“You poisoned me…” I gasped, clutching my stomach as another wave of pain tore through me. Blood poured from my mouth as I c0llapsed to my knees, trembling and br0ken.
“You deserve to d!e, Alicia!” my twin sister, Alice, snapped, her voice laced with venom. “The world doesn’t revolve around you! I deserve good things too!”
Today was supposed to be the happiest day of my life,my engagement party with Jude, my longtime boyfriend.
Jude and I had known each other since our first year in university. He was everything I ever wanted in a man,kind, loving, attentive. He treated me like royalty, always putting my needs before his.
Ours was a love story people admired. We grew together. We built together. I was wealthier than Jude, yes, but I never let that come between us. I believed in him. I believed in us.
Unlike me,who passed my JAMB examination in one sitting,Alice, my twin sister, struggled endlessly. She wrote JAMB countless times and never made it. While I graduated from the university, Alice was still working as a street-side tailor. I felt sorry for her. She suffered numerous heartbreaks, while I had only ever been with Jude.
When I graduated, I was offered a job at one of the top oil companies in Nigeria. Jude, however, struggled to find work. He depended entirely on me. I never complained, I loved him.
And Alice… I took her off the street as soon as I started earning well. I clothed her, fed her, gave her a room in my house. She was my only surviving family after our parents died when we were fifteen. I sacrificed so much to make her comfortable.
My only crime was being too kind,too trusting. I wanted the people I loved to live well. And now, I was paying for it,with my life.
—
I watched in disbelief as Jude stood beside Alice, his arm casually slung around her waist.
So this was why Jude insisted the engagement party be held at home… so they could carry out their evil plan without interruption.
“I loved you…” I whispered, my vision blurring from pain and betrayal. “Why would you do this to me?”
Jude chuckled coldly. “You were just a stepping stone, Alicia. All your wealth, your connections… I wanted them. And now, I have them. Or should I say,we have them?” He smirked at Alice.
“I trusted you both,” I sobbed. “I gave you everything…”
“Well, that was your mistake,” Alice said coldly. “Now do us a favor,and die quietly.”
Alice walked closer and grabbed me by the arm, dragging me across the cold, tiled floor like I was nothing. I whimpered in pain, but she didn’t care. Jude followed silently, opening the doors ahead of her like some obedient chauffeur.
They threw me into the back seat of the car and slammed the door shut. Alice climbed into the front, beside Jude. They drove through the city in silence. It was already late.
After a while, Jude diverted from the main road and took a lonely, dusty path deep into the outskirts of town.
An hour later, they pulled over. The car doors opened.
Without a word, they dragged me out. My body hit the ground hard. Then,a kick. One last cruel blow to my ribs.
And then,the river.
The cold water swallowed me whole.
But death didn’t come.
Darkness engulfed me, but something,someone—was waiting in the depths.
A whisper echoed through the water… ancient
Cold. Dark. Silent. I was sinking, deeper and deeper, the weight of betrayal dragging me into the pit of the river. My eyes were open but saw nothing. Just shadows, swirling, twisting, wrapping around me like vines. My body was numb, but my mind screamed. I didn’t want to die. Not like this. Not at their hands. Jude. Alice. My sister. My lover. Poison in my stomach, blood in my mouth, and hate in their hearts. I could still feel Jude’s cold smirk, Alice’s venomous words. “Now do us a favor and die quietly.” But I wasn’t dead. Not yet. Something kept me tethered. Something… or someone. Suddenly, the water around me began to change. Warmer, somehow. Glowing faintly. There was a whisper, so soft I thought it was in my head. But it wasn’t. “She is not yet yours.” It echoed from the deep. Then a flash of light—blinding, searing, powerful. I gasped, but I was still underwater. Then hands—no, not hands—tendrils, glowing and fluid, wrapped around me, not painfully, but protectively. I was lifted, slowly, gently, like a child in its mother’s arms. And just before I lost consciousness, I saw her. A woman, ancient, beautiful, with eyes like fire and lips that didn’t move, yet she spoke directly into my soul. “You have been wronged, child. And wrong must be made right.”
I awoke coughing, gasping, spewing water and blood onto the grass. The night air burned my lungs as I convulsed. I was lying by the riverbank. Alone. My stomach still ached, my vision blurred, but I was alive. Somehow. Someone saved me. I tried to sit up, every movement sending fire through my limbs. I was barefoot, drenched, weak—but alive. And that meant one thing. I could still fight. Hours passed before I could stand. I tore a piece of my dress to tie around my waist, hiding the blood. My phone, my money, everything was gone. They had left me with nothing but my name and my anger. I walked barefoot through the bush, branches tearing at my skin, mosquitoes biting my face, until I saw a dim light in the distance. A fisherman’s hut. I staggered toward it and collapsed at the entrance. He found me in the morning. His name was Baba Seyi, an old man with one good eye and a heart full of kindness. He took me in, bathed my wounds, gave me clothes, fed me amala and ewedu. He never asked questions. But one day, after I had rested for days, he looked at me and said, “The river kept you for a reason. Don’t waste that second life.”
That was when I told him everything. About Alice. About Jude. About the poison. The betrayal. The pain. Baba Seyi listened silently, then got up and pulled out something from an old wooden box. It was a necklace, with a black stone that shimmered unnaturally. “Wear this,” he said. “The water woman gave it to me many years ago. It’s for protection. And revenge.” That night, I didn’t sleep. I sat outside, under the moonlight, thinking. I remembered every sacrifice I made for Alice. Every lie Jude told. Every smile that now felt like a knife to the heart. I didn’t want to hurt them. But they wanted me dead. They buried me with no remorse. No tears. Just greed. Now it was my turn. I needed a plan. Not just revenge—I needed justice.
The next morning, I went back to the city. Not through any known road, no. Baba Seyi called someone, a quiet woman with scars on her face and secrets in her eyes. Her name was Majeeda. She drove me in a tinted Hilux, with no questions asked. By the time we arrived in Lagos, I was a different person. Short hair. New clothes. No trace of the Alicia they tried to kill. I told no one I was back. Not even my colleagues. Instead, I visited my bank first. And that was when the real pain began. My accounts—emptied. My savings, my properties, everything—transferred. Signed away. To Alice. And Jude. My house was sold. My car was listed under a new name. My identity wiped. I was erased. They had thought of everything. But they didn’t know I survived. That was their mistake.
I went to the house I used to call mine. A mansion I built with my first salary. Now, it stood repainted, my name stripped off the gate, a new security man asking who I was. I told him I was a caterer. I had come to deliver samples for “Madam’s wedding.” He let me in. And there she was—Alice. Wearing my clothes. Laughing with her phone in her hand. Shining in my stolen life. And Jude? He came down the stairs with a towel around his waist, freshly bathed, humming. I watched them from behind the staircase, heart pounding, rage boiling. But I didn’t attack. No. Not yet. I needed to destroy them the same way they destroyed me—from the inside.
Later that night, I slept in a shelter for abused women. I met a lawyer there. Young. Ambitious. Smart. She called herself Barrister Toni. I told her my story. Every detail. She didn’t flinch. “You’re not the first woman they tried to bury,” she said. “But you’ll be the first to return from the grave to ruin them legally.” We began building my case. I got a fake ID. A new SIM. With Majeeda’s help, I found out Jude had opened a shell company in my name while I was still in a coma. They forged my signature. They lied in court documents. We had the evidence. But I needed more. I needed to get close again.
So I applied as a maid. In disguise. Through a cleaning agency. And guess what? They hired me. Alice didn’t recognize me. Not with my new face, not with my limp, not with my silence. She called me “Ngozi” and told me never to look her in the eye. Jude didn’t even glance at me. They were planning their wedding. A wedding financed by my pain. But they didn’t know—I was back. In their house. In their shadows. Listening. Waiting. And the woman from the water? She hadn’t left me. She whispered to me every night. “The ones who draw blood shall drown in it.”
I became a shadow in my own house, slipping through corridors, listening to whispers, and watching every move they made. Alice and Jude were living the life they stole from me. Every step they took on my polished floors, every bite they ate from my designer plates—it all burned like acid in my chest. But I didn’t let my rage consume me. No. I let it sharpen me. I wasn’t there to make noise. I was there to destroy them.
They called me Ngozi. Alice barked orders at me like I was a slave. Jude barely acknowledged my existence. He was always on his phone, arranging meetings, sealing deals, spending my money like it grew on trees. I watched him every morning as he drank from the coffee mug I once held, kissed Alice like she was the love of his life, and left for work in the car I bought him when he couldn’t afford bus fare.
Alice was worse. She paraded around in my clothes, hosted parties for people who used to call me their friend, and made snide comments about how “hard work pays off.” I clenched my fists every time, but I smiled. Always smiled. She didn’t know the storm brewing in her own home.
For weeks, I gathered evidence. Secretly, methodically. Jude had grown sloppy, leaving papers around the house. I found receipts, contracts, account details—proof of their fraud. They didn’t even try to hide it. They thought I was dead.
Barrister Toni was relentless. Every night, I sneaked out to meet her at her office. We compiled everything—the fake signatures, the fraudulent documents, the stolen funds. She had connections in the police force, and we began building a case strong enough to crush them. But it wasn’t enough. I wanted them to feel the pain they gave me. To taste their own poison.
One night, I overheard Alice talking on the phone. “The wedding is in three weeks,” she said. “Yes, we’re keeping it small. Just family and close friends.” She laughed. “Of course, Jude’s ex can’t come. She’s dead.” The words hit me like a slap, but I didn’t flinch. I took a deep breath and listened as she bragged about the venue, the caterers, the guest list. They were planning to celebrate their betrayal with a grand wedding.
That was when the idea struck me. If they wanted a grand stage, I’d give them one. But it wouldn’t be for their love story. It would be for their downfall.
The next day, I slipped a tiny camera into the living room. Hidden behind a flower vase. Another one in the bedroom, tucked into a corner. I recorded everything—their laughter, their arrogance, their crimes. Jude had a habit of talking to himself while working on his laptop. One night, he muttered something about transferring funds to an offshore account. I caught it all.
Meanwhile, Barrister Toni and Majeeda worked behind the scenes. They tracked the offshore accounts, connected with whistleblowers, and leaked subtle hints to the media. By the time the wedding day arrived, the stage was set.
Alice wore a gown I once bought for myself—a shimmering white dress I’d planned to wear for a special dinner with Jude. Now it clung to her like stolen skin. The house buzzed with activity. Caterers rushed in and out. Guests arrived in fancy cars, laughing and drinking champagne. I served them all, keeping my head low, my face hidden.
Then Jude walked in, looking like a prince in a tailored suit. He kissed Alice on the forehead, and the crowd cheered. My stomach turned, but I didn’t falter. I waited.
When the time came for their vows, I stood at the back of the room, holding a tray of drinks. The officiant smiled at the couple, his voice warm and smooth. “Do you, Jude, take Alice to be your lawfully wedded wife?” Jude opened his mouth to answer, but before he could speak, the doors burst open.
Police officers stormed in, their boots echoing against the marble floor. Gasps filled the air as they surrounded the room. “Jude Omisore and Alice Adetunji,” the lead officer announced, “you are under arrest for fraud, theft, and attempted murder.”
The room erupted into chaos. Guests screamed. Cameras flashed. Jude turned pale, stammering, “This must be a mistake!” Alice clung to him, her eyes wide with terror. “What’s going on?” she demanded.
I stepped forward then, removing my maid’s cap and letting my short hair fall freely. The gasps turned into silence as everyone stared at me. “What’s going on,” I said, my voice steady, “is justice.”
Alice’s jaw dropped. “Alicia?!” she shrieked. “You’re supposed to be dead!”
I smiled, a cold, hard smile that sent chills through the room. “I was. But the river didn’t want me. And now, neither does freedom want you.”
Jude tried to run, but the officers grabbed him. Alice screamed, cursing, clawing at anyone who came near her. But it was over. The evidence was undeniable. The cameras, the documents, the witnesses—everything pointed to their guilt.
As they were dragged away, Alice turned to me, her face twisted with hatred. “You’ll regret this, Alicia! You’ll regret it!”
I stepped closer, looking her dead in the eye. “The only thing I regret,” I whispered, “is ever trusting you.”
The doors slammed shut behind them, and for the first time in weeks, I felt a weight lift off my chest. The guests began to murmur, their whispers growing louder. But I didn’t care. I walked out of the house, head held high, ready to reclaim the life they tried to steal.
News of the dramatic wedding-day arrest spread like wildfire across social media and national news. “Twin Sister Returns From the Dead to Expose Her Killers,” one headline screamed. “CEO Alicia Adetunji Survives Murder Plot by Fiancé and Sister,” read another. Everyone wanted a piece of the story. Journalists camped outside my temporary apartment. People sent messages—some with sympathy, others just curious to know if I’d truly come back from the dead. But I wasn’t interested in fame. I just wanted peace. Justice had begun, but it wasn’t over. Not yet.
Alice and Jude were remanded in prison, denied bail due to the overwhelming evidence and the danger of fleeing the country. Their lawyers scrambled, but the case Toni built was airtight. Every bank transaction, every forged signature, every lie—they were all laid bare before the court. Meanwhile, I focused on getting my life back.
The court ordered an immediate freeze of all assets linked to my name. My properties were returned to me. The house was cleansed—every trace of them removed. I couldn’t stay there, though. The memories were too loud. I sold it. Every piece of furniture they touched, I got rid of. I needed a fresh start.
I also visited Baba Seyi one more time. I found him sitting by the river, humming an old Yoruba song. When he saw me, he smiled. “The river woman has fulfilled her promise,” he said. “But peace is a path you must now walk alone.” I knelt before him and thanked him. For saving me. For believing me. For reminding me that survival isn’t enough—we must reclaim what is ours.
Back in Lagos, I faced new challenges. People I trusted before began revealing their true faces. Former colleagues had celebrated my “death” and scrambled to replace me at work. A few had even collaborated with Jude, signing off documents to help him access my wealth. But I wasn’t the same Alicia anymore. I didn’t cry. I confronted each one, armed with facts, calm but firm. One by one, they resigned or were prosecuted. I took back my company.
But something lingered within me—something deeper than anger. A sorrow I couldn’t name. How could someone who shared my face, my blood, turn so cruel? Alice had been my twin. My only family. I remembered nights we cried ourselves to sleep after our parents died. I remembered buying her first sewing machine. Watching her laugh over suya and soft drinks. Was it jealousy that corrupted her? Or had it always been there, hidden behind fake smiles?
Weeks passed. The trial resumed. I sat in court, dressed in white, strong and composed, while Alice and Jude were led in, shackled and broken. They looked smaller now. Weaker. Alice no longer held her head high. Jude had grown a beard, his eyes hollow.
The judge read the charges—attempted murder, fraud, conspiracy, and theft. Their lawyer tried to argue mental stress, provocation, even childhood trauma. But none of it could explain away the venom in their actions. When asked if they had anything to say, Alice looked at me for the first time in months. “I was tired of being in your shadow,” she whispered. “Everything came to you so easily. I just wanted a life of my own.”
Tears pricked my eyes, but I didn’t let them fall. “You could’ve built your own life,” I replied. “But instead, you tried to erase mine.”
Jude didn’t say a word. He stared at the floor, ashamed, defeated.
The judge gave his verdict. “For the attempted murder of Miss Alicia Adetunji, and for the extensive fraud and theft committed against her, this court hereby sentences Jude Omisore and Alice Adetunji to twenty-five years imprisonment without parole.”
The courtroom was silent. The gavel struck. And just like that, it was over.
Outside the courtroom, Toni hugged me tightly. “You did it,” she whispered. “You won.”
But it didn’t feel like a win. Not fully. I had justice, yes. But I had also lost a part of myself—my innocence, my trust, my family. I looked up at the sky and whispered a quiet prayer for peace. For healing. For strength.
That night, I stood by the river again. The same one where they tried to kill me. The wind was calm. The water shimmered under the moonlight. I tossed the necklace Baba Seyi gave me into the river and watched it sink. “Thank you,” I whispered. “But I don’t need protection anymore.”
Because I wasn’t afraid. Not of betrayal. Not of pain. Not of death.
I had survived all three.
Months passed since the final gavel hit the wood and sealed the fate of my twin sister and my ex-lover. Twenty-five years behind bars. No parole. No second chances. It should have been the end, but healing is never that simple. The city still whispered my name. They called me “the girl who came back from the dead,” as if survival was a miracle. It wasn’t. It was a war. And I had the scars to prove it.
I moved into a new apartment—high up, with tall glass windows that let the sun in and kept the past out. I filled it with peace. No reminders of what once was. I started over. Quietly. I took a long break from corporate life and launched a foundation for women who’d been betrayed, abused, broken. I named it Phoenix Rising. Because that’s what I had done. Risen. From ashes, from betrayal, from death itself.
One afternoon, as I stood addressing a room full of survivors, I locked eyes with a young woman in the front row. Her eyes were haunted. She held a baby in one arm and a court summons in the other. I saw myself in her—the pain, the fear, the weight of being too kind in a cruel world. And I said to her, “You may be bruised, but you are not broken. They buried us thinking we were seeds.” She cried. And I did too.
Still, there were nights the memories returned. I would wake from dreams of water and cold and voices in the deep. The river. The whisper. “She is not yet yours.” I knew then that something far greater than hatred had kept me alive. Some spirit, some energy, had stood between me and death. I owed it my life. But I owed myself the rest of the journey.
One morning, I got a letter. From prison. It was from Alice. My hands shook as I opened it. The handwriting was shaky, but familiar.
“Alicia,”
“I don’t expect your forgiveness. But I needed you to know—I dream of the river too. I see her. She doesn’t speak to me. She only stares. And I wake up screaming. I think I was cursed the day I envied you. I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry. And if I had another chance, I would choose differently. I would choose you.”
“Alice.”
I read it once. Twice. Then I burned it. Not out of hatred. But because I refused to carry her burden anymore. I had carried it for far too long. I whispered a prayer for her soul—and let it go.
Jude never wrote. Never called. And that silence was all the closure I needed from him. He had made his choice the day he poured poison into my wine and watched me fall. He had chosen greed over love. Betrayal over loyalty. I didn’t need words from him. His silence was loud enough.
I stood in front of a mirror weeks later and looked at the woman staring back at me. My hair had grown. My body had healed. My eyes were fierce. Alive. I smiled—not because everything was perfect. But because I had survived everything that was meant to destroy me.
And that’s what this story truly is—not a tale of betrayal or revenge. But one of rebirth. A woman who was thrown into a river and came out walking on water.
They thought I was dead.
But I was only just beginning to live.