world expects too much from you. From our name. Our bloodline.” Her lips tightened. “Most envy you. Most want to see you fall, just like they wanted your father to fall, and your grandfather too.”

Her hand slid down the door, nails grazing it. “But I won’t ever let that happen. Whether you ask me to or not, I’ll protect you.”

Still nothing. Not even a shift in the air.

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. “I know you can’t trust anybody, and you shouldn’t,” she murmured. “But you should trust me, David. I am your mother. I carried you for nine months. I love you.”

She waited.

The silence stretched. She could almost hear her own heart ticking.

Queen exhaled a long, weary breath. The diamonds on her wrist glimmered under the hallway light, and she hated them—hated how their sparkle felt like mockery.

“In every lifetime, I have loved you, Kaitokun, and in every lifetime, I will love you,” she said softly.

She lingered there another moment, her fingers ghosting over the door handle as though she might still push it open. Then she straightened, mask slipping back into place.

As she turned away, she pulled her phone from her clutch. The blue light glowed across her face, carving her features into something colder.

She dialed, waited, and then spoke low into the receiver. “Find out what happened to David this night,” she said. “Everything. I want names, faces, calls—whatever it was that made him come home like that.”

She ended the call before the voice on the other end could respond.

For a long time, Queen stood in the dim corridor, staring at the walls, which were a long, stretched-out luxury mirror. And for a second she saw her reflection as an ancient Japanese queen.

Then she smiled faintly—bitter and beautiful.

“Konohanasakuya-hime (木花咲耶姫), I’ll beat you this time.”

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ONCE UPON A FOREVER 

Keywords: Once Upon A Forever, Prologue, Free Web Novel, Nigerian Story, Reincarnation, Doomed Love, Fated Love, Slice of Life.

Kira 

Kira pulled a puff from the shisha bottle, held the man next to her face, and blew the steam into his mouth before pulling back and laughing. 

“You’re so naughty!” He laughed and pulled her closer, “More drinks!” 

The waiter who was standing by hurried off to bring their drink.  

Kira’s beautifully manicured fingers moved up the man’s neck till they caressed his ear. “I’m only naughty because my daddy’s powerful.”  

The man laughed and kissed her, earning cheers from the people around their couch.  

Kira had gotten a last-minute call that night to join him on a cruise. She had wanted to stay behind to help her friend cope, but this was her source of livelihood. She pulled back softly and whispered into his ear 

“We have the whole night, Zaddy.” She smirked at him. 

He was an old man, most likely in his middle fifties; he looked fit, like age was yet to catch up to him. He didn’t have a distinguished look like most old men his age did; if she hadn’t sneaked a peek at his driver’s license once, she would have thought he was a 40-year-old hoodlum. But his age didn’t matter to her, after all, he was a job.  

 She picked up her drink and took a sip.  

“I swear! With your charm, I bet you could easily seduce that uptight nephew of mine!” He laughed. 

“Why would I want a child when I could have a man!” She smirked.  

“But seriously, Mark,” One of the men at the table said. “David is too much! The girl I sent to him last time returned crying.” 

“Just crying?” Another said. “Remember that guy who gave Alexis those drugs to drug him? He vanished.” 

“A guy like that, so guarded.” One of the women at the table added. “Why would any woman be interested in him?” 

Kira nodded absent-mindedly, tuning out of the conversation, wondering if Lara was okay. She had been missing for a week while Chief was in the hospital, only to show up the day after he died, telling her that she’d been captured and tortured by Tyrie all the while, and now she had returned to the same house with the bastard, hoping to get her bag and run away, but run away to where?  

I shouldn’t have come. Kira thought. ‘What if she tries to…’ she pushed the thought down.  

Her phone rang, bringing her back. She hurriedly picked it. It was Lara.  

“Baby, it’s family.” She said to Mark, and he nodded his permission.  

She kissed the air directed at him and walked to the railing of the ship, looking out into the night sea, at nothing.  

“Lara, are you okay? Where are you? Did you get out?” She asked.  

“Yes,” Lara’s voice came from the other end. “But where am I going to run to? What if he chases me?” 

“I…” Kira wondered what she was going to say.  

“I am 25 million naira in debt, the loan shark, and the only person who ever looked out for me is dead, and two weeks ago, I was in a dungeon being tortured by Mark just so that he could let me know who is now in charge! Everybody knew I was missing, and nobody did anything! He only released me because the Lawyer refused to read Chief Badmus’ will if I did not show up unharmed!” 

“Did you see the note I left next to your bottle of Cyanide?” Kira asked.  

“Yes! But how do I fight him?” Lara asked. “I might be a fighter, but he is way stronger than me. When it comes to power, he just inherited his father’s gang! He is the crime lord of this territory! The police are on his payroll! The only agency I have is that I can take my own life!” 

“You are right.” Kira swallowed before speaking again. “You are right. But listen to me. Tyrie is full of himself, he knows he can get you anytime. So he is not going to chase after you this night, so you can live one more night. Go to my place, open the cabinet, you’ll see that bottle of Tenjaku.” 

“You said it’s for a special occasion.” 

“This is a special occasion, Lara,” Kira said. “We are celebrating you staying alive one more night.” 

“Okay.” 

“I’ll be back tomorrow, and we’ll talk better.” 

“Okay.” 

“Don’t let me meet a dead body in my apartment,” Kira warned.  

“Any dead body?” 

“Well, if somehow you kill Tyrie, that will be fine, I guess.” 

They both laughed.  

“Oh! And Lara, I took offence with what you said?” 

“What did I say?” 

“The only person who cares about you is not dead. I’m still alive. Just on a cruise with my sugar daddy.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Ahh,” Kira sighed. “I can’t stay mad at you.” 

They both laugh.  

“I love you man.” 

“I love you too.” 

“Bye, stay alive and wait for me, okay.” 

“Okay.” 

Kira cut the call, stared out at the sea for a bit, “God, I know I’m a sinner and will most likely die one, but please, if there is one prayer you answer for me in this life, please give Lara a way out.” 

“And that night God answered her prayer.” Fabling smiled at Fate.  

“What do you mean ‘answered’?” Ekwe asked.  

“In order to prevent the maid from ever being with the prince, you placed a darkness in her that will morph into whatever will keep her away from him, then made a deal with death that if that fails, death will take her,” Fabling said.  

“Why would you do that?” Fate asked.  

“Because I am the guardian of free will, ”Ekwe said.  

“But isn’t the essence of Freewill that it changes?” Fate asked.  

Ekwe stared at Fate, wanting to speak but holding back.  

“Of course he knows that.” Fabling smiled. “The fact that the pack still works means that, irrespective of her reincarnation’s choice, her Chi, her spirit being, still does not want to be with the Prince.” 

“Why?” Fate asked. “He loves her?” 

“Love?” Ekwe scuffed. “You clearly do not understand the extent of what you did.” 

“Anyways, stop the bickering, I need to figure out how best to answer Kira’s prayer.” 

“Remember what’s done cannot simply be undone,” Ekwe said.  

“I know, I’m simply going to merge her with her spirit being and give her all her memories, that way the darkness, which is the spirit beings, will no longer need to be.” 

Ekwe scuffed. 

“And for the way out,” Fabling snapped her finger, and a slender woman, almost thin like a skeleton with no female curves visible, and dressed in a white cape with white hair, appeared.  

“Fabling, you summoned.” The woman said.  

“I just wanted to let you know that it’s against the creator’s will to take Lara’s life till she is 100, even if she hands you her life herself. You can’t take it.”  

“Okay.” 

“Wait, Just like that, Death!” Ekwe jumped off his stool. 

“Ekwe, you are the second rank god in the fablingverse. Fabling is the first; her word overrides yours.”  

Ekwe sighs. 

“Is there something else?” Death asked Fabling.  

“No, that’s all.” Fabling smiled. “You can go back to hell, or you can stay here and watch.” 

“Well, I’ve always wondered if they really would end up together if I didn’t interfere.” 

Fabling snapped her finger, and a throne of bones appeared. “Don’t know why I keep snapping my fingers, it just seems fitting. This chair seems fitting, right?” 

Death smiled and took a seat. 

Ekwe looked at his stool, snirked, and nodded.  

Back on the cruise, Kira took in a breath and decided to return back to work, but as she approached the couch, she noticed that the atmosphere had changed, so she stopped and took a step back enough so that she wasn’t seen.   

“What? Accident?” Mark was shouting into the phone. “I was not meant to happen this night!.. Fuck! He got the mechanic… Fuck!” 

The others at the table seemed apprehensive.  

“Sure! I’ll return.” 

Mark threw his phone across the deck, making a dent in the floor.  

“Party is over, everyone!” He said, and one of his guards came forward to meet him.  

Kira took in a breath and walked up to him as coquettishly as she could.  

“What happened, baby?” She asked.  

“A business deal went bad.” She answered.  

She placed her hand on his chest, and the other traced the back of his neck. “Can I do anything to make you feel better?”  

Marked looked at her as if considering the offer, then shook his head. 

“Chukwudi!” he called one of his guards over. “Make sure she gets home safe.” 

Kira pouted.  

“You like alcohol,” Mark said. “Pick as many as you want, and get home safe. I’ll call you when I’m better.” 

Kira’s face lit up; she had just been thinking of how she would sneak some to replace the drink she gave Lara, and to give Lara one more reason to live.  

Mark smiled at how happy his gift made her, then he left. 

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ONCE UPON A FOREVER 

Keywords: Once Upon A Forever, Prologue, Free Web Novel, Nigerian Story, Reincarnation, Doomed Love, Fated Love, Slice of Life.

Tyrie

Tyrie braced his hand on the railing, jaw clenched to suppress the sting of Lara’s knee. Through the haze of pain, his eyes followed her as she ran around the corner and disappeared from sight. 

“Bitch,” he spat. 

“Your father doted on her,” Uncle Femi said. 

Tyrie hadn’t noticed him step out and almost missed the words. 

He straightened slowly, pretending the pain had already faded. 

“As a dog owner should,” Tyrie said, flat. 

“He didn’t treat her like a dog,” Uncle Femi said quietly. “You know that.” 

Tyrie’s jaw tightened. His groin still throbbed, and the man in front of him didn’t help. He had the same pointed nose and almond eyes as his father, though his frame was shorter and rounder, belly heavy with age — and still, he was on Lara’s side. 

“I don’t know anything,” Tyrie said flatly. “Except that she belonged to him. And now that he’s dead, she belongs to me.” 

“She just ran away.” 

“To where?” Tyrie sneered. “Her whore friend’s house? Where can she run, Uncle?” 

Uncle Femi placed a hand on his shoulder. “Tyrie, don’t dishonour your father’s memory by targeting someone he protected while he was alive.” 

Tyrie smiled bitterly. “Maybe if he had protected me as well, I wouldn’t feel the need to target her now that he’s gone.” 

“Tyrie—” 

“What?” Tyrie snapped. 

His uncle stopped, holding his tongue. 

“Your father loved you,” Uncle Femi said. 

Tyrie’s eyes narrowed, warning him he was stepping into dangerous territory. 

“He left you his legacy without room for contest,” his uncle continued. 

“Because carrying on his legacy was my purpose,” Tyrie said. 

Uncle Femi sighed. 

“He asked you to let Lara leave and said he had forgiven her debt, he never even kept a book for it, because it never existed.” he tried changing tack. 

“He made his son sit on a throne of bullets, and let his pet walk out free, untouched,” Tyrie scuffed. 

Uncle Femi sighed again. 

“What was so special about her?” Tyrie asked, fishing another cigarette from his pocket. 

Uncle Femi opened his mouth to speak, but caught the words before they slipped out. 

“He never missed a parent–teacher conference for her, and she was always last or second to last in class,” Tyrie spat. He inhaled a sharp breath and turned his head to the sky; the first stars were coming out. 

“‘Sweetheart, it’s fine. I understand. Books aren’t for everyone. Since you like fighting so much, why not fight for me in the ring? Your earnings can clear your father’s debt faster. I’ll start a female category for you,’” Tyrie said, soft and indulgent like but still a mockery of his father’s voice. 

“He called her ‘sweetheart’. He patted her head. He loved her.” He turned back to his uncle. “I slept in the doghouse for days because I got a C in maths!” 

Tyrie lit his cigarette, took a long drag, and exhaled the smoke into his uncle’s face with a menacing smile. 

“I will break her.” 

Uncle Femi sighed, giving up on reasoning with Tyrie,  

“At least let her grieve first,” his uncle pleaded. “The girl has had it rough. She just lost the only parent she had.” 

“Parent?” Tyrie repeated. 

“Parent figure,” his uncle corrected. 

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ONCE UPON A FOREVER 

Keywords: Once Upon A Forever, Prologue, Free Web Novel, Nigerian Story, Reincarnation, Doomed Love, Fated Love, David, Tony, Alexis.

David 

David walked into the kitchen. It was a large space. It could serve as a sitting room or even host a small party.  

He ignored his mother and Alexis, though he noticed them; they were talking over a glass of wine and a plate of cookies. 

He could have rung for the maid to bring him a glass of water, but he didn’t trust that the woman wouldn’t try to drug him. 

Instead, he took a cup from the top cabinet, rinsed it with soap and water without saying a word to the maid, who had finally learned to stand silently and be invisible. 

He headed for the dispenser, then changed his mind, went to the tap, and poured himself a glass, which he drank in two long pulls. 

“Why would you do that, David? Do you want to fall sick?” His mother, who had been watching him the whole time, rushed over and reached for him. 

David stepped back from her hands, a glare warning her to stay away. 

Alexis hurried over, positioning herself beside his mother. “Why do you keep treating your mother like this? All she does is care for you.” 

David’s expression slid back to neutral, as if his earlier reaction had been an anomaly. 

He picked up his phone and made a call. 

“Where are my car keys?” he asked the person on the other line. “To the normal car.” 

He kept walking, aware that engagement was all it took for the two women to cross his boundaries. 

Alexis had been circling his mother like a parasite waiting for a chance to latch onto him, and his mother hovered with a chain labeled “motherly love,” hoping to drape it over his neck. 

“Did the mechanic service it?” he asked into the phone. “It’s fine. I just need to head out; I’ll be back real quick.” 

He left the kitchen, passed the large dining hall that could seat fifty, crossed the living room, and climbed the staircase to his room. Once inside, he opened one of the safes on his table, took out a key, and then headed back downstairs. 

His mother and Alexis stood at the kitchen entrance, watching him leave. 

Once outside, David drew in a deep breath, as though he had been holding it in. He switched his phone to speaker, then opened the security app for his room and activated the cameras. On the feed from the living room, he watched Alexis and his mother settle on a sofa with their cookies and wine. 

“Sir, do you need the guards to escort you?” the voice on the line asked. 

“No, it’s fine. I just want to grab a pack of water from the store and maybe drive around a little. Stay on the line in case something comes up.” 

David entered the garage and pressed a button. Among the fleet of high-end cars, the Mercedes-Benz GLE-Class 2024 blinked to life. 

Moments later, he was on the road. “Tony, remember to stock my fridge with water. I don’t ever want to come out to buy it again.” 

“Yes, sir,” Tony replied. 

At the store, David parked and stepped out. He caught the stares; some at him, most at the car. 

“Is this not the normal car?” he asked into the phone. 

“Sir, it’s the most normal one you own,” Tony answered. 

Inside, David set a pack of bottled water on the counter and slid his black card across. The cashier, a teenage girl with wide eyes, blurted: 

“Wow… are you an actor?” 

David tilted his head, studying her.  

“No, I mean you look like a celebrity.”  

David kept his head tilted.  

He didn’t like it when people poked into his business, sometimes, they started with a compliment, just like the cashier was doing, but it always ended with probing.  

“Sorry,” she stammered quickly, cheeks burning. “I just meant… you’re really handsome.” 

He smiled, straightened his head, and pointed at the card and then the water. 

Her blush deepened as she rushed through the scan, not taking her eyes away from him. 

Th.. thanks for shopping with us.” She stammered, handing him his card.  

David nodded, retrieved his card with a subtle smile, lifted the water, and walked out. He tossed the pack onto the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel. 

“Tony, I never want to have to do that again.”  

“I understand, sir.” 

“What’s my schedule like this weekend?” 

“Sir, you have a charity banquet this Saturday. Will you be going or cancelling?” 

“I think I should go this time. The family’s been looking for reasons to push back against me as head. Not going might make them get too comfortable.” David’s voice was calm. “Plus, I might catch some motives while I’m there.” 

“Are you heading back now, sir?” Tony asked. 

David kept one hand on the wheel and, with the other, pulled a bottle of water from the pack, opened it, and drank. “Just taking a longer route.” 

When he finished, he tossed the empty bottle to the foot of the passenger seat. 

“The family trust meeting, when is that again?” he asked. 

“That’s in three weeks’ time.” 

David exhaled slowly as he turned onto a side street. The steering locked. He twisted the wheel harder; it didn’t budge. He slammed his foot on the brake — nothing. The pedal sank uselessly beneath him. 

The car lurched and veered toward the curb. He pumped the brake and stabbed the accelerator in quick bursts, trying to wrest control back. The tyres screamed. The car skidded and slammed head-on into a light pole. 

The airbag deployed, filling the cabin with a choking cloud of dust and burnt chemicals. After a stunned beat, David shoved the airbag aside, unbuckled, and climbed out, phone already in his hand. He sounded unnaturally steady. “Wasn’t it just an oil change? Did the mechanic do anything else?” 

“No, it was just regular servicing and maintenance, sir,” Tony stammered, panic cutting through his voice. “Nothing should be wrong with the car. Are you all right?” 

“I’m fine. Come pick me up. Bring some guards.”  

David stared at the wreck, his fist beginning to tremble, as the anger made its way to his face.   

David kicked the car. “Fuck!”  

“Remember, David, reacting is pointless. You can have his family wiped out and not face any consequence. Calm down.” 

“Damn it, I know! It’s annoying!” David snapped. “That fucking uncle! He’s lucky I promised grandfather not to harm him. And he just keeps testing me like this.” 

“Calm down, David.” Tony said. “Take a deep breath. How do you want to handle this?” 

David took in a breath, held it, then let it out before taking a step back to look at his car.  

“Send me the mechanic’s wrists, the two of them, place them in a box. Place a call to my uncle, tell him that if I get to his place tomorrow and he is not there, he should forget about being let back into the family.” David walked to the passenger seat and took out his pack of water.  

“Yes, Sir,” Tony said. “I’m close by.” 

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ONCE UPON A FOREVER 

So far, Are you enjoying Once Upon a Forever? Drop a reaction to let me know how you feel about it. I have other webnovels, but since this is my latest, i feel the writing and story telling on this is way better than my previous writing, and honestly, i hope my future projects will also be better than this.

Keywords: Once Upon A Forever, Prologue, Free Web Novel, Nigerian Story, Reincarnation, Doomed Love, Fated Love, Lara, Tyrie.

OMOLARA 

“To this effect, I leave my legacy to my son, Tyrie Oluwadare.” 

The lawyer shut the file, then looked around as if daring everyone present to contest the will. Lara’s eyes were fixed on the file the whole time. She barely registered his face; she knew she’d forget it the moment she left the room. She would forget them all, every single person present today. Except Tyrie. 

Her gaze flicked toward him, lingering on the sharp arch of his brows before slipping away. His father was dead. Now Tyrie was head of a crime empire and, most likely, the new owner of her debt. 

She knew what that meant. In simple words, he was her new owner. 

The room was filled with those who had come to stake their claims: old men pledging loyalty, women insisting they’d borne his children, and people like her — the soldiers, the indebted, the disposable. But only Tyrie had inherited anything. The lawyer had played Chief Badmus Oluwadare’s recorded message urging peace and warning against disloyalty before reading the will. 

When Lara’s eyes strayed back to Tyrie, he caught her looking and winked. A cold shiver ran down her spine. She dropped her gaze. 

Her new owner. The words curdled in her throat. She swallowed hard. She needed to get away. 

One of the women stood to demand compensation for Chief Badmus’s “children.” Lara almost laughed. She was silly. Chief Badmus had never fathered children outside his marriage; after his wife died, the family business consumed him. Lara knew this because she had been there. These claimants were grasping at air. And Tyrie was not the type to share. A doctor with a DNA kit was already waiting in the next room to expose them. 



She took the woman’s demand as the distraction she needed to get away. She quietly walked away with her head crouched and her body lowered, trying not to be noticed until she made it out of the living room. 

Then she walked briskly to her room. 

Lara pushed open her room door and paused at the entrance, letting her eyes trace the room one last time. Her gaze settled on the framed photograph of Chief Badmus, hand raised in victory, holding hers aloft along with her belt. She smiled faintly at the memory — her first fight. He had created the women’s ring because of her. He had been so proud that day. She was truly happy in the picture. 

A woman’s scream tore through the living room, followed by pleas for mercy; Lara snapped out of her reverie. Tyrie was making an example of someone. Most likely the baby mama who had spoken up. By now, the doctor should have been revealed, and Tyrie would have demanded the DNA test. The other women would take the hint and disperse after witnessing the woman’s treatment. 

She yanked open her wardrobe, dragged out a backpack, and scanned the room for anything she couldn’t leave behind. Her eyes caught the framed picture again, and she almost got lost in memory — until a new one interrupted her. She darted to a drawer, flung it open, and found what she was looking for: the bottle labelled cyanide. She had secured it the day Chief Badmus died. 



Beside the bottle was an old photo album, and beneath the bottle was a note. 

Her bag hit the table with a thud. She shoved the album inside, buckled the flap, then picked up the bottle and unfolded the note quickly: 

Babe! I agree with you. Only death can deliver you from Tyrie. But for my sake, call me first. — Kira 

Her throat tightened. She slipped the bottle and note into her pocket, then slung the bag over her shoulders. 

She had to leave now. God forbid she let Tyrie touch her again. She remembered the last time — her wrists chained to the ceiling, his whip slicing across her back. He had teased her then, saying his father was hanging on by a wisp of air and that she should pray he didn’t die, because once he did, he would plunge her into the depths of hell. “I will unleash twenty-nine years of suppressed anger on you,” he had said. 

She shuddered and hurried out. She needed to escape. 

Escape to where? The thought clawed at her as she crept into the hall. Would Tyrie even let her go? 

She peeked into the sitting room. The commotion was still ongoing. Keeping her feet light, she slipped through the kitchen and pushed out the back door. 

Air hit her face. She was outside. Now she just had to go around the house and out the gate. What next? The question pounded in her head. 

“You’re not thinking of running away.” 

She froze. 

Tyrie stood ahead, leaning on the railing, a cigarette between his fingers. 

“That would be really stupid.” He crushed the cigarette against the metal and let the remains fall to the ground, eyes never leaving her. 

Her hand tightened on the strap of her bag. To where? The question echoed again. 

Tyrie stepped closer, towering over her as his shadow stretched. “My father is dead, Lara. You owed him twenty-five million naira. Now you owe me.” 

She looked away as she stepped back, trying to create enough distance between them. 

Her backpack hit the back door; she was trapped. She forced herself not to look up at Tyrie, afraid that she might look into his eyes and truly give up on escaping. 

The truth was, she knew she could not escape. She was simply running to make it seem like she’d given living a chance — so Kira would not hate her. 

“You were his bodyguard,” Tyrie said, contempt in his voice. “A woman as a bodyguard. I don’t hold my father’s sentiment. You’ll pay off your debt in my bed, on the floor, right here if I choose.” 

His right hand snaked around her waist and yanked her in. His left hand clamped around her neck. She gasped for air but refused to meet his eyes. 



The closeness made her flinch; his breath, thick with smoke, coated her throat. She pushed against his chest, but he was stronger. 

“You belong to me,” he said. From the side of her eyes, she caught his smile — a canine tooth sharp as a dog’s. 

Her stomach lurched. For a split second, she was a child again, pinned, unable to breathe. 

She was a fighter, but part of being a fighter was recognising a stronger opponent — and Tyrie was not just stronger; he was psychotic, with men who obeyed his every word. Still, she was a fighter. She inhaled sharply and forced her chin up, trying to look braver than she felt. 

“I owed your father, not you, Tyrie,” she spat. Her voice came out choked. “You can’t make me pay for something I never took. I only agreed to pay my father’s debt because Uncle Badmus took care of me.” 

At the sound of his father’s name, Tyrie’s expression darkened; his grip tightened. 

She shoved at him again, felt his hand leave her neck, then slide over her belt buckle, creeping lower. Heat and nausea surged. Reflex took over. 

Her fist cracked against his jaw; her knee drove into his groin. 

She did not know how, but the second she felt his touch through the fabric of her combat shorts, her body moved on its own. 

She ran, not daring to glance back to see if he was chasing her — only looking over her shoulder when she had cleared the gate and stood in the safety of nowhere. 

How she would escape remained a mystery. 

She slid a hand into her pocket and brought out the bottle of cyanide. “At least death is still an option,” she murmured. 

Her fingers trembled as she fumbled for her phone and dialed Kira. 

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ONCE UPON A FOREVER 

Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Let me know what you think so far, and leave a vote. Bye, till next time.