Thirst for revenge

(Ariana’s POV) It rained so heavily that night—like a human had offended the maker. The sound of the thunderstorms was so loud that it was almost scary to go out on the streets. I had gone to a*****e near the house to run a little errand. My feet were soaked in the puddles as I tried rushing back home. I had gone to get loaves of bread from the bread mall. However, my mother hated it when I stayed outside past ten, especially when it rained this heavily. “The streets of Ikeja are unsafe” she always told me. I understood where she was coming from but I mean, it's just bread. My father was supposed to be home before me. He had gone to collect his earnings from the small construction company where he worked. He’d promised to bring some suya for the kids. I tried to rush so I could meet up with them to get a share. And then, I suddenly heard it— a loud crash that immediately gripped me with fear. For a second, the entire street went silent. Almost like the rain even made a pause. I just stood there, with the loaves of bread clutched around my chest, frozen. My heart skipped and started pounding beneath my chest. And then I ran. I didn't know why, but I had this gut feeling in me that it was someone I knew. Something deeper screamed that he was the one, my father. When I turned the corner, my worst fear was waiting for me. Beside it was a Black Mercedes-Benz G-wagon. The headlights were on but the driver was not in it, the driver's door was just open. A guy stood in front of the car with his hands on his head. He was tall, young, and seemed confused. I suddenly looked at the ground, and that was when the world stopped for a moment. I saw him, my Dad. “Daddy!” I screamed at the top of my voice, my lungs almost coming out. I immediately threw the bread to God knows where and I ran towards him, slipping and falling due to the slippery road, but I didn’t care. “Daddy, please!” The guy moved a few steps backwards as if avoiding my gaze. “Oh God, what have I done?” he questioned himself. I fell to my knees beside my father. His body was lifeless. There was blood — too much blood — mixing with the rain. His face was pale, his lips slightly parted. “No no no”, I yelled out a loud cry. “Open your eyes please” I shouted. Pulling him to my chest, shaking him, as if he were in a deep sleep. “Daddy, wake up,” I begged, shaking him. “Please, it’s me. It’s Ariana. Please.” He didn’t move. My hands were shaking so hard that I barely realized the rain was pouring on me. My tears mixed with the rain until I couldn’t tell the difference. My father had stopped breathing. His eyes were open — but he wasn’t seeing me anymore. The man who hit him stood there, staring at us like he was suddenly dumbfounded and couldn't speak. I looked up at him — and I saw his face clearly. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. Handsome in a careless way, his chest was visible from his shirt, he smelled of alcohol and weed, and his eyes were red as if he was high. “You killed him,” I whispered. My voice shook, but the anger was already forming beneath it. “You killed my father!” “I—” he started, voice trembling. “It was an accident, I swear, I didn’t see him—” “Shut up!” I screamed. My voice echoed through the street. “You killed him!” He took another step back, hands raised like he wanted to explain. “I didn’t mean to—” Before he could finish, another car pulled up — a sleek black SUV that stopped beside his. The door opened, and a woman suddenly came out of it. I’ll never forget her face. She was beautiful, with an unreadable face, almost like she was unbothered as well. She held an umbrella, but somehow, I swear the rain didn’t dare touch her. Her dress and heels glowed as she walked towards us. Her eyes moved from my dad's body to her son — because I could tell immediately they were mother and son. They had the same eyes, face, and arrogance. “What have you done?” she asked him, her voice low, and direct. “It was an accident, Mom! He just ran out—” “You’ve been drinking.” “I—just a little—” “That's enough.” She didn’t shout. She didn’t cry. She just said the word like a judge passing a sentence. She suddenly stared at my father's body in my arms, and then at me. For a moment, our eyes met. And that was when I knew she didn’t care. She didn't care about the lifeless body, or whether he son was at fault or not. She just looked at me with so much disgust, like I was a pain in her ass and could be instantly silenced. “Get in the car,” she told her son. “Mom, she saw me!” “I said get in the car, Joseph.” “Mom, please—” Her tone sharpened. “Now!” The young man hesitated, then obeyed. He got into the car, his hands still trembling. She suddenly turned to her driver and said with a low tone, “Call Inspector Musa. He’ll know what to do.” The driver hesitated. “Madam, what about—” “Handle it.” She said almost immediately. I wanted to scream, to grab her and make her look at my father's lifeless body. But my body wouldn’t move. I was in shock that my father was no more. I just sat there, with my hands clutched to his shirt, and my knees buried in the puddle of blood rainwater. The car engine started. They drove away hastily into the storm, leaving me there with a lifeless body drenched by rain. I screamed and wailed but it was no no avail. If wishes came true, I'd have brought my father back to life, but there was nothing I could do. When the police came, I was still holding him. A part of me hoped that they'd save him, but the bigger part of me knew that he was gone, dead. One helped me up, while others just stood there, like they had seen too much of it. They just shook their heads, covered his body, and told me to stay calm. One of them — an older officer — stood beside me and whispered, “My dear, be careful with what you say. Some people… you can’t fight them.” I didn’t understand at first. Not until the next morning, when I read the news. “Reckless driver kills pedestrian. Suspect arrested — driver of the Williams family car.” Williams. I saw that name, and everything fell into place. The man who killed my father wasn’t a commoner. He was Joe Williams — the son of Jake Williams, CEO of Williams Global Industries. A billionaire. A man too rich to face consequences. They had changed the whole narrative and pinned the crime to some innocent driver— and the story felt believable to viewers. And my father’s death became just another headline. Another accident. Another lie. I didn’t cry when I read it. I didn’t scream. I just… went quiet. But something inside me died that day — the soft part of me, the part that trusted easily. The part that believed justice was real. For weeks, my mother could barely speak. She started working double shifts at the market, trying to keep us afloat. My younger siblings asked where Daddy was, and every time I told them “he’s in heaven,” my throat burned with anger. I spent two years watching life move on, but I never did. I couldn’t. Because every time it rained, I replay the same night in my head. I couldn't get over it. I kept seeing my lifeless father in my arms. Every time I saw a black car, I searched for his face. And every night, before I slept, I whispered the same words to myself — a prayer, a promise, a curse. “I’ll find you, Joe Williams.” “And when I do, I’ll make you wish you’d never met me.” Two years later, I did find him. And when I walked through the glass doors of Williams Global, dressed in a cheap office suit with my CV in hand, I wasn’t there to get a job. I was there to end a legacy. To destroy a family the way they destroyed mine.