The night Zina Eze entered the Eze family, it was raining hard enough to drown a secret.
Thunder rolled across Lagos, rattling the windows of the Eze estate while rain battered the iron gates.
Security lights cut through the darkness, illuminating the sprawling compound, the marble fountain and the rows of expensive cars parked beneath the covered driveway.
Inside the security post, three men sat around a small television, arguing over a football match.
Nobody noticed the basket at first.
It was almost three in the morning when Adewale heard the crying.
He froze.
At first, he thought it was a cat.
Then he heard it again.
A baby.
Adewale pushed his chair back so quickly it scraped against the tiled floor.
“Did you hear that?”
The other guards looked up.
“Hear what?”
He didn’t answer.
The crying came again, this time closer.
Adewale grabbed his flashlight and stepped outside.
The rain immediately soaked through his uniform.
He lifted the flashlight, sweeping the beam across the compound.
Nothing.
The crying continued.
He followed the sound toward the main gate, his footsteps splashing through shallow puddles.
The gate was closed.
Nobody had entered.
Nobody had left.
Yet sitting just outside it, beneath the weak yellow glow of the security lamp, was a small woven basket.
Adewale stared.
His first thought was that someone had abandoned a child.
His second was that whoever had done it was insane.
He opened the pedestrian gate and stepped outside.
The crying grew louder.
“Jesus…”
He crouched beside the basket.
A tiny baby girl lay inside, wrapped in a white blanket.
Her face was red from crying, her little fists clenched against the cold.
Adewale looked around the empty street.
“Who leaves a baby outside in this rain?”
He carefully lifted her from the basket.
The baby immediately stopped crying.
Her tiny fingers curled around his shirt.
Adewale swallowed.
Something about the silence that followed unsettled him.
Then he noticed a folded piece of paper tucked beneath the edge of her blanket.
He unfolded it.
There were only four lines.
She’s your daughter, love.
Love and cherish her.
Keep her safe.
I can’t care for her because I’m dangerous.
She’s safer with you.
Adewale stared at the words.
Then at the baby.
“Your daughter?”
The little girl blinked up at him.
He didn’t know why, but suddenly he felt as though someone was watching him.
He turned.
Nothing.
Only rain.
Adewale hurried back inside.
Three minutes later, he stood outside the master bedroom and knocked.
“Sir?”
No answer.
He knocked again.
“Mr. Eze?”
The door opened.
Chike Eze stood there in a dark silk robe, irritation already written across his face.
“What is it?”
Adewale lowered his head.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but…”
The baby whimpered.
Chike’s expression changed.
His eyes dropped to the bundle in Adewale’s arms.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then his face went completely still.
“Where did you get her?”
“Outside the gate, sir.”
“Who brought her?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
Chike’s gaze moved to the note in Adewale’s hand.
“Give me that.”
Adewale handed it over.
Chike read it once.
Then again.
His fingers tightened around the paper.
“Sir?”
Chike looked at the baby.
Something passed across his face.
Shock.
Recognition.
And something that looked dangerously close to fear.
“Give her to me.”
Adewale hesitated before handing over the child.
The moment Chike held her, she opened her eyes.
Dark eyes.
Unusually alert for a newborn.
Chike stared into them.
His expression softened.
And for the first time that night, he smiled.
“Zina,” he whispered.
Adewale frowned.
“Sir?”
Chike pulled the baby closer to his chest.
“My daughter.”
Twenty-six years later…..
Zina Eze stood in front of her father’s coffin and wondered if the dead could hear the living.
The chapel was packed.
Business associates, politicians, family friends and powerful men who had spent years shaking her father’s hand while secretly praying for his downfall filled every seat.
The Eze family name was everywhere.
On the funeral programs.
On the wreaths.
On the black ribbons.
On the enormous portrait of the man lying inside the coffin.
Chief Chike Eze.
Founder and chairman of Eze Holdings.
A self-made billionaire.
A ruthless businessman.
A devoted father.
At least, that was what the newspapers would say.
Zina knew him differently.
He was the man who taught her how to drive before she was legally allowed to.
The man who called her at midnight just because he couldn’t sleep.
The man who once flew across the country because she’d caught a fever.
The man who told her she was smarter than she thought.
Her father.
Her best friend.
And now he was dead.
Zina stared at the coffin, forcing herself not to cry.
She had cried for three days.
She was done.
At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.
A hand touched her shoulder.
“Zina.”
She glanced sideways.
Her oldest brother, Victor, stood beside her in a perfectly tailored black suit.
His expression was composed, almost emotionless.
“You should sit down,” he said.
“I’m fine.”
“You look terrible.”
She almost laughed.
“Thank you.”
Victor’s jaw tightened as he looked toward the coffin.
“Father would have wanted us to remain dignified.”
Zina turned toward him.
“Then maybe stop looking at me like you want to bury me beside him.”
His eyes hardened.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you don’t.”
Victor walked away.
Zina watched him go.
Her second brother, Daniel, stood a few feet away.
He caught her eye but didn’t bother hiding the resentment in his expression.
He hated her.
He had made that very clear for most of her life.
Zina had never completely understood why.
Maybe it was because she was the daughter nobody had expected.
Maybe it was because their father loved her differently.
Or maybe because, in Daniel’s mind, every smile their father gave her was something stolen from him.
Their youngest brother, Ethan, sat alone.
He didn’t look at her.
None of them did.
Except Victor.
When their eyes met again, Zina noticed something strange.
Fear.
Not anger.
Fear.
Her stomach tightened.
Before she could wonder why, the funeral service ended.
People began filing into the reception hall, leaving Zina behind.
She stepped toward her father’s coffin and placed a trembling hand against it.
“I’m sorry, Dad.”
Her voice cracked.
She swallowed hard.
“You promised you’d be here.”
Silence.
“You said you’d teach me how to run the company properly.”
Her eyes burned.
“You weren’t supposed to leave.”
A tear slipped down her cheek.
She wiped it away quickly.
“I hate you.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
“I hate you for leaving me.”
Someone cleared his throat behind her.
Zina turned.
The man standing at the chapel entrance looked nothing like the other mourners.
Black suit.
Black shirt.
No tie.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Dark-skinned.
His face was strikingly handsome, but there was something cold about him that made Zina instinctively straighten.
His eyes were dark.
Too dark.
And completely emotionless.
She had seen him before.
Several times.
Always near her father.
Never introduced.
“Who are you?”
The man studied her for a moment before answering.
“Damien Okoye.”
The name sounded familiar.
“My father’s lawyer?”
“Yes.”
Zina folded her arms.
“You could have introduced yourself at some point.”
“I’ve known you for years.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“I’ve never spoken to you.”
“You’ve never needed to.”
Something about his voice irritated her.
Deep.
Controlled.
Almost unnervingly calm.
She stepped closer.
“Well, now I need to.”
Damien’s expression didn’t change.
“Your father left instructions.”
Her chest tightened.
“What kind of instructions?”
He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a black envelope.
There was no name on it.
Only a red wax seal bearing a strange symbol: a crescent wrapped around what looked like a fang.
He held it toward her.
Zina stared at the envelope before taking it.
“What is this?”
“Something your father wanted you to have after his funeral.”
“Why didn’t he give it to me himself?”
Damien’s jaw tightened.
“He couldn’t.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
Zina looked up at him.
“What?”
“He couldn’t.”
She studied his face.
“You’re hiding something.”
“Everyone hides something.”
“That’s a convenient answer.”
“For a lawyer, it’s an honest one.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“Why did my father trust you?”
For the first time, something shifted in Damien’s expression.
He looked toward the coffin.
Then back at her.
“Because I never broke a promise to him.”
He walked away.
“Damien.”
He stopped.
Zina hesitated.
“How long did you know my father?”
Damien glanced over his shoulder.
“Longer than you think.”
Then he left.
Zina watched him disappear through the chapel doors.
Something about that man made the hair on the back of her neck rise.
She looked down at the envelope in her hand.
Then at the strange red seal.
Whatever was inside it, she had a feeling her life was about to change.
She was right.
But she had no idea how badly.
Later that evening, Zina sat alone in her father’s study.
The room still smelled like him.
Leather.
Cedar.
His cologne.
She sat behind his enormous desk, staring at the handwriting she’d known since childhood.
The letter had only one page.
My Zina,
Her chest tightened.
She took a shaky breath and continued.
If you are reading this, then I am gone.
Zina stopped.
Her eyes closed.
For a few seconds, she couldn’t breathe.
Then she forced herself to continue.
I know you will be angry with me.
I know you will have questions.
You deserve answers, and I am sorry I couldn’t give them to you myself.
Her fingers tightened around the paper.
You are my daughter.
That has never been in question.
Not once.
A tear landed on the page.
She wiped it away.
Everything I built belongs to you.
The company.
The properties.
My shares.
My private holdings.
Everything.
Zina stared at the words.
Everything?
Her brothers…
She read on.
Then she reached the final paragraph.
Her breath stopped.
There is only one condition.
Her eyes moved across the words.
You must marry Damien Okoye.
“What?”
A short, disbelieving laugh escaped her.
“No.”
She read it again.
You must marry Damien Okoye within thirty days of my death.
Zina shot to her feet.
“No. Absolutely not.”
The study door opened.
Victor stood there.
His eyes immediately went to the letter.
Then to her.
“You’ve read it.”
“You knew?”
Victor said nothing.
Zina’s voice rose.
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“Father made sure none of us could.”
She laughed bitterly.
“This is insane.”
Victor stepped into the room.
“You should sign the papers.”
“What papers?”
“The transfer documents.”
“You mean the ones that give me Father’s company?”
His face tightened.
“They were supposed to be mine.”
Zina stared at him.
“I didn’t ask for it.”
“No.”
Victor’s voice became colder.
“You just happened to be Father’s favorite.”
“Don’t.”
“You always were.”
“Victor.”
“You were the mistake he couldn’t stop loving.”
The room went silent.
Zina’s eyes hardened.
“What did you just say?”
Victor stepped closer.
“Twenty-six years, Zina.
Twenty-six years of watching Father choose you.”
“You are angry at the wrong person.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
His jaw clenched.
“You don’t even know what you are.”
Zina frowned.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Victor glanced toward the door.
For one brief second, genuine fear crossed his face.
Then it vanished.
“Ask Damien.”
He walked out.
Zina remained frozen.
You don’t even know what you are.
She slowly looked back at the letter.
Something about those words unsettled her.
Then she noticed something she hadn’t seen before.
There was writing on the back of the page.
A single sentence.
Written in red ink.
It wasn’t her father’s handwriting.
Zina leaned closer.
She couldn’t understand the language.
The letters looked ancient, almost unfamiliar.
But beneath them, her father had written a translation.
Her blood ran cold.
When the blood moon rises, the daughter of the night will return.
Zina’s heart began pounding.
Beneath it was another line.
Do not let them find her.
The lights went out.
Darkness swallowed the room.
Zina froze.
For several seconds, there was nothing but silence.
Then she heard a slow breath behind her.
Close.
Far too close.
She spun around.
Nothing.
“Who’s there?”
No answer.
Zina reached blindly for the desk drawer where her father kept a small pistol.
Her fingers had barely touched the handle when a voice whispered beside her ear.
A voice that wasn’t human.
“Found you.”
Her blood turned to ice.
And somewhere beyond the windows of the Eze estate, beneath the dark Lagos sky, something ancient opened its eyes.