All Chapters of The reluctant vow: Chapter 201 - Chapter 210

The house was unusually quiet when Zara returned that evening. She expected to find Regan in his study or buried in work calls, but instead, he appeared from the hallway with a boyish grin she hadn’t seen in months.“Close your eyes,” he said softly, taking her hand before she could even set her bag down.“What—Regan, what are you up to?” Zara asked, half-laughing, half-suspicious.“Just trust me.”He led her upstairs, his excitement almost childlike. When he finally stopped and told her to open her eyes, Zara’s breath caught. The once-empty spare room was now transformed — pastel-colored walls, a half-assembled crib in the corner, shelves lined with children’s books and plush toys still in their wrapping. There was even a tiny framed sign over the window that read “Welcome Home, Little One.”For a moment, she couldn’t speak. Her chest swelled with emotion as her fingers brushed over the smooth wood of the crib. “Regan… you did all this?”He shrugged with a shy smile. “I wanted to sur

The afternoon sun cast a pale glow across Zara’s personal room, the warmth outside contrasting sharply with the chill of frustration curling inside her chest. She had tried everything — early mornings, quiet footsteps, even testing the study door when she thought no one was watching. Each time, the cold, impenetrable lock stared back at her, a silent reminder that someone — Chief Kareem — was always one step ahead.She sank into her chair, the photograph of the girl in her hand trembling slightly. Zainab. Her name whispered through Zara’s mind, carrying the weight of secrets long buried. The envelope, the hidden truths, the fragments of evidence she had painstakingly collected — all seemed tantalizingly close, yet frustratingly out of reach.For a moment, she felt the familiar pang of helplessness, the urge to give up and let the past remain buried. But the thought of walking away, leaving questions unanswered, tightened the ache in her chest. No. She couldn’t. Not when her own bloodl

The evening air was heavy and silent, its weight pressing against the windshield as Zara drove aimlessly through the city streets. Streetlights bled into long, blurred lines against her tear-clouded vision. She had no destination — only the ache in her chest and the thousand questions spiraling louder with each passing block. Her parents’ house still lingered in the rearview mirror, but their words, their silences, their trembling eyes — those followed her everywhere.They had confirmed it.Zainab wasn’t a figment of her imagination. She was real. She had existed. And yet, even when confronted with the photograph and every scrap of evidence Zara had collected, they refused to say more. No explanations. No closure. Just apologies wrapped in evasive words and trembling lips that told her there was more to the story — so much more.After nearly an hour of wandering through the neon glow of Lagos, Zara finally pulled over near an empty coastal park. The waves lapped softly against the sho

Kemi’s voice dropped to a stunned whisper. “Zara… you need to see this.”Within seconds, a file popped up in Zara’s inbox — an email with no subject, no sender name, nothing. Just a single attachment: a scanned document from Kareem Foundation, dated 1999.Her heartbeat quickened as the image loaded. It was a faded attendance register, the kind used for intake records. Names were listed neatly in rows — children from different parts of the country, brought into the foundation for “rehabilitation” and “placement.”And there, midway down the page, Zara’s eyes locked on one name that made her throat tighten.“Zainab T. — Special Placement.”Her breath caught. Special placement. The words felt sinister, far more deliberate than the others labeled “admission” or “transfer.”But it was the signature at the bottom of the page that made her blood run cold.“R. Kareem – Placement Officer.”Zara’s lips parted in disbelief. “Kemi… R. Kareem. That’s—”“Rami,” Kemi finished for her, her tone trembl

The old oak door creaked open as Regan stepped into his father’s study, the room smelling faintly of cigar smoke and aged leather. The heavy curtains were drawn, swallowing most of the afternoon light, and the silence that lived there was the kind that demanded obedience. Chief Kareem sat behind his desk — an empire carved into mahogany — flipping through documents as though the world outside did not exist. But Regan’s world was collapsing, and the weight of his silence had grown unbearable. “Father,” he began, his voice low but determined. Chief Kareem didn’t look up. “What is it now?” “I can’t keep lying to her.” The pen in Kareem’s hand paused mid-stroke. Slowly, he lifted his gaze, his eyes narrowing in the way they always did when Regan dared to sound disobedient. “To Zara?” “Yes,” Regan said, taking a step forward. “She’s carrying my child. Every time I look at her, every time I hear her talk about the future, I feel sick. She trusts me completely — and I’m hiding the u