THE SECOND PROPOSAL
PART 6
The morning of the meeting dawned gray and heavy, the sky threatening rain. Emeka stood at the window of the safe house, watching the wind whip through the palm trees along the street. His reflection in the glass looked like a stranger—dark circles under his eyes, his jaw tight with tension.
Chioma came up behind him, her hand resting lightly on his back. "You ready?"
He turned to look at her. She was dressed simply—a loose white blouse and jeans, her hair pulled back. No jewelry. Nothing that could be used against her. She looked fragile but determined, like a blade made of glass.
"No," Emeka admitted. "But we don’t have a choice."
Chioma nodded. "Then let’s finish this."
The car ride was silent, tense. Emeka kept checking the rearview mirror, half-expecting to see Nneka’s car following them. But the roads were eerily empty for a Saturday morning.
Chioma stared out the window, her fingers tapping nervously against her thigh. "What if she doesn’t come alone?" she asked quietly.
"She will," Emeka said. "This is between us. She’ll want to see our faces when she—"**
He cut himself off.
"When she what?" Chioma pressed.
Emeka tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "When she wins."
Lekki Beach was nearly deserted, the usual crowds chased away by the stormy weather. The sand was damp underfoot, the air thick with the scent of salt and impending rain.
Emeka had chosen this place for a reason—open enough to see threats coming, but with enough cover (fishing boats, abandoned stalls) if things went wrong.
They walked toward the meeting spot—a lone picnic table under a swaying palm tree.
Then, they saw her.
Nneka.
She stood by the shoreline, her red dress whipping around her legs in the wind. Even from a distance, she looked different. Older. Harder. Her stomach was still flat—if she was pregnant, it wasn’t showing yet.
She turned as they approached, her lips curling into a slow, knowing smile.
"You came," she said.
Emeka stepped forward, his body tense. "We’re here. Now talk."
Nneka tilted her head, amused. "No hello? No ‘how have you been’?" She placed a hand on her stomach. "No congratulations?"
Chioma’s breath hitched, but she didn’t speak.
Emeka’s voice was steel. "Is it mine?"
Nneka laughed—a sharp, brittle sound. Who else’s would it be?"
"You tell me," Emeka shot back. "Because the last time I touched you was months ago. And I was drunk. Too drunk to remember anything."
Nneka’s smile didn’t waver. "Funny how that works, isn’t it?"
Chioma finally spoke, her voice low and dangerous. "You’re lying."
Nneka turned her gaze to her, eyes glinting. "Am I? Or are you just hoping I am?" She took a step closer. "Face it, Chioma. You lost. Again. First the baby, now him. History *does* repeat itself."
Emeka moved between them. "Enough. We didn’t come here for your mind games. We came to end this."
Nneka sighed, as if disappointed. "And how do you plan to do that, Emeka? You think the police will help you? They’ll never believe you over me. Not when I’m carrying your child."
"Then why poison Chioma?" Emeka demanded. "If you were so sure you’d already won, why try to kill her?"
For the first time, Nneka’s mask slipped. Just for a second. A flicker of something raw and ugly in her eyes.
"Because she was still in your heart," she whispered. "And I wanted her gone."
A voice cut through the wind.
"That’s enough."
They all turned.
Amaka stepped out from behind a fishing boat, her phone raised—recording. Behind her, two police officers moved forward, hands on their holsters.
Nneka’s face went pale. "You—"
"We heard everything," Amaka said coldly. "The threats. The poisoning. The *rape.*"**
Emeka stiffened. "What?"
Amaka’s eyes were blazing. **"You think she got pregnant by accident, Emeka? She *drugged* you that night. I have texts between her and a pharmacist—she paid for the pills. This was never about love. It was about owning you."
Nneka backed toward the water, her composure cracking. **"You have no proof!"
"We do now," one of the officers said, nodding to Amaka’s phone.
Nneka’s chest heaved. Then, suddenly, she lunged—not at the officers, not at Emeka.
At Chioma.
Chioma reacted fast, sidestepping just in time. But Nneka grabbed her arm, yanking her toward the waves.
"If I can’t have him, neither can you!" she screamed.
Emeka and the officers rushed forward, but the sand slowed them down. Chioma and Nneka struggled at the water’s edge, the waves crashing around them.
Then—
A gunshot.
Everyone froze.
Nneka staggered back, her red dress blooming with a darker red. She looked down in shock, then up at the officer who had fired the warning shot—one she hadn’t heeded.
Her knees hit the water.
"You… you shot me…"
Then she collapsed.
The next minutes were chaos—paramedics arriving, Nneka being loaded into an ambulance, the police taking statements.
Chioma sat on the sand, shaking, wrapped in a blanket. Emeka knelt beside her, his hands gripping hers.
"It’s over," he said hoarsely.
She looked at him, her eyes full of tears. "Is it?"
He didn’t have an answer.
Because somewhere, in a hospital, Nneka was still alive.
And she was still pregnant.
TO BE CONTINUED...