Chapter1
Seventeen-year-old Sheyla Adeyemi loved routine. It gave her a sense of safety, of knowing exactly what tomorrow would bring. Each morning began with the shrill ring of her alarm clock at 5:30 a.m., followed by her mother’s voice cutting through the walls of their modest home in Lekki.
“Sheyla! Get up! Don’t make me come in there,” Mrs. Adeyemi would shout.
Sheyla would groan, burying her face under her pillow for one more minute of stolen rest. Eventually, she would drag herself to the bathroom, where cold water splashed across her face jolted her fully awake. Breakfast was usually bread and eggs, sometimes yam and stew if her mother had the energy after a long week of teaching at the local secondary school.
The Adeyemis were not poor, but neither were they wealthy. Her father, Mr. Adeyemi, taught Government at a nearby college, earning enough to keep the family comfortable but with little to spare for luxuries. That was why their friendship with Derick Okoro felt like a blessing.
Derick was different from everyone Sheyla knew. At thirty-two, he was a self-made businessman whose success story was repeated like folklore in their neighborhood. He had started with a single delivery van, and within seven years, built it into a logistics empire that serviced banks, tech companies, and even government contracts. His office sat inside a tall glass building in Victoria Island—a place Sheyla had only seen in glossy magazines until he took her there.
To the Adeyemis, Derick was more than a friend; he was family. Mr. Adeyemi often said he considered him a younger brother. When Sheyla was ten, Derick had paid her school fees for a term after a financial setback hit the family. From then on, he became the dependable figure who always appeared when things got tough—offering to fix the generator, buying groceries unasked, surprising Sheyla with gifts that far exceeded what her parents could afford.
Her mother trusted him wholeheartedly. “Derick is the kind of man you pray for in your children’s lives,” she often said. “Successful, kind, and God-fearing.”
Sheyla absorbed all of this like scripture. She learned early that Derick was someone she should look up to, someone she should be grateful for.
The first time she entered his office, she felt as though she had stepped into another world. She had expected papers scattered, noisy phones ringing, people rushing in and out. Instead, it was quiet and sophisticated. The air smelled of polished leather and cologne, the walls lined with shelves of books that looked untouched but impressive.
Behind the wide mahogany desk sat Derick, his sleeves rolled up, his tie loose. He smiled when she walked in.
“Sheyla,” he said, standing to greet her. “You’re just in time. Come, sit.”
She felt nervous as she placed her school bag down and handed him her scholarship essay. It was the first time she had shown her writing to anyone outside her teachers, and she wanted desperately for him to be impressed.
He read it carefully, occasionally nodding, occasionally frowning slightly. The silence stretched, filling her with both hope and dread. Finally, he looked up.
“This is good,” he said. “Very good. You have potential. You remind me of myself at your age—ambitious, hungry to prove something.”
Her heart swelled at the words.
“You just need to work on polish,” he added. “Success isn’t only about talent, Sheyla. It’s about how you present yourself. People judge you before they know you. If you look and sound confident, they’ll believe in you even before you prove yourself.”
She listened as he spoke about discipline, networking, and building confidence. His words wrapped around her like a protective blanket. She scribbled notes eagerly, her admiration deepening.
When she left that day, he gave her a ride home in his sleek black SUV. She sat in the leather seat, clutching her essay marked with his notes, feeling as though she had just been given a key to the future.
At home, her parents welcomed Derick like royalty. He stayed for dinner, laughing loudly at her father’s jokes and listening with patient attention to her mother’s stories. Before leaving, he handed Sheyla a book—The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People.
“Start with this,” he said. “Every great mind builds on discipline.”
That night, Sheyla stayed awake flipping through the pages. The book itself was difficult, full of terms she barely understood, but just holding it felt like a step closer to the kind of life Derick represented—one of achievement, power, and respect.
Weeks passed, and Derick’s presence in her life deepened. He sent her articles to read, sometimes called to check if she was studying, and often dropped by with small gifts.
One Saturday evening, he brought something different—a silver wristwatch. It was sleek, elegant, clearly expensive.
“For when you start university,” he said, fastening it around her wrist.
Sheyla hesitated. The watch looked out of place on her slim arm, like something a banker or a politician’s daughter might wear.
“It’s too much,” she whispered.
“Nonsense,” he said with a smile. “You deserve it. Every queen needs a crown.”
Her cheeks flushed at the phrase. She looked at her mother, hoping for guidance, but Mrs. Adeyemi only smiled approvingly.
“Thank your uncle,” she said.
“Thank you, Uncle,” Sheyla murmured, though her voice trembled. She felt the weight of the watch—heavier than it should have been. For a moment, his fingers lingered on her wrist, the touch too intimate, too deliberate. Then he withdrew, laughing as he turned to chat with her father about politics.
No one noticed the shift. No one except Sheyla.
That night, she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, running her fingers along the cold metal. She told herself she was overthinking. Derick was family. Derick was safe. Derick was everything her parents said he was.
Still, something small and unsettling stirred inside her—a whisper she could not ignore.
