Europe had once been Amara's canvas of possibility—a place where she painted her future in strokes of ambition and whispered dreams. But as she walked through the same streets now, something was different. The air had shifted. What once smelled like roasted almonds and promise now carried the stench of secrets.
Natalie had been quiet for most of the tram ride, her jaw clenched, scrolling through her phone like a detective on a deadline. Amara sat beside her, eyes blank, heart thudding like a drumbeat that wouldn't quiet.
"We're here," Natalie said finally, eyes locked on a building across the cobblestoned street.
It was a sleek boutique hotel Markus used to favor—not his own, but one he often used for discretion. Too discreet.
"You're sure?" Amara asked.
Natalie nodded. "Zuri checked in under the name 'Ms. Achieng' three nights ago. Markus checked in an hour before her. And he paid cash."
Amara wanted to vomit.
Zuri. Her Zuri. The girl who braided her hair during exams, who brought her soup when she had the flu, who cried with her when her dad passed.
"She told me she was in Berlin," Amara said softly.
Natalie turned, her voice a mixture of steel and sympathy. "They all lie when they want something."
They waited.
An hour passed. Then two.
And then, at 7:14 PM, the door to the hotel opened.
Zuri walked out first. Her long coat was unbuttoned, her heels sharp against the pavement. She wore the gold necklace Amara had given her for her birthday two years ago. A moment later, Markus stepped out behind her—a casual hand on Zuri's back like he owned her.
They didn't see the car. Natalie ducked slightly, clutching her phone and snapping photos.
"Got them," she whispered.
Amara couldn't breathe.
Markus turned his head, laughing at something Zuri said. He looked relaxed, radiant, not like a man carrying secrets. Not like the man who held Amara at night, whispering dreams of marriage and matching villas in the Maldives.
Zuri turned too. Her face had that private glow—the kind Amara had once worn herself. She watched them enter a black car and drive off.
And something inside her died.
---
The confrontation came three days later.
Zuri walked into the campus café like she hadn't shattered the earth. Amara sat alone, stirring a cappuccino that had long gone cold. When Zuri saw her, she froze.
"Amara," she said, faltering.
"Sit."
Zuri sat.
Amara pulled out a printed photo. Zuri and Markus. Outside the hotel.
Zuri didn't deny it.
She didn't even blink.
"I didn't mean for it to happen," she began. "It just did. I didn't want to hurt you."
Amara stared at her. "So you just accidentally slept with my boyfriend? Multiple times? Took vacations with him? Let him pay your rent? You accidentally did all that?"
Zuri looked away.
"He said you didn't love him. That you were using him. He said he was just waiting for the right time to end it with you."
"You believed him?"
Zuri met her gaze again. This time, her expression was sharp, unapologetic.
"He made me feel seen, Amara. Important. You always had everything. He said he could help me with my music, get me out of this struggle. I wanted something better."
Amara swallowed the rage swelling in her throat. "So you sold your soul. For what? A few designer bags? A rented apartment?"
"You're just mad he didn't stay loyal to you," Zuri spat. "But don't act like you didn't know who he was. You chose to ignore it."
That stung.
Because it was true.
Amara had ignored the whispers. The absences. The female names on his caller ID. The long nights when he "worked late" and came back smelling of expensive perfume she didn't wear.
She had believed the dream. Because believing was easier than starting over.
Zuri stood.
"You think you're better than the rest of us. But you're not. Markus didn't ruin you. You ruined yourself by falling for a man like him."
Then she walked out.
---
The next blow came from Tasha.
A week later, Amara overheard two classmates whispering near the student lounge.
"Isn't that the girl who tried to fight Tasha over some guy?"
"Yeah. Markus-something. Tasha said she was unstable."
Tasha. Another friend who had once shared beds with her on broke student nights, who had laughed and cried with her over glasses of boxed wine.
Amara confronted her in the design studio.
"Were you with him too?" she asked bluntly.
Tasha didn't pretend. She leaned back in her chair, expression smug.
"Yeah. And? He's not married. Not yours. You didn't put a ring on it."
"You were my friend."
Tasha shrugged. "And you were always the naive one. Playing house while the rest of us were trying to survive."
Amara's hands clenched. "He played all of you."
Tasha tilted her head. "Maybe. But at least I got something out of it."
She walked off.
---
Only Lena remained. Quiet, soft-spoken Lena. She hadn't answered Amara's texts in days. She wasn't in class. Not online.
Natalie found out the truth.
"She moved to Berlin. Markus paid for her relocation. Her name is on one of his shell companies now."
Amara sat in silence, the truth slamming into her like cold rain.
It had never been just about love. It was a game. Markus played them all. Promised them freedom, power, luxury. And they betrayed her for it.
---
Back in her apartment that night, Amara stood in front of the mirror.
She looked at herself for a long time.
The woman in the reflection wasn't broken. Not anymore.
She was waking up.
And hell was about to follow.
She dialed Natalie.
"I need you to help me do something. Something risky."
Natalie didn't hesitate. "Say the word."
Amara looked out her window.
"I want to burn his empire from the inside.