THE 365-DAYS WIFE

CHAPTER 13: Safe House

The G-Wagon tore down the Lekki-Epe expressway like it was trying to outrun death itself.

140km/h.

Zara gripped the leather door handle until her knuckles turned white. In the side mirror, two black SUVs were glued to them. Two cars back. Headlights off. Not gaining. Not falling behind. Just... following.

Her heart was in her throat.

“They’re following us,” she said. Her voice came out smaller than she wanted.

“I know.” Damian’s voice was flat. Both hands gripped the wheel at 10 and 2. His jaw was so tight she could see the muscle twitch. “Don’t look at them.”

“Where are we going?”

“Away.”

Away. That was all she got.

For 40 minutes the only sounds were the engine, the wind, and Zara’s own breathing. She kept glancing down at her lap. The photos were spread there. Her. Her mother. Her street. Her hospital. All taken before she’d ever met Damian Okafor.

_Monitor closely. Day 90 protocol._

The words were burned into her brain.

Finally, Damian jerked the wheel. The car swerved off the main road onto a dirt path she’d never seen before. Trees closed in on both sides. The headlights cut through the darkness.

Behind them, the SUVs kept going straight on the expressway.

Zara let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “Did we lose them?”

“Temporarily.” Damian’s voice was grim. “They’ll find this place eventually. Victor has resources.”

They drove for another 5 minutes. Then a tall black gate appeared out of nowhere. No sign. No name. Damian tapped something on the visor and the gate slid open with a mechanical groan.

The house at the end of the path made Zara’s breath catch.

White walls. Floor-to-ceiling glass. It sat right on the beach. No neighbors. No other houses for miles. Just the house, the sand, and the ocean crashing against the shore. The moon reflected off the water and made everything look silver and unreal.

Damian killed the engine. For a moment, neither of them moved.

“We’re safe here,” Damian said finally. But he didn’t sound sure. “For now.”

Zara opened her door on shaky legs. The air hit her immediately. Salt. Fear. Freedom. It was colder here than in the city. She wrapped her arms around herself.

Damian came around to her side. “Come inside.”

The house was empty. Minimal. Like no one actually lived here. One big living room with a couch that looked like it cost more than her mom’s hospital bills. A kitchen with marble counters and nothing in the fridge except water and wine. And one bedroom.

One.

Zara stopped in the doorway and stared. King-size bed. White sheets. Two pillows. One bathroom attached.

Behind her, Damian cursed under his breath. “There’s a couch in the living room. I’ll take it.”

“It’s fine,” Zara said quickly. Too quickly. Her voice cracked. “We’re married. On paper. Clause 2: Shared accommodation.”

Damian didn’t laugh. He looked at her like she’d suggested jumping off a cliff. “This isn’t funny, Zara.”

“I’m not laughing.” She set her bag down. The diary slipped out and she snatched it up before he could see. Her heart was racing again. “What happens now?”

“Now we wait.” Damian walked to the big glass doors and pulled the heavy curtains shut. Then he checked the locks. Twice. “Victor wants the company. He thinks if he hurts you, I’ll give it to him to keep you safe.”

“Why me?” The question slipped out. “Why not just give him the company?”

“Because it’s not about the company.” Damian turned to face her. The moonlight made shadows across his face. “It’s about control. About our father choosing me. About Amina finding his dirty books before she died.”

Zara flinched at the name. “You keep saying her name like it hurts.”

“It does.”

Silence. The waves crashed outside.

Zara’s stomach growled. Loud. Embarrassing. She hadn’t eaten since the dry bread she had at 7am.

Damian heard it. His expression softened for half a second before he schooled it back to neutral. “Kitchen. Fridge. Take what you want.”

He opened it. Empty except for bottles of water, eggs, and what looked like very expensive pasta.

“I can cook,” Zara offered. Anything to fill the silence. Anything to feel normal.

Damian handed her a pot. Their fingers brushed. His were cold. “Then cook. I’m terrible at it. Burned water once.”

That almost made her smile.

For the next 30 minutes they existed in the same small space without killing each other. Zara boiled pasta. Damian leaned against the counter and watched her. Not in a creepy way. In a... tired way. Like he hadn’t slept in days.

“You’re good at this,” he said as she stirred the sauce.

“My mom taught me.” Zara kept her eyes on the pot. “Before the chemo made her too tired to stand. She used to make this every Sunday.”

“What happened to her?”

“Cancer.” The word felt heavy. “Stage 3. That’s why I signed your contract. The hospital said ₦15M or they stop treatment.”

Damian was quiet for a long time. “Is she okay now?”

“She will be. With the money.” Zara plated the pasta. “Thank you. For that.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Damian took the plate. “We might not make it to Day 365.”

They ate at the small dining table. No phones. No TV. Just the sound of forks and the ocean outside. It was the first meal Zara had eaten in peace in months.

After, Damian disappeared and came back with a black t-shirt. His. It was huge. It smelled like his cologne and something clean.

“For sleeping,” he said, not meeting her eyes. “Bathroom is there. I’ll be on the couch if you need anything.”

Zara took it and went to the bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirror. Hair a mess. Eyes red-rimmed. Wearing Damian Okafor’s shirt that swallowed her whole.

_Day 5 of 365._

She changed. The shirt went down to her knees. She could smell him on it and it was... comforting. And that terrified her.

She came out. Damian was already on the couch, lying stiffly under a thin blanket. Eyes closed.

“Goodnight,” she whispered.

He didn’t answer.

Zara went to the bedroom and closed the door. She lay in the massive bed, drowning in sheets and his scent. She tried to sleep. She really did.

But her brain wouldn’t shut up.

_Who is Subject Z?_

_Why Day 90?_

_Why did he say “it isn’t anymore” when I asked if I was bait?_

At 2:14am, the lights died.

The whole house went pitch black.

Zara sat up instantly. “Damian?”

No answer from the living room.

Then. Footsteps.

Outside. On the sand.

Slow. Deliberate. Crunching closer to the glass doors of the bedroom.

Zara’s blood turned to ice.

“Damian!”

The bedroom door slammed open. Damian was there in under 3 seconds. Hair wild. Bare chest. Jeans. And a gun in his hand.

“Get behind me. Now.”

Zara scrambled off the bed and behind him. She grabbed the back of his shirt.

Another footstep. Right outside the glass.

Damian moved in front of her, the gun raised and steady. His back was tense under her hands.

A voice came from outside. Muffled but clear. Cheerful.

_“Hello, big brother. And hello, Subject Z. Fancy seeing you here.”_

Victor.

Damian didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. “What do you want, Victor?”

“I want to talk.” Victor laughed. “About the company. About Daddy’s will. And about your new little wife.”

Zara pressed closer to Damian’s back. She could feel his heartbeat. Fast, but steady.

Damian turned his head just slightly. Enough for his voice to reach her.

“Whatever happens,” he whispered. So quiet only she could hear. “Don’t open the door. Don’t make a sound. And trust me.”

Outside, Victor knocked on the glass. Three times.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

“Come on out, Damian. Let’s be civil. Or I start breaking windows.”

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