The City that once celebrated Evian slowly began to forget him. His name no longer opened doors as it used to. The business partners who once fought for his attention now avoided his calls. The laughter of fake friends was replaced by silence. The mansion, though still standing tall, began to feel like a prison.
It started with whispers. Workers in his office noticed he no longer gave out bonuses. The drivers complained that the cars had not been serviced in months. The guards at the gate noticed fewer visitors. And soon, the whispers turned into open talk.
"Evian is finished," some said.
"He wasted too much money," others added.
"He thought life would always be like that."
Every word reached Evian's ears, cutting deeper than a knife.
At first, he tried to ignore them. He told himself that people always talked, that they envied his success. He tried to convince himself that a new deal would come, that money would soon flow again. But the reality pressed harder each day. The money he once threw around without thought was gone, and those who had smiled in his presence began to show their true faces.
Richard, who had once been his closest companion, vanished. The phone calls went unanswered, the visits stopped. Evian sent messages, but none were returned. The man who had once sat beside him at every party now acted like they had never been friends.
One evening, Evian sat in his study, surrounded by unpaid bills. The lights flickered because the electricity had not been renewed. His head was heavy, his chest tight. He thought of all the money that had passed through his hands—millions that could have built schools, hospitals, or businesses that lasted. Instead, he had spent it on cars that no longer mattered, on drinks that were finished in one night, on people who now laughed at his fall.
The study smelled of dust and stale air. Papers were scattered across the table, reminders of broken deals and unpaid debts. Once, this room had been filled with laughter, with glasses clinking as Richard and others planned their next move. Now, the silence was suffocating. Evian leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, and for a moment he saw himself as a boy again—barefoot, running in the village with Adisa. They had shared roasted corn under the mango tree, speaking of a future full of dreams. Tears burned his eyes. How had he wandered so far from that simple life?
The next week, the bank called. They wanted him to repay loans he had taken to fund his last failed business deal. Evian begged for more time, but the manager was cold.
"You had time when you wasted money on useless things. The bank will not wait forever," the man said before cutting the call.
The words echoed in his ear long after the line went dead. For the first time in many years, Evian felt powerless. No amount of charm, no expensive gift, no show of wealth could save him now.
It was then that Evian felt the full weight of his choices.
Days turned into weeks, and the fall grew sharper. One of his houses was taken by the bank. The workers left one by one, looking for other jobs. Even the housekeepers who once served him with smiles now disappeared without goodbye. Each departure left the mansion quieter, emptier, colder.
He tried to keep up appearances for a while. He wore his suits, polished his shoes, and drove one of the few cars he still owned. But the stares he received on the street were different. No longer the admiring glances of people in awe, but pitying looks, or worse—mockery. He heard the laughter of those who once praised him, now gossiping at his downfall.
One night, Evian collapsed in his room. He had not eaten properly for days, and the stress was crushing him. When he opened his eyes, he was in the hospital. The white walls surrounded him, the smell of antiseptic sharp in his nostrils. Tubes ran into his veins, and the steady beeping of a machine measured his fragile breath.
The doctor shook his head. "You are lucky to be alive, Mr. Evian. But if you continue this way, your body will not last."
Evian nodded weakly. He had the strength to build an empire, but now he did not even have the strength to stand. His once-strong hands trembled when he tried to lift a glass of water.
In the lonely hours of that hospital bed, he thought of Adisa and Halima again. They had warned him in their own ways, but he had ignored them. He remembered Halima's quiet wisdom, her eyes that always seemed to see beyond wealth. He remembered Adisa's laughter, full of loyalty and truth. The laughter they once shared under the mango tree returned to his memory, and tears rolled down his face. He wished he could go back, but time did not move backward.
One afternoon, as he stared out of the hospital window, he overheard two nurses whispering.
"Is that not Evian, the rich man?"
"Yes, but look at him now. Money is truly nothing without health."
"They say he wasted everything. Imagine if he had built something for the people."
Their words pierced his heart. Even strangers now judged his fall.
When he left the hospital, his pockets were nearly empty. The mansion felt like a graveyard, its silence mocking him. The grand staircase that once carried the sound of music and footsteps now echoed with loneliness. He wandered from room to room, seeing ghosts of his past life—the parties, the laughter, the clinking glasses, the promises of eternal friendship. But they were gone.
He knew then that he could not continue like this. He had to leave the city. He had to return to where it all began—the village he had abandoned.
One early morning, before the sun rose, Evian packed a single bag. He left behind the grand cars, the big house, and the empty life he had built. With heavy steps, he boarded a bus heading to the village.
As the vehicle moved, Evian pressed his head against the window. The tall buildings of the city grew smaller and smaller until they disappeared. Ahead lay the quiet fields, the dusty roads, and the people he had once known. Fear and shame battled in his heart. He wondered how they would look at him now—not as a rich man, but as a man who had lost everything.
The fall was complete. Evian was no longer the king of the city. He was just a man searching for meaning, carrying the weight of regret.