Her eyes fluttered open like fragile wings fighting against an unseen storm. She blinked rapidly, vision foggy, darting from place to place as though searching for something she could reckon with. But nothing was familiar.
She tried to move, sit up, anything, but a terrifying realisation gripped her: she couldn't move.
Her body felt locked, as though imprisoned in itself. She willed her mouth to open, to release even the smallest cry, but something obstructed her throat, a foreign discomfort making every breath shallow and laboured.
Then—
A soft click. The creak of a door. A shaft of light flooded into the room, slicing across her blurred vision.
From the corner of her eye, she discerned a silhouette gliding in. The figure moved unhurriedly, with a strange grace, like someone too accustomed to moving elegantly. They crossed to the window and, with a brisk tug, drew the heavy white curtains apart. Light spilt in, drowning the shadows and illuminating the pale sterility of the room.
The figure bent over her machines, adjusting knobs and screens with quiet care. Their attention then shifted to the IV line connected to her arm, a thin plastic tube that fed an unknown substance into her veins. Then, as though sensing her watchful gaze, they turned toward her.
Her heart quickened. She squinted, desperate to make out the person's face. The details slipped through her vision like water through fingers.
But then—it happened.
Their eyes met. For a split second, the stranger froze. The instant they realized she was awake—truly awake—they jolted back, abandoning whatever they were doing. Without a word, they turned and rushed out, the sound of hurried footsteps echoing faintly behind the closing door.
Minutes stretched into eternity before two new figures burst in. This time, their presence was official, dressed in white. One, in a doctor's coat, strode straight to her bedside while the other—nurse's uniform crisp and sterile—trailed close behind, clutching a tablet.
The doctor leaned down, his expression intent, and raised a silver penlight from his pocket. He gently lifted her eyelid, flashing the light into her eye.
"If you can hear me," his voice was a calm, reassuring balm on her frayed nerves.
"just follow the light."
The beam cut through the blur in her vision. She did as she was instructed, her gaze tracking the small, bright dot as he moved it from side to side. It was a monumental effort for muscles that had forgotten how to work.
The doctor nodded, relief softening his otherwise stern features. He then took her hand, his touch surprisingly gentle, and held the penlight horizontally against the bottom of her fingernail, pressing it firmly.
"Blink twice if you can feel this."
The pressure was a dull ache, a distant throb, but she could feel it. She concentrated with every fiber of her being, and after what seemed like an eternity, her eyelids fluttered twice.
—blink. Blink.
The doctor straightened, sliding the pen back into his pocket with a satisfied exhale. He reached for the tablet the nurse offered, scanning her vitals before speaking.
"It's a relief," he murmured. "Her vitals are stable. When she's fully awake, we'll begin neurological testing."
The nurse nearly bounced with joy. "Doctor—at least she's out of the coma! This truly is a miracle!"
The doctor paused, his eyes never leaving her face. Then he said softly, almost to himself, "It's both."
"Both?" The nurse blinked.
"Yes. A miracle… and willpower." His gaze grew heavier, contemplative. "I don't know what this woman endured, but something tethered her to life. Something she wasn't willing to let go of." He offered her the smallest of smiles. "You fought so hard. Welcome back to the land of the living."
Then, just as suddenly as they came, they departed.
A wave of exhaustion washed over her. Her eyes grew heavy again, darkness sweeping in like an ocean tide. This time, she didn't fight it.
A WEEK LATER
She woke up to the cheerful sound of birds chirping. The sound, so simple and ordinary, was a jolt to her system, a reminder that she was, indeed, still alive.
She blinked several times, her vision slowly coming into focus. The world was no longer a white blur. Her sight was clear. She turned her head from side to side, her neck feeling stiff but responsive. She tentatively lifted her hands. At first, they wouldn't move, but after what felt like an eternity, her fingers twitched, and then, with a herculean effort, her whole hand lifted. Her lips parted with relief. Tears pricked her eyes.
With painstaking effort, she pushed herself up, her muscles screaming in protest, until she was sitting on the edge of the bed. She looked around the room, her eyes adjusting to the blinding white. The walls were a stark white, as were the sheer curtains that hung over the massive windows. The floor was covered in a soft, white teddy rug that looked incredibly inviting. The room was sparsely furnished, a minimalist's dream. The only pieces of furniture were the bed, a single white pole holding her IV bag, and a large, white-framed mirror.
Her gaze caught on the reflection.
And she froze.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror, and her eyes went wide in disbelief. The face that stared back at her was one she hadn't seen in a very long time. Her cheeks were no longer full and round, but Sunken and high-boned. The plumpness that had made her feel so insecure was gone, replaced by a lean, delicate beauty she had long forgotten. She stretched out a hand, a sense of disbelief making her movements slow and cautious. She raised a trembling hand to her cheek, tracing the contours as if expecting them to dissolve under her touch. She was wearing a white sheer nightdress, and her long, natural dark afro hair, once hidden under wigs, was spilled wildly around her shoulders, glorious and unruly yet beautiful. Her skin had a luminous, pale glow, dark oval eyes framed by lashes—looked back at her wearily. She hardly recognised herself.
"What's happening? Where… where am I?" She thought
Then—her heart seized.
"Jessi! Jayden!" Her children. Panic surged.
Amy forced herself out of bed. Her knees buckled, sending her crashing to the floor. Pain shot through her body, but she ignored it, tears of frustration and panic welled in her eyes. She needed to see her babies. Just how long had she been out for? She couldn't have lost all that weight in a few days. A terrifying premonition settled in her stomach, a cold, heavy dread that something bad had happened. She began crawling desperately across the white rug toward the door.
"Please, not now," she thought, her voice a broken whimper. "I need to see my babies. Please…"
However, her body wouldn't cooperate, and her strength gave out. Her vision dimmed. The last thing she heard was the pounding of hurried footsteps rushing toward her.
HOURS LATER
"Just what were the two of you doing that you didn't notice she got up?"
The doctor's voice was venomous, sharp enough to flay.
The two nurses—Rachel and her brother Tony—kept their heads bowed, faces pale. Shame radiated from them. They knew they had made a grave mistake. They had been hired to care for the mysterious woman in a coma, a job that came with a ridiculously high salary. Her prognosis was grim; the doctor had given her only a ten per cent chance of waking up, so they had grown complacent. The job, while well-paying, was boring. So they had stepped out for a quick smoke, just for a few minutes. It was in those few minutes that she had chosen to wake up.
Rachel's voice cracked. "Please, sir… spare us. We'll never—"
"Spare you?" The doctor snapped, glaring. "Do you think those are the words you should be using right now? Do you know how Mr. Ziko gets about her? You let her fall. She sustained injuries. How will you explain this to him?"
Rachel panicked, dropping to her knees, her hands clasping his. "Uncle—please, can't you cover this up? You know we can't lose this job—"
He quickly looked around, his eyes blazed, darting from side to side, before he forcefully removed his hands from hers. "We are at work. Call me Doctor Chidi! Do you want us all to go down together? I put my neck on the line to recommend you two. And this is how you repay me?" He turned sharply, disgusted. "Pray to your stars Mr. Ziko doesn't find out before she heals. Or you'll wish you never stepped foot in this house."
The siblings exchanged horrified glances as he stormed out.
"Who is this woman to Mr. Ziko?" Tony whispered, fear trembling in his voice.
Rachel didn't answer. She only grabbed supplies, hands shaking.
LATER THAT EVENING
The butler, Nedu, bowed as the front doors opened. "Welcome back, Mr. Ziko."
The man who walked into the grandeur penthouse, the city lights twinkling below him, was a devastating sight to behold. Tall, lean, his presence dominated the pristine space. His skin was a golden shade, glowing under the chandelier's light, with long, braided twists that cascaded down his back. Every feature seemed sculpted: cheekbones sharp as blades, jawline clean and unforgiving, lips curved with effortless sensuality. His eyes were the most captivating—the color of pure night, they held a mixture of deep intelligence and a simmering, untamed wildness, like staring into the calm surface of a storm about to break.
Even his movements were art: removing his coat with unhurried elegance, loosening his tie with precise fingers. Every gesture radiated wealth, control, and dripping sensual allure.
Nedu reported carefully. "She is stable, sir. But… Nurse Rachel and her brother have been unusually busy today, moving in and out of her room."
Ziko froze mid-motion. His eyes flicked up. "She's awake?"
"I—I cannot confirm, sir."
"Bring Rachel to me."
Tonna made his way down on the L-shaped, lush couch in front of the huge, elegant stairs decorated in warm-toned lights. His long legs crossed, he looked sinfully gorgeous.
Moments later, Rachel entered, trembling.
"Mr. Ziko," she greeted.
"How is the patient?"
Rachel twisted her fingers, her voice small. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat she was sure he could hear. The kitchen maid brought in a tray with a glass of water and a powdered vitamin sachet. She tore open the sachet, poured its contents into the glass, and mixed it before serving it to him. He took the glass and gulped down its contents in one go. She then took the tray and walked away, leaving Rachel alone with the man who held her fate in his hands.
He turned to her, his silence more terrifying than any rebuke. She forced herself to speak, the words coming out in a breathless rush.
"At… around 11:15 this morning, she was found passed out beside her bed. She sustained injuries… crawling toward the door."
Ziko stood slowly, rolling up his cuffs. His silence and movement were unsettlingly. Rachel shut her eyes, bracing for his wrath.
Instead—
"Take good care of her," he said softly, dangerously calm. "Make sure she is restored to full health. Quickly."
Rachel's eyes flew open in disbelief. "Y-yes, sir!"
He brushed past her without another glance, ascending the stairs.
In his suite, he shed his clothes carelessly, steam rising as he disappeared into the shower. Monica, the housekeeper, a young woman of about twenty-three, came in, picked up his clothes, and walked away. Minutes later, he emerged, a robe draped over his frame. Droplets clung to his chest, defined with sculpted lines of lean muscle, glistening like marble carved by divine hands. He was drying his hair with a towel, the tips of his twisted braids dripping with water. His phone buzzed.
"Kyle," he answered, voice clipped.
"The board refused the plan, boss. We're back to square one. Sorry."
Tonna squeezed the phone, his knuckles turning white, and then, with a roar of frustration, the phone shattered against the wall with a single, violent throw.
"Those old geezers," he snarled, chest heaving, braids falling over his face. He pushed them back with one hand, exhaling, then scoffed. "They really want to play dirty."
He walked to the bedside table in his room, picked up a pack of cigarettes, and walked over to the balcony of his penthouse. He lit one up and took a long puff, his eyes scanning the city below. His landline rang, but he ignored it. After three more puffs, he put the cigarette out on the ashtray and went in to pick up the call.
"A new phone is on the way, sir. How do we proceed?"
"Prepare a flight ticket for Axford. Noon tomorrow."
Kyle stiffened on the other end. "Noon? But the Energy Conference begins at nine—by the time we arrive—"
"Just do it." The line cut dead.
Kyle sighed, his boss was being "that weird" again. That kind of scary and weird. He was going to do something unorthodox. He knew the Energy Conference in Axford Starts from 9 a.m. to 3 p.m. All major energy companies and investors would be there. It was a perfect opportunity to make a good impression and curry favour. But Tonna wants the flight for 12 p.m. They would get to Axford at 2:45 p.m. at the latest, and by the time they made it to the hotel, the conference would be almost, if not over.
What was the boss's plan? Because if it's for the conference, it was useless to go. This was not going to be good.
Kyle sighed, muttering to Gina, "I'll never understand the boss."
"Does anyone?" Gina scoffed. "He's brilliant. And insane."
They both knew that for a fact: Tonna Ziko, their Boss, was dangerous and unfairly gifted. Rich beyond comprehension, a genius in energy innovations, his face and body so perfectly proportioned it unsettled men and captivated women. The kind of beauty that broke marriages, the kind of mind that shattered business rivals. He wasn't just handsome; beneath it all, he possessed an unpredictable madness. A dangerous, unorthodox streak; unreasonable, and unscrupulous.
The kind that made even his allies fear what he would do next.