HERMIONE
Somewhere in Abuja
Not peaceful silence. The wrong kind — too still, too heavy. My head throbs and my tongue feels dry, like I've been drugged. My wrists are tied behind a chair, ankles bound. The air smells faintly of fuel and… something metallic.
"Good morning, sunshine."
The voice slices through the stillness like a scalpel.
I look up.
Isabelle stands in front of me. But it's not her. Not the friend I laughed with over takeout. Not the girl who cried when Seraphine got engaged last year. No, this version of her is stripped down — cold, unrecognizable.
"Isabelle?" My voice cracks.
She chuckles. "You can call me that. Or Niah. Whichever makes you feel better."
My stomach sinks.
"Niah…?"
She smiles, almost proud. "Surprise."
Isabelle — no, Niah — walks in slowly, her heels clicking like a metronome of madness. Her long braids are pulled back into a tight ponytail, face bare, eyes unblinking. She doesn't look like the friend I knew.
She looks like a stranger wearing her skin.
"Well," she says with a breathy smile, "I was wondering when you'd wake up."
My arms are tied to a chair, ankles bound. There's a dull ache at the back of my head where I was likely drugged or knocked out. I try not to panic. I try not to cry.
She crouches in front of me, head tilting. "You look scared. You always did have that doe-eyed look. People love that about you. I used to love it too."
"Niah—"
"It's Isabelle," she snaps. Then she laughs softly. "No. It's both. Honestly, I don't even know who I am anymore. Maybe I stopped being real the day they left me behind."
I stare at her, searching for the girl I once called my sister.
"You were my friend," I whisper.
"Yeah. I was. And maybe that was the mistake." She stands, pacing. "You know, I didn't always plan this. Not exactly. Not like this. At first… I just wanted to know who you were. You were the name I was supposed to be. The girl who took my life."
I shake my head. "It wasn't like that. My parents didn't know—"
"I know!" she barks. "I know all of it. I've read the reports, the records, the adoption files. I know they changed their mind the moment they saw your bleeding mother and rushed her to the hospital. They didn't even hesitate. They saved you. Chose you. Loved you."
Her eyes shimmer with unshed tears. "And me? I was left behind. Eight years old. And I stayed there another eleven months before someone finally took me."
Silence stretches between us.
She lowers herself onto the armrest of the chair across from me.
"My adoptive parents were kind," she says with bitterness. "Wealthy. Gave me everything. Tutors. Ballet. A room of my own. But never love. Not the real kind. I always felt like a project they forgot to finish. And I told myself, when I found out the couple who were supposed to be mine had died in a car crash… I told myself it was karma. That the universe had taken my side."
Her voice cracks.
"I forgot you for a while. I really did. Focused on healing. But one day… I saw your name on a Stanford bulletin. A story about a girl with Nigerian roots going to Harvard Law on a full scholarship. I recognized your photo instantly."
She smiles to herself. "I told myself it was fate."
I close my eyes.
"I didn't want revenge. Not at first. I just wanted to see you. To know if you were worth it. And when I met you… Hermione, I actually liked you."
My heart twists. I believe her.
"You introduced me to Lia, Claire, Seraphine… our little circle." Her voice grows softer. "I'd never had friends like that before. Girls who called me in the middle of the night for advice. Who shared secrets. We laughed together. Traveled. I felt like I belonged."
Her eyes turn hard. "And then came Dylan."
I flinch.
"I was at that party on purpose," she continues, venom dripping. "I knew he'd be there. I'd been following his career for years. Smart. Rich. Cold. Powerful. Just my type. I wanted him to notice me. But he didn't. Because you walked in — all golden skin and confidence and soft eyes — and he only saw you."
"I didn't know," I whisper.
She ignores me. "Then you introduced him to us. As your boss. Then your boyfriend. And I knew. I knew I had to end it. You'd taken enough from me already. You weren't supposed to get everything — the family, the friends, the man."
I struggle against the ropes. "Where are they?"
"Oh," she grins. "You'll see."
She walks to the back room and returns moments later — dragging two chairs.
Claire and Lia.
Their hands are tied behind their backs, mouths gagged, eyes swollen and terrified.
"No," I sob. "No, please—"
"Seraphine's already dead," she says casually. "She wasn't supposed to find out. But she followed me the night I left that little box outside your window. The one with the photo of your birth mother. I had to shut her up."
My chest caves in.
"She was your friend," I whisper.
"She chose you," Niah says darkly. "They all did. They always do."
She sighs, like she's tired. "She saw too much. Followed me the night I left the box on your window. She was smart, too smart. I didn't have a choice."
"You killed her?" My voice breaks.
"Don't act so shocked," she spits. "You wouldn't understand what it's like — to watch your second chance love the one who stole your first."
My heart slams in my chest. "Dylan doesn't love me because I stole him. He chose me. And you — you could've had something better. You had us. You had me."
For the first time, she falters. Her lips tremble.
"I did," she whispers. "For a while, I forgot. We were five girls against the world. I laughed for the first time in years. I almost let it go…"
"Then why didn't you?"
Her eyes narrow. "Because you introduced him to us. Because when I saw the way he looked at you, I knew. He was never going to look at me like that. Not once."
I shake my head slowly. "Isabelle… Niah… this isn't the answer. You don't have to do this."
She straightens, all softness vanishing. "Yes, I do. You'll all go together. A clean ending."
"And what? You disappear?"
"No," she says simply. "I finally became someone worth remembering."
She turns to leave.
"Where are you going?" I shout.
"Just finishing preparations," she calls over her shoulder. "Don't worry, Hermione. It'll be quick. Gasoline lights fast."
The door slams shut.
I jerk against the ropes, heart hammering. Claire whimpers beside me.
"I'm going to get us out," I whisper. "I swear. She thinks this is the end? Not a chance."
Because Dylan is coming.
And I am not dying today.
And if he doesn't — I'll save us myself.