Jomiloju's POV
The Dorotoye estate looked like it had been stolen from a dream and left in the rain.
Once pristine marble now cracked under ivy's slow invasion. Dust webbed across the wrought iron gates. The name on the plaque—"Hon. Chief T. Dorotoye"—was chipped, as if even stone had grown tired of remembering him.
We hadn't returned here since I was abducted.
Since I stopped being a daughter and became a threat.
Now, I needed answers.
More than that—I needed to bury ghosts.
"You're sure about this?" Steve asked beside me.
He wore black again. Not tactical gear, not a suit—something in between. Casual armor. His version of silence.
"I found a key," I said. My voice came out like sand. "Hidden in my mother's necklace. It unlocked a drive… which pointed to here."
He didn't ask what else the drive said.
He just opened the gate.
And we stepped into what used to be my home.
But nothing felt like home anymore.
Not the cracked garden path. Not the hallway with its crumbling portraits. Not even the scent of hibiscus, still blooming by the window.
Just echoes.
Ghosts.
And dust where memories used to be.
Steve's POV
She walked ahead of me, past rooms layered with grief and silence.
She wasn't shaking.
But she wasn't steady either.
There were photos on the wall. Old ones. Glossy frames of smiles and laughter. Her father in traditional agbada, her mother in lace. And between them—a girl with round cheeks and eyes that hadn't yet seen betrayal.
I knew what she was thinking.
That maybe if she stared hard enough, the truth would rise from the photos like steam.
But truth had teeth.
And this house had been eating itself alive long before we ever came back.
Tunde and Ada moved upstairs, clearing the perimeter in a practiced sweep.
Jomi led me past the rotting library, the broken sunroom, the staircase where I once held her crying as a child.
Toward a blank section of wall.
She stopped.
"This is it."
"What?"
She pulled the necklace from around her neck, undid the tiny gold clasp, and slipped out a sliver of metal thinner than a matchstick.
It looked like nothing.
But when she pressed it to the trim of the wooden paneling—
Click.
The wall opened.
Behind it: stairs.
Down.
Dark.
Quiet.
Jomiloju's POV
Every step felt like betrayal.
Like my feet were moving through a history that didn't want to be touched.
We descended slowly. No lights. No railing. Only the sound of our breaths and the thump of my heart against ribs that didn't feel like mine.
At the bottom, a motion sensor flickered awake. Pale gold light spilled across stone.
The room was square. No windows. No clock. Just walls lined with shelves of journals, books, and what looked like surveillance equipment decades out of use.
The air smelled like scorched paper and rusted time.
In the center of the room, a single desk.
And on it—an envelope.
My name, handwritten on the front.
Not "Princess."
Not "My Love."
Just: JOMILOJU.
The way strangers would write it.
Or ghosts.
My hands shook as I broke the seal.
Inside: a single folded page.
My father's handwriting. I would have known it anywhere.
Letter — Chief Dorotoye
"If you're reading this, it means I failed to protect you. Or perhaps you found what was never meant to be yours."
"I made enemies the day I tried to leave Koleosho's web. But long before that—I made a mistake. I fell in love with a woman who carried a secret I didn't understand."
"Your mother was not just beautiful. She was Obaseki by blood. A lineage older than Lagos. Older than most of the land we claim to own."
"She carried secrets in her blood. Secrets that kill."
"The man I once trusted with our protection turned against us."
"If you ever meet a man named Steve Adewale—trust him only if he carries the mark behind his left ear."
"That symbol is the key to everything we built—and everything we lost."
Steve's POV
Her eyes hadn't left the letter since she opened it.
I stayed quiet.
Because I knew what was coming.
I turned my back to her.
Kneeling down, I pulled the collar of my shirt away and brushed my hair aside.
I felt her fingers—light, trembling—against my skin.
Then her gasp.
Not soft.
Not loud.
Just… devastated.
"It's not just a tattoo," she said. "It's… it's the phoenix."
"The phoenix through fire," I murmured. "That's what it means."
I stood and faced her.
Her voice cracked.
"I've seen it before."
She backed away from me like the truth might explode between us.
"In my mother's diary. On the locket. And…"
She paused. Swallowed.
"On Koleosho's ring."
The breath left my lungs like a punch.
I didn't answer.
Because I didn't need to.
It was already written on my face.
Jomiloju's POV
Everything made sense and nothing did.
My parents. Koleosho. Steve.
The crest.
The war.
It wasn't just betrayal.
It was legacy.
My father and mother hadn't just known Koleosho. They had worked together. Built something.
And then it all fell apart.
And I—
We—
Were the fallout.
"You weren't just taken in by the mafia," I whispered.
He didn't speak.
So I stepped closer.
"You were born into it."
His breath shook.
"I was born into something older than the mafia," he said finally. "Something Koleosho inherited… and corrupted."
"What was it?" I asked.
He looked around the room like the shadows still held the answer.
"A brotherhood. A covenant. A secret society rooted in bloodlines. Royal ones. Merchant ones. Your mother's. Mine. Ajike's. Ada's… maybe even Tunde's."
"And Koleosho?"
"He hijacked it."
"For power?"
"For control," he said. "Because secrets are more powerful than guns. And families are easier to kill when they don't know who they are."
Tunde's POV — Upstairs
We were too alone.
That was the first red flag.
"No sign of break-in," Ada said through the comm. "West wing clear."
I scanned the window, heart beating faster than I liked.
"Something's off," I said. "Like this place has been waiting for us."
Then—
Static.
And a voice.
Familiar.
Refined.
Deadly.
"Hello, my precious children."
Koleosho.
His voice echoed through the house, coming from every speaker—built into the estate long before we even knew he existed.
Ada spun toward the wall. "How is he in the system?"
I didn't answer.
Because I was already running.
Jomiloju's POV — Secret Room
The lights flickered.
The screens buzzed.
Then—images.
Me.
Steve.
Ajike. Ada. My mother.
All of us.
Photos I didn't know existed. Footage. Conversations. From different times, different places. Hidden angles. Hidden microphones.
My breath caught.
"How long has he been watching us?" I whispered.
Steve stared at the monitor, fists clenched.
"He said he helped build the grave," I said.
"No," Steve said, voice low. "He is the grave."
The screens went dark.
Then a single line of text appeared.
COME TO ME, ROSE. OR I FINISH WHAT I STARTED 20 YEARS AGO.
I read it twice.
The word Rose pulsed like a wound.
My mother's name.
My name.
Our legacy.
"Where is he?" I asked.
Steve's jaw twitched.
"Your mother's village. Esan."
And I knew.
This wasn't just about power anymore.
It was about origin.
And ending.
The war wasn't on its way.
It had already begun.