The city hummed with restless energy as Amara stepped out of the taxi and onto the wide streets of Lagos. The air was thick with heat, yet alive with possibility. She tightened her grip on her worn leather bag — the only familiar thing she had carried from Enugu — and lifted her eyes to the glass towers ahead. Somewhere inside one of those buildings was her new beginning.
Amara had spent months preparing for this day, but now that it was here, her chest fluttered with doubt. Would she be enough? Would they see her as just another intern or as someone who belonged? She squared her shoulders, whispering to herself that this was her chance — her opportunity to rewrite her story.
Inside the building, the world smelled faintly of polished wood and coffee. Colleagues moved with purpose, laughter echoed from distant corners, and the rhythm of phones ringing filled the air. Amara's pulse raced. She clutched her folder and followed the HR assistant toward her new department.
And that was when she saw him.
Daniel Cole.
He stood by the wide window, sunlight spilling over his sharp profile. A tall man in a navy suit, speaking low into his phone, brows furrowed in concentration. There was something about the way he carried himself — assured, steady — that made her stop in her tracks. For the briefest second, his gaze lifted, locking with hers. Warm, piercing eyes, like he could see through her defenses.
Amara's heart skipped. She looked away quickly, embarrassed by the sudden rush in her veins. She told herself it meant nothing. Just a stranger at work. But deep down, something whispered — this was the beginning of everything.