Semua Bab THE LAST DANCE: Bab 1 - Bab 10

The studio smelled of lemon polish and old perfume. Zara Okafor counted the beats in her head while Mrs Adeleke stepped on her foot for the third time."Sorry dear," the older woman laughed, not sorry at all. "My late husband always said I had two left feet.""Your husband was wrong," Zara said, adjusting the woman's posture with practiced gentleness. Her fingers found the curve of Mrs Adeleke's spine, pressing lightly until the older woman straightened with a soft gasp. "You have lovely feet. They just need to remember how to listen."It was a lie she told often. She had become very good at lies. Good enough that sometimes she forgot where the truth ended and the performance began. The truth was that Mrs Adeleke had feet like bricks and the rhythm of a dying metronome. But Zara had learned that wealthy widows did not pay for honesty. They paid for grace. They paid for the illusion that they could still be beautiful, still be desired, still be something other than the grief that clung

The call connected on the first ring."Zara." Dante's voice was calm, as if he had been expecting her call. As if he had known she would make this choice before she had even made it herself."How do you know my number?" she asked. Her voice was steady, but her hand was trembling around the phone. "I didn't give it to you.""I told you. I know everything about you." There was a pause. A soft sound, almost like a laugh. "You have a beautiful voice. It's a shame you don't use it more often.""I'm not calling for compliments.""Then why are you calling?"She took a breath. Her heart was pounding, but she forced herself to speak. "I'll do it. I'll teach your sister. One month. One dance. But I have conditions.""Name them.""First—my students. The widows. I need to keep teaching them in the mornings. I can't abandon them. They need me.""Done. My driver will pick you up every afternoon. You'll teach Amara from 2 PM to 6 PM. You'll have dinner with my family. You'll be back at your apartmen

The second lesson was worse than the first.Not because Amara had regressed—she had actually improved, her steps surer, her rhythm more natural, her confidence visibly growing with each passing minute. But because Chief Nwosu had decided to observe.He sat in a gilded chair at the edge of the ballroom, his hands resting on an ornate walking stick, his eyes following Zara's every movement with the precision of a hawk tracking its prey. He did not speak. He did not smile. He simply watched, his presence a heavy weight in the room, like a storm cloud gathering on the horizon.Zara felt his gaze like a physical weight pressing down on her shoulders. Her spine stiffened. Her steps became more precise, more deliberate, more calculated. She was dancing for him now, performing for him, showing him that she was worthy of being in his home, that she deserved to breathe the same air as his family."You're tense," Amara observed, stepping on Zara's foot for the fourth time. She grimaced. "Sorry.

The morning after the kiss, Zara woke with a smile on her face.She caught herself in the mirror and froze. She could not remember the last time she had smiled upon waking. She could not remember the last time she had felt anything other than dread when the sun rose. For five years, mornings had been a reminder of another day to survive, another day to hide, another day to pretend.She touched her lips. They still felt warm. They still remembered the pressure of Dante's mouth against hers. The memory sent a shiver down her spine.She shook her head, forcing herself to focus. Today was a teaching day. Amara was waiting. The wedding was approaching. And somewhere, in the shadows of Lagos, Emeka was still hunting her. She couldn't afford to let her guard down.She dressed in black, as always. But this time, she added a touch of color. A red scarf. A reminder that she was still alive. That she was still fighting. That she was no longer just surviving—she was living.---The studio was qui

The days that followed the rescue were a blur of healing and planning.Chioma slept for nearly forty-eight hours straight. When she finally woke, she was fragile, trembling, but alive. The light in her eyes was faint, barely a flicker, but it was there. Zara spent every moment she could at her sister's bedside, holding her hand, whispering reassurances, promising that she would never leave again. She slept in a chair beside Chioma's bed, refusing to let her out of her sight."You're different," Chioma said on the third morning. Her voice was still weak, but there was a spark of something in her eyes. Hope, perhaps. Or recognition. "You used to be afraid of everything. Now you're not afraid of anything."Zara smiled. "I'm still afraid. I'm just better at hiding it. I've had a lot of practice.""Liar," Chioma said. It was the first time she had smiled in years. A small, fragile thing, but it was real. "You're not hiding anything. You're just not letting fear control you anymore.""Maybe