THE GOLD IN HER SKIN

Chapter One: The Girl Who Didn’t Cry Zina hadn’t cried in two years. Not when she watched her mother gasp her last breath on a rusted hospital bed. Not when her uncle kicked her out the next day, saying, “Your mother’s debts died with her. You didn’t.” Not when she started sleeping behind a tailoring shop in Ajegunle — using a bucket for her pillow and folded clothes to shield herself from mosquitoes. No, Zina didn’t cry. Because she had learned something brutal about life: Tears don’t feed you. She learned how to stitch buttons, sweep floors, lie with a straight face, and hustle like tomorrow had already betrayed her. She was beautiful — the kind of beautiful that made rich men stare and poor women gossip. But it came with a price. And Zina couldn’t afford any more debt… not even emotional ones. So when she forged her WAEC result, printed a fake CV, and walked into the silver building of Kole Group, she didn’t come to dream. She came to survive. ⸻ The receptionist barely looked at her before asking, “Do you have an appointment?” “No,” Zina replied confidently. “But Mr. Damian Kole will want to see me.” The woman laughed like she’d heard a joke. “Damian Kole doesn’t see anybody.” Zina leaned forward, her eyes sharp. “He’ll see me.” A call was made. A pause. A nod. And then— Like a glitch in the matrix— She was standing inside the top floor office. Cold AC. Black marble walls. Floor-to-ceiling windows that screamed: I own Lagos. ⸻ Behind a desk sat the man who could destroy lives with one decision. Damian Kole. CEO. Billionaire. Untouchable. A man whose name was whispered like a warning and worshipped like wealth. He looked up— And paused. Zina stood in a plain buttoned shirt, her entire life folded into the handbag hanging off her shoulder. No makeup. No perfume. Just presence. Quiet. Strong. Defiant. Damian didn’t smile. He didn’t ask her to sit. He picked up her CV and scanned it. “This is fake,” he said simply. Zina met his eyes. “So is your humanity.” Silence. No one ever spoke to Damian Kole like that. But instead of anger, something flickered in his expression. Surprise? Curiosity? “You don’t look like someone fit for this job,” he said coolly. “I’m not here to look like anything,” she replied. “I’m here to survive.” He watched her— As if trying to decide whether to throw her out or hire her on the spot. And then: “Congratulations. You’re hired.” Zina didn’t smile. She simply nodded, turned, and walked out— Like someone who expected it. But as she left the office, she didn’t realize one thing: She had just stepped into fire. Because Damian Kole was not a man you worked for. He was a man you survived. And just like her, he had wounds. Deep ones. Buried. Untouched. And broken always recognizes broken. ⸻