Betrayed In Lagos - My Best Friend Stole My Fiancé

Chapter 1: The Empty House The key refused to turn. Amara Johnson stood in front of her small one-bedroom apartment in Yaba, Lagos, at exactly 11:47 PM on October 5th, 2026. Her handbag was hanging heavy on her shoulder, her second bag filled with makeup samples from Abuja was pulling her arm down. The night was hot, the compound generator was making loud noise, mosquitoes were everywhere, and sweat was running down her back like water. She tried the key again. It entered the lock, but it would not turn. "Ah ah, what is happening now?" she muttered in pidgin English, her voice tired. She had been on the road for eight hours. The ABC Transport bus from Abuja to Lagos had broken down twice, once at Lokoja and once at Ore. She was tired, hungry, her legs were paining her, her head was aching. All she wanted was to enter her house, see her fiancé David sleeping, take a cold bath, eat the indomie she knew Jane would have cooked, and sleep on her soft bed. "David! David, open door na! The key is not opening!" she shouted, banging the door. No answer. She banged harder. "David! Jane! Are you people inside? Are you sleeping?" Silence. Total silence. Even the small radio David always played was silent. A strange, cold feeling started to enter her chest. It was not normal. David always answered. Jane always shouted "Amara don come!" She tried the key again, pushing harder with all her strength. This time, it made a click sound and opened. She pushed the door with excitement. And her entire life collapsed in one second. The sitting room was empty. Not dirty. Not scattered. Empty. Completely empty. Like nobody had ever lived there in the whole world. Her small brown sofa that she bought from Jiji for 45,000 naira last year was gone. Her 32-inch TV she bought on installment payment was gone. The rug on the floor, gone. The curtains she sewed herself with her own hands for Christmas, gone. Even the small plastic table where she kept her Holy Bible and her small flower vase was gone. "Hello?" her voice was shaking now, small like a child. "David? Jane? This is not funny o! Where are you?" She dropped her bags with a loud noise and ran to the bedroom, her slippers making noise. Empty. Her wardrobe was wide open, all her fine clothes were thrown on the floor like dirty rags. Her makeup kit, her entire business, the foundation, the lipsticks, the eye shadows she used to do bridal makeup for customers, were scattered and broken on the floor. Some were open, wasted. Her small safe box, her iron safe box where she kept all her savings, where she kept the 350,000 naira she had saved for two full years to open her own big makeup studio in Lekki Phase 1, was open and empty. Just empty black inside. Her heart was beating so fast, so fast, she thought she would have a heart attack and die there. On the bare mattress on the floor, there was a single white paper, folded neatly. Her hands were shaking so much she could not pick it up at first. She tried twice. On the third time, she picked it. It was Jane's handwriting. She would know Jane's handwriting anywhere in this world. Jane wrote like a small child in primary three. She opened it and read. "Amara, sorry. Please forgive us. We didn't plan it like this. It just happened. We fell in love. Real love. David said he never really loved you, he was just managing you because you were helping him. We have gone to start a new life in Port Harcourt. David's uncle has a house there. Don't look for us. Don't call us. We took the TV, the sofa and the money as our start-up capital for our own business. You will be fine. You are a strong girl. You will make more money. Thank you for everything you did for me. I will never forget your kindness. - Jane & David" Amara read it once. Twice. Three times. Then she started laughing. A strange, mad, crazy laugh that scared even herself. "Jane? David? My best friend and my fiancé? My sister and my husband to be?" Jane Okoro. Her best friend since primary school in Benin City, Edo State. The girl she called her sister. When Jane's mother died of breast cancer in SS2, Amara's mother took Jane into their own house and trained Jane with Amara. When Jane had no job in Benin after university, Amara brought her to Lagos, gave her a place to sleep in her own small house, fed her morning and night, gave her a job as her personal assistant in her small makeup business, paying her 40,000 naira every month. She introduced Jane to David at her own birthday party. David Chukwu. Her fiancé for three years. The man who knelt down inside Tantalizers in Surulere last December and gave her a small silver ring and promised to marry her this December 2026. The man who said, "Amara, you are my future, you are my everything, I will never leave you." The man who ate her food, who she washed his clothes, who she gave money when he said he had no job. They ran away together. They stole her life. They stole her money, her TV, her sofa, her happiness. The mad laughter turned into tears. Loud, painful, raw, broken tears that tore her chest into pieces. She sank to the cold cement floor, in the middle of the empty room, and cried like a baby. She cried for her trust. She cried for her stupidity. She cried for her kindness. How could she not see it? Jane always laughing too much when David came around. Jane always wearing short skirts when David was at home. David always saying Jane is "like a sister to me, you know I don't see her that way." How foolish, how mumu she was. "I trusted you! I trusted you with my life, Jane! I gave you my food, my house, my business! I told you my ATM pin when you said you were sick! And you stole from me! You stole from me!" She cried until her voice was gone. Until her eyes had no more water. That night, she did not sleep. She sat on the cold floor, her back against the cold wall, holding her knees like a small child. The compound was quiet. Mosquitoes were biting her legs and hands, but she did not even feel them. She was numb. At 5 AM, the early morning call to prayer from the mosque nearby woke her. She stood up. Her eyes were swollen like balls, her fine face was rough, her dress was dirty and smelling. She had to survive. She had to. She could not go back to Benin City. What would she tell her mother? That her best friend and fiancé stole all her money and ran? Her mother had high blood pressure. Her mother would collapse. No. She had to stay in Lagos and fight. She had to make it. She washed her face with water from the small bathroom, thank God they did not steal the water tap. She packed her few remaining clothes, only five gowns and two trousers left, into a small Ghana-must-go bag. She took her university certificates, her phone, and her handbag with 2,300 naira inside. She locked the empty house and left the key with the landlord's wife, Mama Nkechi. "Mama, I will travel small. If anyone comes to look for me, tell them I have moved to Lekki. Please." Mama Nkechi looked at her swollen eyes but said nothing. She entered the street. Yaba was already busy at 6 AM. Buses were shouting "CMS! CMS! Oshodi! Oshodi!" People were rushing. Traders were setting up. She remembered something. Last week, before she traveled to Abuja for a makeup job for a bride, she saw a job vacancy on LinkedIn and on Jobberman. Adeyemi Group, one of the biggest oil and fashion companies in Nigeria, owned by the famous billionaire Michael Adeyemi, was looking for a Personal Assistant to the CEO. Salary: 300,000 naira per month, plus accommodation allowance, plus feeding, plus health insurance. She had screenshotted it but didn't apply because David told her, "My wife doesn't need to do that kind of stressful job. I will take care of you. Leave that job." David. The liar. The thief. She opened her phone. Battery was 12%. She searched for the ad. It was still there. Interview was today, October 6, 2026, at 9 AM sharp at Adeyemi Tower, Victoria Island, Lagos. Requirements: Female, 22-28 years, smart, fluent in English, good with computers. It was 6:15 AM now. She used her last 1,000 naira to enter a danfo from Yaba to CMS, then another small bus from CMS to Victoria Island. She held her Ghana-must-go bag very tight because of Lagos thieves. Adeyemi Tower was not a building. It was heaven on earth. 25 floors of shining glass, reflecting the morning sun. Expensive cars, Benz, Toyota, Lexus, were entering and leaving. Security men with black suits and earpieces were everywhere. Fine ladies in high heels were walking in. She felt so small. Her dress was cheap, 3,000 naira from Yaba market. Her shoes had dust from the journey. Her hair was rough, her edges were scattered from the bus. She had no makeup on, her first time in years without makeup. But she lifted her head high and walked inside. Her mother always told her, "Amara, no matter how poor you are, walk like a queen." "Good morning, I am here for the Personal Assistant interview," she told the receptionist at the front desk, a very fine light-skinned girl with a straight nose, expensive bone-straight wig, and red lipstick. The receptionist looked at her from head to toe, looked at her Ghana-must-go bag, looked at her dusty shoes, and frowned like she smelled something bad. "Name?" "Amara Johnson." The girl typed on her computer with long nails. "You are late. Interviews started at 8 AM. It's 8:47 AM now. Oga does not like late people." "Please, I came from far. My bus broke down on the way. Please help me. I really need this job." The girl hissed but said, "Sit down there. I will see if the CEO will still see you. But don't put hope." Amara sat on the soft leather chair in the waiting room. There were ten other girls there, all looking rich and fresh, all with big wigs, big CVs in fine folders, speaking big grammar, wearing expensive suits. She felt like she would never get it. She was the poorest there. One hour passed. Two hours. One by one, the girls went inside the big office and came out, some crying, some smiling, some pressing phone. At 11:30 AM, her name was finally called. "Amara Johnson! The CEO will see you now! Last chance!" Her heart jumped. She carried her Ghana-must-go bag and entered the big door. The office was cold. The air conditioner was too much, like inside a freezer. It was bigger than her whole apartment in Yaba three times. Everything was white and black and glass. The floor was shining. The view from the window showed the whole of Lagos and the ocean. A man stood by the window, looking at the whole of Lagos Island. TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 2