She'd been swept away from Tyrel by her aunties, all of them dancing in a tight circle, their laughter mixing with the music.

The celebration raged on around them. Guests danced, the band played, bills floated through the humid air like rain. Kunbi moved efficiently through the chaos, collecting currency into decorated bags.

It was working. The plan was actually working.

The spray money was still falling when Dami felt it—a shift in the air, a wrongness she couldn't name.

Then a hand closed around her wrist.

"Dami." Bolaji's voice cut through the music. He pulled her toward a quieter corner near the palm trees strung with lights, away from the crowd.

"What are you doing?" she hissed, trying to pull free.

"We need to talk. Now."

She glanced back at the celebration. Tyrel was surrounded by well-wishers, her father beaming nearby. No one had noticed her being pulled away yet.

"Bolaji, this isn't the time—"

"I know everything."

Her chest went tight. The world seemed to tilt. "What?"

"The fake wedding. The debt. All of it." His face was hard, angry. "I know everything, Dami."

Her mind raced. "How?"

"I had to get it one way or the other." His jaw clenched. "Eni told me."

Her stomach dropped. "Eni would never—"

"I threatened to tell his parents about his... secret." Bolaji's expression was conflicted—guilt and righteousness warring. "You know how that would end for him. His family, their beliefs—"

"How could you?" The words came out choked. "How could you do that to him?"

"No—how could you?" Bolaji grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. "A fake wedding? To a gangster? Really, Dami? This isn't you. You don't do things like this."

"You don't know what I do anymore." She tried to pull away, but he held firm.

"I know you're in over your head. I know you're scared." His voice softened. "And I know you think this is your only way out. But it's not."

Back at the celebration, she could hear the alaga calling for the couple, the crowd laughing. How long before someone noticed she was missing?

"I have to get back," she said.

He pulled a folded paper from his pocket—a cheque, blank except for his signature at the bottom. He pressed it into her palm.

"Here. Write whatever you need to cover your debt."

She stared at it, horrified. "No. I don't want your money, Bolaji."

"It's not about want. It's about need." He curled her fingers around the paper. "You don't owe that man anything. End this now, before it gets worse."

"You don't understand—"

"I understand perfectly." His eyes were intense, desperate. "I understand you're trying to prove something to your father. I understand you couldn't bear to fail. I understand all of it, Dami, because I know you." His voice cracked slightly. "I've always known you."

The words hit harder than she expected. Because he was right—he did know her. Had known her when things were simpler, when her biggest worry was passing exams and impressing her father with legitimate success.

"Just hold on to it," he insisted, when she tried to give the cheque back. "Even if you don’t plan to use it.”

Her throat was tight. "Bolaji—"

"Dami, please." He stepped closer, his voice urgent. "I saw him last night. The way he looks at you. The way his men watch everyone. This isn't just about money anymore, is it?"

She couldn't answer. Couldn't admit that he was right, that somewhere between the con and the ceremony, things had gotten complicated in ways she didn't understand.

"I'm trying to protect you," Bolaji said quietly. "Even if you hate me for it. Even if—"

"There you are, sweetheart."

They both froze.

Tyrel stood a few feet away, hands in the pockets of his agbada, his expression pleasant but his eyes ice-cold. How long had he been there? How much had he heard?

"You ready?" Tyrel's voice was smooth, controlled. "Your father wants photos with us."

Dami quickly tucked the cheque deep into her beaded clutch, her hands shaking. "Yes." She forced brightness into her voice, stepping away from Bolaji. "I'm ready."

She looped her arm through Tyrel's. His muscles were tense beneath the fabric, coiled like a spring.

As they walked back toward the celebration, she could feel Bolaji's gaze burning into her back. Could feel Tyrel's carefully controlled anger radiating through his arm.

"What did he want?" Tyrel asked, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

"To cause trouble."

"Did he threaten you?"

"No. He... he offered to help."

Tyrel's laugh was sharp, humorless. "Help. That's what we're calling it?"

They reached the edge of the celebration. Cameras flashed. Her mother waved them over for photos. Everything looked normal, perfect, exactly as it should be.

"Smile," Tyrel murmured. "We're almost done."

But as they posed for pictures—surrounded by family, drowning in celebration—Dami felt the walls closing in.

Eni had been forced to betray her. Bolaji knew everything.

And somewhere in the decorated bags being carefully guarded by Kunbi and Tyrel's men was enough money to either save her or destroy everything.

***

Later, during a lull in the festivities, Dami found Eni.

He was near the catering tent, looking miserable despite his bright outfit.

"Eni—"

He turned, and the guilt on his face told her everything.

"I'm sorry." His voice cracked. "I'm so sorry, Dami. He said he'd tell my parents. He said—"

"I know." She pulled him into a hug. "I know. It's not your fault."

"I tried to hold out. I swear I did. But my parents, they're already suspicious, and if they knew for sure..." He was shaking. "I couldn't. I just couldn't."

"It's okay." She held him tighter. "We'll figure this out."

"Will we?" He pulled back, his eyes red. "Because Bolaji looked ready to expose everything."

"I know."

"This is falling apart."

"No." She forced conviction she didn't feel. "No, it's not. The money's collected. After the reception, we settle accounts and leave. Everything will be fine."

But even as she said it, she saw Bolaji watching from across the venue. Saw Tyrel in conversation with Marcus, both men's faces serious.

Saw her father laughing with friends, completely unaware that his daughter's marriage was a lie.

Nothing was fine.

Nothing had been fine since the moment she'd walked into Tyrel's office asking for money.

And now, with the cheque burning a hole in her clutch and Bolaji's ultimatum hanging over everything, she had to decide: stick to the plan and hope Bolaji stayed quiet, or take his money and admit defeat.

Either way, someone was going to get hurt.

***

The reception wound down as evening turned to night. Guests began filtering out, calling boats back to the resort.

Her father pulled her into a long hug, his eyes wet with tears. "My daughter. My married daughter." His voice was thick with pride and something else—loss, maybe, or the realization that she was no longer entirely his.

He kissed her forehead. "Be happy, Damilola. That's all I ask."

Her mother appeared, pulling her into a brief embrace. "You did well today. The wedding was perfect. Everyone will be talking about it for months." She stepped back, already thinking ahead. "Now go. Your husband is waiting."

Husband. The word felt foreign and familiar all at once.

The crowd dispersed slowly, lingering guests taking final photos, saying final goodbyes.

Dami caught Eni's eye across the thinning crowd. He looked exhausted, guilty, worried. She gave him a small smile—it's okay, we'll figure this out—and he nodded, relieved.

Bolaji was nowhere to be seen. He'd left hours ago.

Tyrel appeared at her side. "Ready?" She nodded, exhausted down to her bones.

They were shown to the honeymoon suite—a villa at the edge of the resort, private and isolated, separated from the main compound by a stretch of beach and palm trees. The night air was cool, the sound of waves constant.

A staff member unlocked the door, then discreetly withdrew.

And for the first time all day, they were completely alone.