The week passed like a nightmare Amira couldn't wake from.
Every morning, her father left the house before sunrise, running from one old friend to another, begging for loans. Her mother made desperate calls to distant relatives who barely picked up. Amira visited every office she could think of, asking for work, pleading for advance payments.
But ₦60 million was not money ordinary people could gather overnight.
By the seventh day, hope had finally run dry. The house was silent, heavy with fear. Her father turned to her, voice trembling but firm.
"Amira… you must go," he said. "We cannot—We cannot let him take you. Please, my child… go. We will find a way to survive this, we will fix this. Just leave."
Amira froze, her heart tightening. "I… I won't leave you. I cannot just run from him. I won't abandon you!"
Her father stepped closer, voice louder now, desperate to make her understand. "Amira! You don't understand! There is no other way. You have to go. Run. Please, just leave! We'll find another solution for the money, but you—"
Her mother, tears streaming down her face, grabbed Amira by the arm and started dragging her toward the front door. In her other hand, she held the small suitcase she had packed. "We cannot fight him! Just go, Amira! Please!"
Amira resisted, struggling. "Mama! Papa! I'm not leaving you!"
Her father's hands shook as he stepped in front of them. "Amira, please! You have to go! Do it for us! You must survive! We'll find a solution for this, I swear it! But you cannot stay here—he will take you!"
Her mother opened the front door quickly, trying to drag Amira and her suitcase outside—
But the moment the door swung open…
Her mother's breath caught.
Her father froze.
Amira turned slowly, heart pounding.
Because standing right at the doorstep, perfectly composed, hands in his pockets…
Was Adrian.
His voice was calm. Terrifyingly calm.
"Where," he asked softly, "do you think you are sending her?"
No one answered.
No one could.
He stepped into the house and looked at the packed suitcase beside the door.
"You were trying to run," he said, eyes meeting Amira's. "From me."
Amira swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper.
"Sir… we couldn't get the money—"
"I know," he said simply.
Her father stepped forward. "Please, sir. Give us more time—"
"Time," Adrian repeated, his eyes never leaving Amira, "is exactly what you no longer have."
Her mother collapsed into sobs.
Adrian finally looked at her parents — silent, stern, unbothered by their fear.
"I told you I would return in one week," he reminded them. "And I do not break my word."
Then he turned fully to Amira.
"You're leaving with me."
Not shouting.
Not angry.
Just a command that allowed no argument.
Amira felt tears slip down her cheeks and shouted, "No! I am not coming with you!"
Her parents sobbed silently behind her.
Adrian's eyes narrowed. "I am not asking for your opinion. I am commanding it."
Amira shook her head stubbornly, refusing to yield.
Without another word, Adrian bent slightly, lifted her effortlessly, placing her against his shoulder, and started moving toward the door. Nuran, his assistant, grabbed the suitcase from the floor and followed him toward the car. Amira's parents could only watch helplessly as their daughter was carried away.
At the car, Adrian set Amira in the back seat, his imposing presence filling the space. "Behave," he said quietly but firmly. He climbed in beside her, and Nuran took her place next to the driver.
"Drive," Adrian instructed.
The car pulled away from the Ibrahim family home, leaving Amira's parents standing frozen on the porch, powerless and heartbroken.