Cherreads

Break Yours Before Mine #savagequeen

Boye_Olayode
In Lagos, they called her Felicia. A name they gave her—like a dress that never fit. She wore it anyway. Smiled through the dinners. Laughed at Tiffany's jokes. Danced in clubs to drown the quiet ache. She thought love was loud—hugs, birthdays, "my girl." But love was quiet. Quiet like the way Mrs. Okoro's smile never reached her eyes. Quiet like Tiffany's "bestie" always came with a smirk. Quiet like the night she heard them laugh: "Orphan. Useless. Time to clean up." So she burned it all. Not with fire. With silence. She sold the car. Lied about crashes. Sold the bags. Lied about thieves. Sold the jewelry. Lied about friends. And when the ticket pinged—Seoul, one-way—she didn't look back. Now she's here. Neon. Cold. Free. But freedom has teeth. Because someone knows. And they're already writing her name—on paper, on walls, on her skin. "Welcome home, Ashlyn." She doesn't know if it's a threat. Or a promise. But she knows one thing: Felicia died on that plane. And Ashlyn? She's just waking up.
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