The Week Before Forever

The days leading up to the wedding felt like magic.

The villa they had rented for the event buzzed with excitement. Zara coordinated the bridesmaids' dresses while Tami twirled around in her flower girl gown, glitter dusting her cheeks. Kain spent hours fine-tuning guest arrangements and chatting with old friends who flew in just to be part of their story.

It was everything Naya never thought she'd have: a celebration of love—not whispered, not hidden—bold and bright and hers.

But just as everything seemed to be aligning, her parents dropped the tradition bomb.

Mr. and Mrs. Lawal, millennial in lifestyle but old-school in heart, announced that it was against their custom for the bride and groom to stay together the week before the traditional wedding.

"The week before the joining is sacred," Mr. Lawal explained. "You must reflect separately. No touching, no seeing. You must crave one another."

"But, Daddy, we live together," Naya protested.

"Then un-live together," her mother added. "It's just a week."

They weren't joking. They even moved in with Naya temporarily, to ensure the tradition was respected. Mrs. Lawal teamed up with Zara like a force of nature, turning the house into a warzone of separation.

Kain was banished to a nearby hotel.

"You may call and text," Zara told them, arms crossed. "But if I catch you sneaking so much as a peck before this wedding, I'll put sleeping powder in your drinks."

Despite their complaints, Naya and Kain respected it. They texted constantly, called every night, sometimes just breathing on the line, saying nothing at all. It was hard. Too hard. But they reminded each other—this was just a week. They had forever after that.

The news of the wedding travelled fast. Photos from bridal showers, teasers from the décor vendors, and snippets of the venue flooded social media. "Power Couple to Officially Tie the Knot This Weekend!" read one of the headlines. Blogs and online forums buzzed. Everyone wanted a glimpse of the most talked-about wedding of the season.

Even those who shouldn't.

Clarissa was in Dubai when she read the news. She was sipping champagne and watching the skyline when her assistant showed her the headline.

Her heart sank. Then rage took over.

Within hours, she had canceled the rest of her trip and booked the earliest flight back to Lagos. She stared out the airplane window the entire ride, her chest tight with fury.

Landing in Lagos, she texted Naya:

"Enjoy the last few days of your fake fairytale. You won't make it to the altar. I promise."

Zara saw the message first and was livid. "This woman is psychotic," she growled.

Naya shook her head. "Let her fume. She can't stop this wedding."

But she underestimated just how far Clarissa was willing to go.

Three days before the wedding, Naya left the house to grab a few things from the store. It was a quiet evening, the kind that made everything feel safe.

Zara was busy prepping hairstyles with the bridesmaids, and Kain was on a call with his best man.

Naya told her mother she'd be back ten minutes. She needed new edge control for her hair and more sparkling water for the fridge.

The sun was just setting when she stepped onto the quiet street.

That was the last anyone saw of her.

Halfway down the road, a black SUV pulled up beside her. Before she could react, the doors swung open, and two men in black masks jumped out.

One grabbed her from behind, another covered her mouth.

She fought. She kicked and screamed. But they were fast. Brutally fast.

They tied her hands and shoved her into the back of the vehicle. The door slammed shut, and the SUV sped away.

---

Naya woke up to darkness.

The air was musty, filled with dust and decay. She was lying on a cold, rough cement floor, her hands and legs tied tightly with thick ropes.

The room was large and empty, the skeleton of an abandoned building. The smell of rust and mildew filled the air. Construction materials lay scattered—broken tiles, bent rods, old wooden planks. She could hear nothing but the distant sound of dripping water.

Her mouth had been tied with a rag. She tried to scream. Nothing came out.

Her body ached. Her head throbbed. And her mind raced.

Where was she?

Who did this?

How long had she been out?

The metal door creaked open.

Clarissa walked in.

Dressed in a black leather jacket and boots, her hair pulled back tightly, her eyes wild with fury.

Naya's breath caught.

Clarissa knelt down slowly, her smile venomous.

"You didn't think I'd let you have him, did you?" she whispered.

Naya tried to shift away, but the ropes were too tight.

Two sharp slaps cracked across her face.

Clarissa didn't blink.

"You stole my husband. You turned my daughter against me. You flaunted your fake happy family like you earned it. But you didn't."

She stood, pacing. "You'll never wear that dress. You'll never say 'I do.' Not if I have anything to say about it."

Clarissa spat on her, her lip curling in disgust.

"You're pathetic. Weak. A second-hand woman raising someone else's child and pretending it's yours. You'll never be good enough for him."

Naya's tears rolled down her face, soaking the gag.

"You won't have this wedding," Clarissa snarled. "Or you won't even be present at all."

With that, she turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

Naya was alone.

The hours crawled.

Her stomach growled painfully. Her throat burned. No food. No water.

She was curled up on the cold cement floor, unable to stretch her legs or arms, unable to cry out.

She stared into the darkness, fear clawing at her chest.

But somewhere deep inside, she held onto one truth:

Kain would come.

He would find her.

He had to.