Chapter 1: The Day My Life Developed Teeth

​I was twenty-four, broke, and lost a fight with a vending machine that had just swallowed my last ₦200.

​"Give it back," I muttered, rattling the glass. The biscuit sat there, mocking me—stuck on the edge of the shelf like it was doing this on purpose. I could see it. Right there. One good shake and it would fall.

I shook harder.

​"Ma'am." The security guard's voice floated over from his desk. "You've been attacking that thing for five minutes."

​"It attacked first."

​He sighed, probably adding this to his mental list of reasons I was unhinged. I didn't care. That biscuit was supposed to be my dinner, and I wasn't above violence to get it back.

​But the machine won. It always did.

​I grabbed my mop bucket before he could decide to escort me out. I cleaned this building every night, floors, toilets, rich people's coffee spills. The glamorous life of a night-shift cleaner. It wasn't the dream, but it paid rent. Barely. And barely was better than nothing.

​The elevator was empty when I got there. Thank God. I pressed the button and let myself breathe. Alone meant no forced smiles, no small talk, and no pretending I wasn't bone-tired and running on fumes.

​The doors started to close. A hand shot out and stopped them.

​Three men stepped inside.

​The air shifted immediately. It got heavier. Tighter. These weren't regular guys in suits, these were the kind of men who made entire rooms go quiet just by walking in. Tailored jackets that probably cost more than my yearly salary. Shoes so polished I could see my reflection. They had the kind of presence that didn't ask for attention, it demanded it.

​The one in front looked at me. Really looked. His eyes dragged over my face slowly, deliberately, like he was searching for something specific. My stomach did a stupid, traitorous flip I hadn't felt in years.

​I looked away, staring at the descending floor numbers like they were fascinating.

​"She's smaller than I expected," one of them said. Not to me. About me. Like I was a package they'd ordered online.

​My head snapped up. "Excuse me?"

​The quiet one in the back, tall, severe, and unfairly attractive in a way that felt dangerous, pressed a button. The elevator lurched downward.

​"You're late," the first man said. His voice was smooth and controlled, the kind of voice that gave orders and expected them to be followed.

​I blinked. "I don't know you."

​"Not yet," the one with the smile said. Marcus, I'd learn later. His grin was all teeth and no warmth.

​My grip tightened on the mop handle. "If this is some weird scam, I'm not interested. I've got floors to scrub and a landlord who enjoys threatening eviction like it's a sport."

​The first man, Lucien, stepped closer. Too close. I could smell his cologne now; something expensive and woodsy that probably had a French name I couldn't pronounce. It made my head spin.

​"My name is Lucien," he said, like we were having a normal conversation. "This is Marcus." He gestured to the smiling one. "And Elias." The quiet one didn't even blink. "And you're coming with us."

​I laughed. I couldn't help it. The sound came out sharp and a little unhinged. "No, I'm really not."

​Marcus tilted his head, studying me like a puzzle. "You always laugh when you're scared?"

​"I laugh when strange men in expensive suits think they can just, what, kidnap me? In an elevator? Is that the plan?"

​"No one's kidnapping you," Lucien said. His expression softened, but only slightly, as if he were trying to be gentle and didn't quite know how.

​Elias finally spoke. His voice was low, measured, and terrifying in how absolutely certain it sounded. "You were taken. Twenty-one years ago."

​The elevator jolted to a stop. My heart slammed against my ribs.

​"That's insane," I whispered. My voice didn't sound like mine anymore.

​Lucien leaned in, close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes. Close enough that I forgot how to breathe. "You were stolen from a family that never stopped looking for you."

​My mouth went dry. "You're lying."

​"We're not."

​The doors slid open with a soft chime that felt too loud in the silence. Lucien smiled, slow, predatory, like a man who'd just won a game I didn't know I was playing.

​"Welcome home, little sister."

​And just like that, my boring, miserable, predictable life exploded into a thousand pieces.

​I should've taken the stairs.