The boat ride to Takwa Bay was loud with chatter, but Dami barely heard any of it. The wind whipped through her braids, her brothers argued over who packed the wrong box of champagne, and her mother posed for selfies on the deck like a Nollywood starlet.

But all Dami could think about was last night.

Tyrel sat across from her, black shirt clinging to his shoulders, sunglasses reflecting the waves. He didn't say much, but his presence filled all the space between them. Every time their eyes met, she felt heat crawl up her neck—the memory of his hands, his mouth, the way they'd barely stopped themselves.

The resort was even more extravagant than she'd feared. Her father hadn't exaggerated—an entire beach, cordoned off for the wedding party. White tents shimmered against the sand, and a full catering team moved in crisp uniforms. Guests checked into seaside villas, each one lavish enough to be a honeymoon suite.

"Daddy, this is too much," Dami whispered as she followed him up the wooden steps of their villa.

He chuckled, pulling her into a side hug. "For my only daughter? There is no such thing as too much."

Tyrel trailed behind with Marcus and the crew, his expression unreadable. But Dami caught the faintest quirk of his mouth at her father's words—like he was calculating something.

***

That evening, the family gathered poolside for dinner.

The breeze carried the scent of grilled fish, suya, and palm wine. Fairy lights twinkled over the water, and the sound of waves provided a constant backdrop.

Her mother fluttered around Tyrel, fussing over his plate, laughing at his occasional dry comments. Her brothers peppered him with questions about America, about business, about his intentions. Tyrel answered smoothly, adapting with surprising ease, sliding into the role of future son-in-law like he'd been rehearsing it all his life.

Dami sat watching, unsettled by how natural he looked. This was what she needed—him playing the part perfectly. But something about it twisted in her chest. Maybe because she could see the performance now, could recognize the careful calculation behind every smile.

Or maybe because last night hadn't felt like performance at all.

"Dami, you're quiet," her father observed. "Everything alright?"

"Just tired, daddy. Long day."

"Tomorrow will be longer." He raised his glass. "To family. To love. To my daughter's happiness."

Everyone echoed the toast. Tyrel's eyes found hers across the table, and she saw the question there: Are you holding up?

She nodded slightly. I'm fine.

But she wasn't fine. She was terrified and exhilarated and confused, standing on the edge of something she couldn't name.

***

After dinner, when the others drifted back toward the villas, Dami lingered by the shoreline.

Her toes curled into the cool sand, waves licking at her ankles. Moonlight spilled silver across the water. Tomorrow was the wedding. Tomorrow, fifteen hundred people would watch her marry a man she barely knew. Tomorrow, everything would either work perfectly or fall apart catastrophically.

"You always run away when the spotlight finds you."

Tyrel's voice came from behind her. She didn't startle this time—part of her had known he'd follow.

"I didn't run. I walked."

He came to stand beside her, hands in his pockets, close enough that she could feel his warmth in the cool night air. For a long moment they said nothing, just listening to the ocean.

"You fit here," he said finally.

She turned, brows knitting. "What do you mean?"

He nodded toward the glowing tents in the distance, her family's laughter carrying faintly on the wind. "This life. The comfort. The attention. The way your father looks at you."

"He looks at me with pride because he doesn't know the truth."

"Maybe." Tyrel was quiet for a moment. "But I see it too. The way you handle your mother's chaos. The way you protect yourself while still showing up for them. That's not fake, Dami. That's real."

The observation caught her off guard. She'd expected mockery, not... understanding.

"When I backed you," he continued, his voice lower now, "it wasn't just about the numbers. I wanted something clean. Legitimate. You reminded me there was still something worth building that wasn't covered in blood money."

Her chest tightened. "Tyrel—"

"The investment I put into your company was the largest my firm has ever made. Not just my money—my partners' too." He turned to look at her directly. "Men who don't forgive losses. They already want answers for why it failed. And if tomorrow doesn't produce what we promised..."

"What?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

"Then you'll have bigger problems than me." His eyes were dark, serious. "The people I answer to? They don't negotiate. They don't do payment plans. Compared to them, I'm the merciful one."

Fear spiked through her, sharp and cold. "You're saying if this doesn't work—"

"I'm saying it has to work. For both our sakes." He faced the ocean again. "I hope this scheme of yours delivers what you promised."

Anger flared, hot and sudden. "Then maybe you shouldn't have believed in me in the first place. If all you wanted was safe and clean, you backed the wrong girl."

Tyrel turned back to her, and for a moment, something flickered in his expression—surprise, maybe, or appreciation.

"That fire," he said quietly. "That's exactly why I backed you. That's what makes you dangerous."

The word hung between them—dangerous—and she didn't know if it was a warning or a compliment.

"You're stronger than you think, Damilola." He reached out, his fingers brushing her chin, tilting her face up. The touch was light, barely there, but it sent electricity through her entire body.

The sound of her full name on his lips stole the air from her lungs. She hadn't realized how close he'd stepped until his arm brushed hers. The pull was magnetic—she swayed toward him without meaning to, caught in something she couldn't fight.

His eyes dropped to her mouth. Her pulse hammered. For one reckless heartbeat, she thought he might kiss her.

She wasn't sure if she would stop him.

"Dami! Tyrel! Come and cut cake o!" Her mother's voice shattered the moment, calling across the beach.

They sprang apart, both clearing their throats, both staring too hard at the ocean.

As they walked back toward the lights—careful not to touch, careful to maintain the proper distance—Dami whispered, "This is dangerous."

Tyrel leaned close enough for her to feel his breath at her ear.

"Good."

***

Back at the gathering, her mother had produced a small cake—"for practice," she said, laughing. The family crowded around, phones out, capturing the moment.

Tyrel's hand covered Dami's on the knife. To everyone watching, it looked romantic, intimate. But Dami felt the tension in his fingers, the careful control.

They cut the cake together. Fed each other small bites while everyone cheered. Smiled for photos that would go on Instagram before the night was over.

Performance. All of it performance.

Except when their eyes met, and she saw something there that wasn't part of the script.