That evening, I told my grandparents that I was leaving. I explained everything to them, my heart heavy with fear and urgency. They helped me book a flight back to Nigeria. "I need to be there before this news gets to Titus' ears," I thought, a cold dread gnawing at me.

The plane touched down in Nigeria under the cover of night. I took a taxi back home, not bothering to inform my parents. When I stepped inside, their faces wore matching expressions of shock.

"Son, what happened? Why are you back? You didn't even inform us," my dad asked, confusion lacing his voice.

"Long story," I muttered, pushing past them.

"Then cut it short!" my mom shouted, her voice full of concern, but I was in no mood for explanations.

I retreated to my room, locking the door behind me. The weight of Bliss's death, the unspoken grief I hadn't allowed myself to feel, finally overwhelmed me. My hands trembled as I played *"Someone You Loved"* by Lewis Capaldi, hoping the music would give me the release I so desperately needed.

Tears came fast, soaking my pillow as memories of Bliss flooded back. Her laugh, her smile—how quickly it all slipped away, snatched by death right in front of me. My chest ached, not only for Bliss but for Janet too. It was happening again. The people I loved were dying, and I was powerless. *Not this time*, I vowed, *I won't let Linda be next.*

Sleep came reluctantly, and when it did, it was restless. The morning brought dread, knowing every newspaper would carry the story. Bliss's death would be splashed across headlines, a wound reopened with every word.

At 6 a.m., I snuck out. Titus had sent me the location. The plan was already in motion. I gave the police my report, and they placed a tracker on me. Their presence would be my only backup. This was my last battle. I had to win.

Bliss's death had unlocked something primal in me—a fury I couldn't contain. It surged with every step toward the location Titus had chosen. By the time I reached the building, I felt ready to burn the whole place down. The front entrance was locked, but I found the back door slightly ajar. Slipping inside, I froze as I stepped over three Mafians sprawled on the floor, snoring softly. One of them shifted, making my heart leap into my throat. I waited, barely breathing.

Finally, I moved, creeping upstairs. The first door I opened revealed Linda, bound but alive. Her face, pale from tears, contorted in shock as I began to untie her.

"Shh, it's me, Sam," I whispered, covering her mouth as her eyes widened in panic. That's when I saw it—the bomb strapped to her chest. My blood ran cold.

*I should have called the bomb squad.*

I frantically examined the device, searching for a way to disarm it, but the intricate mess of wires only deepened my panic.

Then, Titus walked in, his grin wide and wicked. "Sam, what a clever plan," he said mockingly.

"Get this bomb off her. Now," I growled, my voice low but sharp with rage.

Titus just smirked.

My patience snapped. Without thinking, I lunged at him, driving my fist into his mouth. His face twisted from amusement to fury. He wiped the blood from his lips and sneered. "You want a fight? Fine."

It was chaos. We slammed into walls, shattering glass and toppling furniture. Every punch, every kick, was fueled by the image of Bliss's lifeless body. Titus fought hard, but I fought harder. I wanted to see him bleed. I wanted him to feel the same agony I felt. His strength was brute force, but mine was precision—every hit was calculated, aimed to hurt, aimed to destroy.

Suddenly, the noise from our brawl roused the Mafians below. They burst into the room, weapons drawn. In the madness, I grabbed a broken bottle and swung wildly, feeling the satisfying crunch of glass meeting flesh. Blood splattered across the room, a violent symphony of pain and rage.

And then—click.

A gun. I froze.

"If you move an inch, I'll blow your head off," one of the Mafians growled, his gun aimed at my skull.

Titus motioned for him to pass the gun. With a cruel smile, he pointed it at me. "Enough games. Time to end this."

I closed my eyes, bracing for the bullet. The weight of Bliss's death pressed on my chest, crushing me. *Maybe this is how it ends*, I thought. *Maybe I'm meant to follow her.*

"Any last words?" Titus taunted, his voice dripping with malice.

The sound of the trigger being pulled seemed to echo for an eternity. But then, shots rang out, not from Titus's gun, but from behind him. The police burst through the door, disarming him in a flash. Titus howled in pain as the gun clattered to the ground.

Chaos erupted as the Mafians scattered, only to be caught by the waiting police outside. In the confusion, the officers forced Titus to deactivate the bomb, his hands shaking as he complied. For the first time, I saw fear flicker in his eyes.

When it was over, I stood over him, breathless. "Your parents," I spat, "they're serving life. No one's coming to bail you out. Not this time."

Titus's bravado cracked. His eyes, once cold and calculating, now brimmed with something raw. He smiled weakly, and for the first time, it wasn't a smile of menace. It was almost... grateful.

As the handcuffs clicked around his wrists, I watched him closely. This wasn't the same man I'd been fighting moments ago. He seemed broken, lost in a spiral of his regrets.

~Titus~

The weight of the cuffs dragged my spirit down with them. The news of my parents' arrest shattered me. There would be no escape from this. My aunt's voice echoed in my mind, her ghost haunting me as it always did. I'd hoped America would free me from the guilt, but it had followed me here, clawing at my insides.

Tears I'd never let anyone see brimmed in my eyes. I had always been alone. My parents were nothing more than ghosts, and the only person who ever loved me—my aunt—I had destroyed. I had been running from myself all along.

I glanced at Sam one last time, a fleeting smile crossing my face. It wasn't vengeance anymore. It was resignation. Maybe prison was where I belonged.

~Sam~

As Titus was dragged away, I felt a pang of something unexpected. Pity. Beneath all his cruelty, there was a boy who had never known love, a boy drowning in his darkness.

Linda rushed into my arms, holding me tightly. I hadn't realized how bloodied I was until she pointed at the cuts on my arm.

"It's nothing," I assured her, though my hands were trembling. The adrenaline was fading, leaving only the pain.

But her face crumbled with sadness. She told me everything—how Julius had fought to save her, how he now lay unconscious. I felt a deep sorrow settle over me. Why was it that everyone I loved was destined to suffer?

I thought of Bliss, and tears welled in my eyes once more. Maybe this was my curse.