A Party to Remember
The words tore out of my throat before I could stop them—"What the fuck?"—raw and unfiltered, echoing my disbelief. My body moved before my mind could catch up; I shoved through the crowd, elbows knocking against strangers, my eyes locked onto Favour. She was there, just ahead, her laughter blending with the thrum of music. I called her name, voice cracking with urgency: "Hey, Favour!"
She turned. For a split second, relief flooded me—until she waved casually, as if I were just another guest, and then she took his hand. Some guy I'd never seen before. His fingers curled around hers, possessive, familiar, and just like that, they vanished into the sea of bodies.
I stood frozen, my pulse hammering. Who the hell was he? Why hadn't she run to me like she always did? Why didn't she wait? Sarah's warnings crashed into my mind like a sledgehammer—"You don't see what's right in front of you." Was this what she meant?
No. No, no, no. I clenched my fists, forcing logic through the rage. "Wait, David. Don't rush into conclusions." The pep talk tasted bitter. "Holding hands doesn't mean anything. It's normal." But the words rang hollow even to me. I lunged forward, ready to chase her down, to demand answers—
A guard materialized in my path, breathless. "Boss, you need to come to the gate. Now. The main entrance."
"What's going on?" I snarled, the anger meant for Favour spilling over.
"News broadcasters. They're not on the list, but they're demanding entry. Refused, and now they're threatening police involvement."
My jaw tightened. Of all the fucking times. I stormed after him, the party's lights and laughter now grating against my nerves. At the gate, a cluster of cameras and microphones loomed like vultures.
"Who's in charge here?" I barked.
A woman stepped forward, all polished smiles. "Good day, sir. I'm Meg."
I didn't return the courtesy. "This isn't a press event. It's my party. Leave."
Meg didn't flinch. "Sir, are you David? Is this the 'A Party to Remember' event?"
"Yeah, it is," I snapped.
"Apologies for interrupting," she continued, "but we were invited by someone named Kelly."
The name hit me like a punch to the gut. Kelly. Head of The Bastards—a group that lurked in the shadows of every high-profile event, waiting to weaponize missteps into public humiliation. Of course they'd come. Of course this would happen now.
The Uninvited
The weight of the decision pressed against my skull like a vise. I stood at the threshold of my own party, the bass from the music thrumming through the compound, laughter and clinking glasses weaving into the night behind me. But before me, on the other side of the gate, stood Miss Meg and her crew—a storm disguised in smirks and crossed arms. I knew, with a sinking certainty, that if I let them in, I might as well kiss my carefully curated evening goodbye. Their presence was a lit fuse; once they stepped inside, the explosion would be inevitable.
My grip tightened on the doorframe. "Miss Meg," I said, forcing calm into my voice, "I'm sorry, but I can't let you and your group into my party."
Her smile didn't waver. It sharpened. "Mr. David," she replied, tilting her head like a predator sizing up prey, "I'm afraid I'll have to be blunt. If you don't let us in, I'll call the police and inform them of an ongoing underage party." A pause, loaded with threat. "And I believe you know exactly what that means, don't you?"
The air left my lungs. Cut off at the knees. If I refused, the police would swarm the place—endless questions, fines, maybe even arrests. Nigerian officers weren't known for their patience with rich kids pushing boundaries. But if I let Meg in, her crew would turn the party into chaos, a domino effect of broken decor, stolen liquor, and fights. My stomach twisted. Fuck. What am I supposed to do?
For a fleeting second, I wished Mom were still nearby. She'd have known how to handle this—a few whispered calls, a well-placed bribe, and the police would've vanished like smoke. But she was miles away, oblivious, and I was alone with the ticking clock of Meg's impatience.
"Mr. David," Meg's voice sliced through my panic, "what's it going to be? In or out?" Her tone was syrup over steel.
I swallowed. There was no winning here, only damage control. "Listen, Meg," I said, stepping closer, my voice dropping into something low and deliberate. "I'll let you all in. But." I held up a finger. "Two of my guards will shadow your group the entire time. If any of you cause so much as a hint of trouble, I won't hesitate to throw you out. Do you understand?" The command in my tone left no room for debate.
Meg's nod was slow, deliberate, her eyes glinting with something between amusement and challenge. I turned to my security team—broad-shouldered men in black suits—and jerked my chin toward the gate. "Let them in. You two," I pointed at the pair closest to me, "stick to them like glue."
As Meg's crew filed past, their laughter too loud, their elbows jabbing too sharply, I caught Meg by the wrist. Her skin was warm, her pulse steady under my fingers. Leaning in, I let my lips brush the shell of her ear, my whisper a blade wrapped in velvet: "Listen carefully. If you or your friends turn my party upside down—if you so much as breathe wrong—consider yourself an enemy of mine." The words hung in the space between us, venomous. Then, slowly, I released her, my fingers uncurling like a trap sprung.
She didn't flinch. Just smiled. And as she melted into the crowd, my guards trailing like shadows, I exhaled. The party roared on, but the air tasted different now—charged, dangerous. The night was no longer mine. It was ours.
And I'd just handed Meg the match.
The Desperate Search.
As the guests streamed into the venue, their laughter and chatter blending with the pulsing music, I turned to my guards with a sharp glance. "Watch them all properly," I commanded, my voice low but firm. "If you see any funny business, throw them out immediately." They nodded in unison, their expressions hardening with understanding. Satisfied, I left them at their posts and melted back into the throng of the party, my mind already racing ahead.
Favour. Where was she?
I pushed through the crowd, my eyes scanning every face, every corner. The air was thick with perfume and the clinking of glasses, but none of it mattered—only finding her. Then I spotted them: a group of baddies lounging near the bar, their confidence radiating like a beacon. I approached, forcing politeness into my tone. "Excuse me, ladies," I said, "but have any of you seen Favour?"
They shook their heads, their expressions blank.
"Okay, thank you," I replied, though my gut twisted with unease. "Make sure to have fun."
"Yeah," one of them muttered dismissively.
I didn't linger. Every second counted. I moved through the party like a shadow, asking everyone—everyone—but no one had seen her. The music pounded in my skull, the laughter around me suddenly grating. Where the hell was she?
Then it hit me—the poolside.
The Discovery
The pool area was eerily quiet compared to the chaos of the party. The water shimmered under the dim lights, casting ghostly reflections on the tiles. And there she was.
Favour stood alone, her back to me, staring up at the sky as if searching for answers in the stars. My heart lurched. "Favour!" I called out, breaking into a run.
But as I closed the distance, a cold dread slithered down my spine.
Why was she the only one here?
The pool was meant for everyone—so why was it deserted except for her? My steps slowed, my instincts screaming. When I reached her, I touched her shoulder gently. "Hey, Favour… are you alright?"
Then—she collapsed.
Time froze as her body tipped forward, plunging into the water with a sickening splash. And then I saw it—the dark stain spreading across her clothes. Blood.
The Race Against Time
My mind caught up a second too late. She'd been stabbed.
Without thinking, I dove in after her, the icy water swallowing us both. I grabbed her, hauling her out with a strength I didn't know I had. Her skin was pale, her breathing shallow. I tore at her clothes, revealing the vicious wound in her stomach—deep, bleeding, lethal.
"No, no, no—"
I couldn't afford to waste a single second. Scooping her into my arms, I sprinted toward the back gate, my car keys already in hand. The party's noise faded behind me, replaced by the roaring in my ears.
The Drive to Hell
The engine roared to life as I peeled out onto the road, Favour slumped in the passenger seat. One hand on the wheel, the other pressing hard against her wound—I could feel her life seeping through my fingers.
"Hold on, just hold on," I begged, my voice raw.
The streets blurred as I sped toward the nearest hospital, my foot slamming the gas. The world outside was a smear of lights and shadows.
Then—a deafening horn.
I snapped my head up—a truck.
And I was right in front of it.
Boom.
To be continued.