It was already past ten at night.
Somewhere far from the noise of the city, in a dark room lit only by a dim glow, a young woman in her mid-twenties stood getting ready.
She pulled on black leather boots, hard and heavy enough to make a statement before she even spoke. Black jeans hugged her legs, matched by a fitted leather jacket that she zipped up halfway. Beneath it, a white top stretched over her frame, the sleeves extending over her hands like gloves.
Her long, wavy hair spilled over her shoulders as she cocked a gun.
Click.
The sound was sharp in the quiet room.
"Quiet now," she said sweetly, almost lovingly, as she blew across the barrel. "We don't want to wake the neighbors."
She tucked the gun behind her waist and stepped toward the vanity mirror.
Then she raised one hand and flipped on the light.
The mirror revealed a tall, striking woman with soft caramel skin and blue-ocean eyes that looked beautiful right until they didn't. Her lips spread into a grin—wide, eerie, and wrong enough to make the room feel colder.
"Now," she murmured, "let's go to work."
The grin vanished as fast as it had appeared.
She turned off the light and disappeared into the dark.
At the Shikongo mansion, the family event had reached its peak.
Laughter spilled through the house. Couples played games while others stood around watching, clapping, teasing, and enjoying themselves. Music floated lightly through the room, blending with chatter and the noise of celebration.
Adam and Betty were the kind of couple people pointed at when they wanted proof that love could survive anything.
They had had their twins while still in college, and now those same children were already in high school. Time had moved, life had happened, but somehow their love had only deepened. They still laughed together, still kissed in public like people who had not grown tired of each other, and still looked at one another as if no one else in the room existed.
Watching them stirred hope in Kuku Veronica.
Maybe one day Alexander would stop seeing love as something fixed, rigid, and impossible. Maybe one day he would stop clinging to that old story about waiting for someone and finally allow himself to live.
As Adam and Betty laughed and wished each other luck before a game, Kuku Veronica turned to her friends and sighed.
"You know," she said, "every day and every night, I pray Alexander stops seeing love as black and white and finally sees what he's missing."
One of her friends, Hilma, lifted a brow.
"Your Alexander is swallowed by business, money, and fame," she said. "He is very popular, and even his business partners are scared of him. He is ranked as the richest young man in the city, and his aura is so ruthless you would think death himself taught him manners."
Kuku Veronica frowned at once.
"Why do you always say such things?" she asked, disappointment softening her voice. "You have a grandson the same age as Alexander, and he is married. Why can't you wish the same for mine? Instead, you talk about business as if that is all he is."
Hilma shrugged. "I'm only saying you need to match him with a decent young woman. Someone calm. Someone who can bring that mighty attitude down. Girls are scared of him."
Kuku Veronica's expression turned sad.
"He is more invested in work than in life," she said quietly. "He lost his parents at a very young age. Then he got his first heartbreak at the worst possible time, and since then, he sees no meaning in these things." She sighed. "He is turning twenty-seven this year. My heart will not rest until I see his wife."
Hilma looked genuinely surprised.
"He was in love?"
"Yes," Kuku said. "He never wants to talk about it. No one even knows he ever dated. All he says is that he is waiting to marry a childhood friend."
Even in a small gathering, the Shikongos did nothing halfway. They had hired an MC.
The man stepped forward with a mic in hand, full of energy and theater.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, voice booming across the hall, "it is time for the final game of the evening—the one, the only... POWER GAME!"
Applause erupted.
Excitement rolled through the room.
Upstairs, Monica finally pushed open Alexander's room.
The very first thing that greeted her was a ball flying straight into her face.
"Ouch!"
She stumbled back, clutching her cheek.
One of the children froze in horror.
"I'm so sorry, Aunty!"
The child immediately ran and hid behind Alexander.
"Oh no," another one gasped. "Who did you just knock down now?"
Monica straightened slowly, offended and dramatic.
"Babe... what are these freaks doing in our room?"
Alexander turned and stared at her.
"Babe?"
One of the children looked between them in confusion.
"Papa... who is he?"
Alexander blinked. "She's—"
But Monica cut in before he could finish.
"I'm your papa's wife," she announced smoothly. Then she turned to Alexander and looked around the room in fake dismay. "Babe, what is all this? Playing in the room? I understand your love for children, but must you bring them into our marital bedroom?"
She started adjusting the scattered toys and pillows as if she belonged there.
Alexander could do nothing but stare at her in disbelief.
One of the older children lowered their head politely. "Ma'am, we're sorry. Come on, guys, let's go."
The others quickly gathered their toys and rushed out of the room.
Once the door shut behind them, Alexander finally found his voice.
"My wife? Seriously?"
Monica turned to him, unbothered. "How was my act? Take it as payback."
"Payback?" he repeated. "For what?"
"For yesterday at the restaurant," Monica said. "You scared my friend away."
Recognition flickered over his face.
"Agh. That guy was ugly," Alexander said without shame. "He doesn't match your standards. You should date someone who actually suits you—your cute face, your style..." He gestured vaguely. "Think about the future. Think about how your children will look."
Monica folded her arms.
"Kuku told me love doesn't have color. Everyone is destined for it."
Alexander scoffed. "Kuku is from another time. Back then they romanticized all sorts of things. Just get someone better than that freak."
Monica gave him a long look.
"Don't you want a wife?"
Alexander turned toward her. "What?"
"After my parents, you know you're next, right?"
"Next in what?"
"In marrying."
Alexander let out a tired breath. "Honestly, I'm exhausted by this stupid and immature conversation. Everyone wants me to marry. Aren't Uncle Adam's marriage and Aunty Sofia's marriage enough for this family?"
Monica's eyes narrowed. "What about your marriage?"
Alexander walked past her toward the door.
"Kiddo, you're in twelfth grade," he said, ruffling her neatly combed hair as he went. "I understand if you imitate Granny's breakfast-table speeches. They might even make a decent Afrikaans research topic."
Then he left for the hall, leaving Monica standing behind with her irritation and her bruised dignity.
Elsewhere, in one of the quieter middle-class suburbs, a middle-aged couple sat cuddled together on the sofa, watching cartoons late into the night.
They laughed softly, fully relaxed, wrapped in that easy domestic comfort built over years.
The front door opened without a sound. A black boot stepped inside.
The blue-eyed woman moved through the house like a shadow with intent, gliding past the couple so silently they never noticed her. She slipped down the passage and into their bedroom.
Once inside, she went straight for the closet.
Clothes were yanked aside. Drawers were opened. Boxes were searched, then tossed away. Hangers clattered. Bedding shifted. Within seconds, the neat room turned into chaos.
She was looking for something. And she wasn't finding it.
Frustration sharpened her breathing.
Then her eyes landed on an empty vase.
She grabbed it and hurled it across the room.
It shattered violently against the wall.
Downstairs, the couple jolted.
"Did you hear that?" the man asked, muting the television.
"Yes," the woman said, already rising. "Come on. Let's check."
They headed upstairs together, suddenly uneasy.
They lived alone. No servants. No children. No visitors wandering through the house at this hour. Something breaking in their room made no sense.
They stepped into the doorway—
And froze.
Their bedroom was a wreck.
And standing in the middle of it was a woman neither of them ever expected to see again.
"Where is it?!" the blue-eyed lady demanded, rage flashing across her beautiful face.
The man stared at her, recognition crashing into him in horror.
"You..." he said, voice tightening. "I heard you were dead. How are you here?"
Fear lit his eyes the second she pulled out the gun, a gold-striped gun.
He and his wife dropped to their knees at once.
"Please—"
"Where. Is. It?" she asked again, pointing the gun directly at his forehead.
"I don't know what you're talk—"
Pop.
The bullet cut him off forever.
Before the woman could even scream—
Pop.
She dropped too.
Dead.
The room fell silent.
The blue-eyed woman watched them collapse, then bent slightly and gave each of them a light pat as though tucking in sleeping children.
"Sweet dreams," she said.
Then she turned and walked out.