(Mina's POV)
The first morning in their new flat felt like waking inside a beautiful, impossible dream. Sunlight streamed through the single window in the main room, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. It was nothing like the cavernous, opulent Dared residence she had briefly glimpsed-no cold, polished marble floors, no glittering, multi-tiered chandeliers, no silent, judging portraits on the walls. Here, there was a small, cozy sitting room with faded but clean floral-print curtains, a ceiling fan that whirred and squeaked on its lowest setting, and a compact kitchen where the homely smell of fried eggs and onions lingered pleasantly in the air long after breakfast was over.
And yet, Mina stood barefoot on the cool, plain tiles, her everyday wrapper loosely tied around her, humming a half-remembered childhood song as she rinsed rice for their lunch. This, she realized with a surge of quiet joy, was where happiness truly lived. Not in vast, echoing halls, but here, in the simple, ordinary moments they were building together.
Behind her, Adams's sleep-rough voice broke the comfortable quiet. "You're humming."
She turned, the colander of rice still in her hands, to see him leaning against the doorframe, still in his soft cotton undershirt and sleep trousers, his usually impeccably styled hair delightfully uncombed and boyish. His smile was easy, unguarded. It startled her every time-this powerful, often intimidating man who always looked so fiercely composed, so untouchable in his public life-now standing in their kitchen, softened, entirely human, and completely hers.
"Was I?" she asked, feeling a faint blush warm her cheeks, suddenly embarrassed by her own unthinking contentment.
"Yes," he teased, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he pushed off the doorframe and stepped closer. "You were. You're happy."
She tried to scowl, to play at being flustered, but her lips betrayed her, curving upward into an irrepressible smile. "Shouldn't I be? Is there a law against a wife being happy in her own home?"
He didn't answer with words. Instead, he slipped his arms around her waist from behind, pulling her back gently against his chest, and rested his chin on her shoulder. "Then let me never be the man who takes that smile away," he murmured, his voice a soft vibration against her skin. "Let me always be the reason for it."
Her chest tightened with a warmth so profound it stole her breath. She turned her face slightly, her nose brushing his jaw, close enough to brush her lips against the stubble on his cheek in a feather-light kiss. "Then don't," she whispered back, the words a promise and a plea all at once.
(Adams's POV)
They were building a life together from fragments, and he cherished every piece. It was a mosaic crafted from secondhand furniture haggled for at bustling roadside stalls, from shared laughter over a pot of stew she'd accidentally burnt, from whispered prayers of gratitude before sleep in their modest bed. It was a world away from the sterile, curated opulence he had grown up with, where every object had a price tag and a purpose, yet somehow this patchwork existence felt infinitely richer, more authentic.
At night, lying beside Mina in the dark, listening to the familiar sounds of the neighborhood settling down, he would watch the gentle rise and fall of her breathing in the sliver of moonlight from the window. A profound peace, one he hadn't known since he was a small, carefree child, would settle deep into his bones. For the first time in his adult life, success didn't mean rising stock prices or a victorious boardroom negotiation. Success was this: waking to the smell of Mina's simple cooking, hearing her unrestrained laughter echo off the thin walls, seeing her eyes light up with genuine delight the moment he walked through the door in the evening.
One such evening, she leaned against him on their small balcony, the vast, teeming city of Lagos spread out before them in a breathtaking carpet of twinkling lights. The air was warm, carrying the distant sounds of life. She was quiet for a long moment, then she took his hand in hers, lacing their fingers together, and pressed their joined hands flat against her lower stomach, her eyes shining with a emotion he couldn't immediately name.
"Adams," she whispered, her voice so full of feeling it was almost a tremor. "I think... I think we're not alone in this little flat anymore."
The words hit him not with subtlety, but with the force of a thunderclap. He blinked, first at her tear-bright eyes, then down at her still-flat belly beneath his palm, his mind struggling to process the implication. "You mean...?" he began, his own voice rough with sudden, overwhelming emotion.
She nodded, a single tear escaping to trace a path down her smiling cheek. "I'm late. And I just... I feel it. Something is different. Mama used to say a woman just knows these things in her soul."
For a long moment, his throat closed entirely, constricted by a wave of awe so powerful it was dizzying. Then, a sound burst out of him-a laugh of pure, unadulterated joy, uncontrolled and bubbling up from a place deep within him he hadn't known existed, a mix of profound relief and staggering awe. He pulled her into his arms, spinning her around once in their cramped balcony space before setting her down carefully, as if she were made of the most delicate glass. "A child," he said, breathless, his forehead resting against hers. "Our child."
(Mina's POV)
Her tears spilled freely now, but they were tears of pure, undiluted joy, washing away the last vestiges of her fear. She clung to him, burying her face in the solid warmth of his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of him as the immense, beautiful weight of it all settled into her heart. A new life. A tiny, growing miracle inside her. A perfect, living piece of both of them, forged from their love and defiance.
"I was so scared to tell you," she admitted softly, her voice muffled against his shirt. "What if it was too soon? What if you weren't ready? What if-"
He silenced her with a firm, tender kiss pressed to her forehead. "No fears, my love. Not about this. This is not a burden; this is our blessing. Our true beginning."
She smiled through her tears, a fragile but radiant hope blooming in her chest, so bright and powerful it felt like it could light up the entire city below them.
(Adams's POV – Later That Night)
Long after the excitement had settled into a warm glow, when Mina had finally drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep beside him, Adams remained awake, staring at the patterns the city lights made on their plain ceiling. His hand rested protectively over her stomach, the incredible thought of the new life growing within her filling him with a fierce, primal determination he had never felt before.
He had failed in so many ways before. He had failed to meet his family's impossible, shifting expectations. He had, thus far, failed to fully protect Mina from the cruel whispers and the cold shoulders of his world. But this-this child, this tiny, burgeoning promise-would not know failure. He would move heaven and earth, he would burn his legacy to the ground if he had to, to ensure this child knew only safety, love, and unwavering support. He swore it silently in the dark, a vow written in the very marrow of his bones.
Yet, as the first true, soaring joy of impending fatherhood settled into him, a darker, colder thought coiled in the deepest corners of his mind, a serpent of anxiety born from a lifetime of conditional love.
What if happiness this pure, this profound, was simply too fragile to last?
And far away, in the silent, opulent expanse of the Dared residence, Hajiya Zainab lit her evening incense, the fragrant smoke curling around her like a phantom. A cruel, satisfied smile played upon her lips as a servant whispered the latest update.
"Pregnant already?" she murmured to the empty, luxurious room, her voice a low, venomous purr. "Good. Let the burden weigh them down sooner rather than later. A child adds chains. It makes everything... so much more complicated to defend."