The courtroom was unusually tense, even more than previous days. The benches were filled to capacity; reporters, legal enthusiasts, and curious observers all lined the gallery.Jalen sat quietly in the second row with Sonia by his right and his mother, Bola Adesina, by his left. Bola, despite her usual elegance and poise, wore a firm expression. Her hands were folded, eyes locked on the front.There was no doubt the court drama had drained her. But she was here to see it through. Sonia looked from Jalen to the bench ahead, her fingers brushing his gently under the table—a silent way of saying, “I’m here.”At the front row, Spider sat upright like a soldier going into battle. His eyes were fixed on the judge’s seat, his jaw tightened.Beside him, his younger sister sat in silence, legs crossed and hands clenched. Their lawyer, Barrister Greg Mends, stood ready, flipping through a thick file of documents and video transcripts.On the opposite side, Andrew sat with an annoying ease, his

Arturo paced the length of his office, hands buried deep in his pockets, head bowed in regret. The silence around him did nothing to soothe the guilt gnawing at his chest.He had watched everything from a screen, from a safe distance, too afraid to step out of the shadows he had so carefully constructed for himself.Tiana, his wife, had gone through the most traumatic day of her life; losing in court, watching her brother sentenced, and witnessing her mother collapse, all without him by her side.And why?Because he had chosen to keep their relationship a secret, hiding behind excuses and status like a coward.He sank into his chair, his head dropping into his hands. Arturo had always believed in timing and control, in pulling strings from behind the curtain.But now, watching the backlash and pain unfold, he realised some battles required presence, not strategy.Tiana needed him, not as a businessman, not as a calculated ally, but as a husband. And he wasn’t there.When Arturo arrive

Three years had gone by, but the wounds Andrew carried were still fresh. Not just the emotional ones, but the ones etched deep into his skin, scars that told stories of fear, pain, and survival.Prison life had reshaped him.He was no longer the flashy, arrogant man that strutted about with pride. His face, once smooth and full of pride, now bore bruises and cuts, most fresh, some faded. His lips were swollen, cracked in places.The right side of his jaw still ached from a punch he received two nights ago.It all started during his first week in prison. The cell was cramped, the air foul.He had barely dropped his mattress when trouble found him.A group of rough-looking inmates, known as the Red Vultures, made it clear that there were rules in the prison, and outsiders didn’t last long if they didn’t learn quickly.Andrew tried to stay out of their way, ignoring their taunts, their threats. But silence, in that place, was a weakness.They mocked his past life, calling him ‘celebrity

Jalen’s eyes fluttered open slowly. At first, all he could see was light, blinding, harsh light that pierced through the blur in his vision.Then the sharp scent of antiseptic filled his nostrils. It wasn’t a dream. He was in a hospital. The whiteness of the walls, the beeping sound beside him, the tight bandage across his head, and the dull pain that crawled across his ribs confirmed it.He blinked again, trying to sit up, but his body didn’t obey. His arms were too weak, and every movement sent tremors of pain through his chest.“Easy, Jalen. Don’t move too much, please,” a soft voice said beside him.He turned his head gently and saw Sonia seated there, her face pale, eyes red from crying, but still trying to smile.Her hand reached out to hold his gently, her fingers brushing his skin like feathers.Jalen’s voice was barely audible, dry and cracked. “What… happened?”Sonia’s eyes welled up again. She took a shaky breath before speaking. “You were in a car accident,” she said, her

The room was so quiet that the only sound you could hear was that of the heart monitor, forming a steady rhythm like a ticking clock. Jalen was deep asleep on the hospital bed, a thin blanket covering his body up to his chest. The light from the corridor outside pushed through the small window on the door, casting a dim, rectangular glow across the foot of the bed. The time was just past midnight, and all was still in the hospital wing.Then, without a sound, the door creaked slightly. It didn’t open fully, just enough for two shadows to slip in. Dressed in all black, their faces masked, the two men moved swiftly and silently like they had done this before. One closed the door gently behind them, while the other took slow steps toward Jalen’s bedside. In his gloved hand, he held a syringe filled with a clear liquid.Jalen stirred slightly. He was still asleep, but his body shifted faintly under the covers as if he could feel something. Like a bad dream he couldn’t shake off. The