Not at me… but at the door.

“Don’t make a sound,” she whispered.

My breath caught in my throat as Idris’s footsteps grew louder—slow, heavy, deliberate.
Each one sounded like the countdown of a ticking bomb.

Zara moved silently, slipping behind the living-room curtain just as the front door opened with a long, creaking sigh.

I held onto the counter, my knees trembling violently.

Idris stepped inside.

I saw his reflection first—tall, immaculate, calm as ever—his shadow stretching long across the tiles.
Even before he spoke, I knew something was different.
Something terrible.

“Zaiii…” he called softly, dragging the end of my name the way he did when he wanted something.

But today, his voice had a weight I’d never heard before.

I swallowed hard and forced my voice to stay steady.

“I’m… in the kitchen.”

He walked toward me with slow steps, each one placing pressure on my lungs.
When he entered the kitchen, he was smiling.

But his eyes—
Oh God.
Something was wrong with them.

The warmth I was used to wasn’t there.
Just… emptiness.
A cold, calculating emptiness.

“You’re home early,” I whispered.

He leaned against the fridge casually.
“Change of plans at work.”

He tilted his head and looked at me—really looked at me—and my skin tightened like it was trying to shrink.

“Why are you shaking?” he asked gently.

I lied.
Mosquito.
Cold.
Stomach pain.
Whatever I could think of.

“Nothing, I’m fine.”

His eyes softened with concern—fake, I realized too late.

He stepped closer.

“Did something… unusual happen today?” he asked.

My heart nearly stopped.

Behind him, I could see the shadow of Zara’s feet under the curtain.
Just a hint, but enough to make me dizzy.

I forced a smile.
“No. I cleaned. Cooked. Rested.”

He smiled back.

“Good.”

His eyes swept the kitchen, sharp as a scanner.

Then he noticed the Maggi cubes on the floor.

“Why is this on the ground?”

I froze.
He knelt and picked up one cube, rolling it between his fingers casually.

But his voice—
His voice chilled my blood.

“Zainab, are you hiding something from me?”

I took a step back.
“No. Of course not.”

He stood up slowly, the cube still in his hand.

Then, just as he opened his mouth to speak—

A soft vibration came from the living room.

My phone.

Idris turned his head sharply toward the sound.

“What was that?” he asked.

My chest caved in.
He walked toward the living room.
I followed him helplessly, praying under my breath.

When he reached the center of the living room, he paused.

His eyes locked onto the sofa.

Not the sofa itself—
but the small indentation on one cushion.

Where Zara had been sitting.

His face changed.

“Zainab…”
His voice was slow, dangerous.
“Why is the cushion pressed like someone just sat here?”

My heart pounded so violently my ears rang.

“I—I sat there,” I lied quickly.

He walked closer to the sofa.
“Your weight is lighter than this.”

I felt my blood turn to ice.

He picked up my slippers.

“Why is only one pair here?”

My eyes widened.

Zara was wearing the other.

He looked at me, suspicion in his eyes sharpening like a blade.

“Where is the second slipper?”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

He took a step toward me.

“Zainab.”

Another step.

“Who was in my house?”

His voice dropped to a whisper that made my skin crawl.

Before I could answer, Zara moved.

Silently. Swiftly. Like a ghost.

She slipped out from behind the curtain and pressed a cold metal object to the back of Idris’s neck.

He stiffened instantly.

“Don’t move,” she said calmly.

My scream lodged in my throat.

Idris’s eyes widened—not in fear, but recognition.

“Zara,” he breathed.

The way he said her name…

It wasn’t shock.

It was dread.

“You,” he whispered. “You again.”

“Yes,” she replied. “Me.”

I didn’t know what terrified me more—
that she had a weapon on my husband’s neck
or that my husband seemed to know EXACTLY who she was.

“What do you want?” Idris hissed.

“Answers,” Zara replied smoothly. “And justice.”

She pushed him onto the sofa.
He didn’t resist.
Not out of weakness—
but because he was calculating something.
Something bad.

She pulled out a small black device from her pocket.
A recorder.

“Idris,” she said. “Tell her who you truly are.”

He smirked.

“You think I’m afraid of you?”

“No,” she whispered. “But you should be afraid of the truth.”

I stood frozen.

Idris’s eyes flicked to me.

“Zainab,” he said with such softness it almost broke me.
“Whatever she told you is a lie.”

“She showed me a diary,” I whispered.

His face tightened.
“What diary?”

“Amara’s diary.”

Something sinister flickered across his face.

“Zara,” he said, his tone dropping dangerously, “you had no right—”

“She had EVERY right,” Zara snapped. “She deserves to know what happened to the others.”

“Others?” I whispered.

Zara nodded.

“Yes. The women before you. The destiny he stole from each of them.”

My knees nearly gave out.

“Stop,” Idris growled. “Zara, don’t you dare—”

“Your first wife. Your second wife. The girlfriend from Abuja. The lady from Kano.”
She turned to me.
“Amara was the only one who documented everything.”

Idris exploded.

“ENOUGH!”

He lunged toward Zara, but she stepped aside at the last second, sending him crashing into the center table.

He groaned, blood trickling from his forehead.

I moved backward, fear blinding me.

“Zainab—listen to me—” Idris gasped, struggling to stand.

“Don’t listen,” Zara warned. “He’s dangerous.”

Idris’s voice cracked as he looked at me with… pain?

Or manipulation?
I couldn’t tell anymore.

“Zainab,” he whispered. “Everything I’ve done… was for us.”

My heart stopped.

“For us?” I repeated, shaking.

He nodded weakly.

“You’re special. Different. The others… they weren’t meant to stay.”

A chill went down my spine.

“Stay?!” I screamed. “IDRIS, WHAT DID YOU DO TO THEM?!”

He bowed his head.

Silence.

Then, very quietly:

“Everything necessary.”

I staggered back, my vision blurring with tears.

Zara grabbed my arm.

“We need to go. Now.”

But Idris looked up, blood on his face, eyes dark and furious.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he growled.

He reached into his pocket—

Zara reacted instantly.

She threw something—
small, metallic—
and it struck Idris in the arm.

He howled in pain and dropped a small black knife.

My throat clenched.

Zara pulled me toward the door.

“Move, Zainab!”

We ran outside into the night.

But as we reached the gate, a sound tore through the darkness—

Idris’s voice.

Cold.
Echoing.
Filled with promise.

“ZAINAB… I WILL FIND YOU.”

Zara tightened her grip on my wrist.

“This is only the beginning,” she said breathlessly.
“We need to run before he calls them.”

I froze.

“Calls WHO?!”

Zara looked at me, breathless and terrified.

“The Collectors,” she whispered.

Then she dragged me into the darkness.