The elevator doors slid shut behind Amara.
No going back now.
5 hours 44 minutes.
Her heart hammered against her ribs as the car descended.
Damien’s last words echoed in her head:
_If you walk out that door, Amara, don’t expect me to be here when you come back._
She wanted to scream.
She wanted to run back upstairs and tell him everything.
But the photo of her father on the dialysis bed was burned into her eyes.
*Unknown:* _Car is waiting downstairs. Driver knows where to go. Say one word about this and he dies._
Amara stepped into the lobby.
A black SUV idled at the curb. Tinted windows. No plate.
The driver didn’t look at her. Just opened the back door.
“Get in, Mrs. Adewale.”
She got in.
The ride to the studio was silent. Suffocating.
Her phone buzzed every 60 seconds with the countdown.
5h 32m.
5h 31m.
5h 30m.
They pulled up behind _Channels TV_. A side entrance. No press. No cameras yet.
Good. They wanted this clean.
A woman in a black suit met her at the door.
“Miss Amara. We’re live in 8 minutes. The host knows what to say. You just agree.”
Amara’s throat was dry.
“Where’s my father?”
The woman smiled.
“Alive. For now. Say the lines, and he stays that way.”
They pushed her into a makeup room.
Someone powdered her face, clipped a mic to her dress.
Her reflection stared back at her, pale and furious.
This wasn’t her.
This wasn’t the girl who stood on that stage and said _what I feel now isn’t fake._
A producer stuck her head in.
“30 seconds.”
Amara’s hands trembled.
She thought of Damien.
The way he’d knelt in front of her and said _you don’t have to choose alone._
She was choosing alone.
Because she had to.
The stage lights hit her face.
“Good evening, Nigeria,” the host said, voice smooth and rehearsed.
“Tonight we have a special guest. Mrs. Amara Adewale. She has a statement to make about the press conference earlier today.”
All eyes turned to her.
Millions watching.
Amara opened her mouth.
The lie tasted like ash.
“I lied,” she said.
The studio went dead quiet.
“My marriage to Damien Adewale was never real. He forced me into it. I was scared. I said what I said because I thought I had no choice.”
Her voice didn’t shake.
That was the worst part.
“Everything you saw was a performance. I don’t love him. I never did.”
[To Be Continued…]