Victoria Island Fashion Week was packed.
Spotlights cut through the dark hall while cameras flashed like lightning. Influencers, investors, celebrities, and media houses filled the room.
The final model stepped onto the runway wearing the emerald gown.
Shemmy's emerald gown.
The audience erupted into applause.
Backstage, Tara Adedayo lifted her chin proudly as assistants rushed around her.
"This collection is revolutionary," one stylist said.
Tara smiled.
"Yes… it is."
Across the hall in the VIP section, Tunde Adebayo watched calmly with a glass of champagne in his hand.
The show host stepped onto the runway.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the brilliant designer behind this breathtaking collection—Tara Adedayo!"
The crowd clapped louder.
Tara walked onto the stage confidently.
But just as she reached the microphone
The ballroom doors slammed open.
Heads turned instantly.
Shemmy walked in.
The room fell silent.
Her full-figured body moved with purpose, light yellow skin glowing under the bright lights.
Beside her walked Daevyd.
Tall.
Slim.
Chocolate skin calm but dangerous.
Whispers spread through the audience.
"Isn't that Shemmy Esther?"
"That's the TechWave guy…"
"What's happening?"
Tunde's smile slowly faded.
Shemmy didn't stop walking until she reached the stage.
Security hesitated.
No one wanted to stop a viral Lagos power couple.
Tara's smile faltered.
"What is this?" she asked into the microphone.
Shemmy stepped onto the stage.
Her voice was calm.
But powerful.
"You're wearing my dreams."
The crowd gasped.
Cameras turned instantly.
Tara laughed nervously.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Shemmy turned toward the audience.
"That emerald dress was sketched in my studio two weeks ago."
She pointed at another model.
"The gold blazer? Mine."
Another dress.
"The sculpted waistline? Mine too."
The audience murmured louder.
Phones were already recording.
Tara's face hardened.
"You're making a serious accusation."
Shemmy met her gaze.
"No."
Her voice sharpened.
"I'm stating a fact."
Tunde stood up slowly in the VIP section.
He walked toward the stage, clapping slowly.
"Well done," he said smoothly.
All eyes turned to him.
Shemmy's stomach tightened.
Tunde looked amused.
"You walk into someone else's fashion show and accuse them of theft?"
He faced the crowd.
"Very dramatic."
Daevyd stepped forward beside Shemmy.
His voice was calm but firm.
"The sketches are timestamped."
He raised his phone.
"And backed up to the cloud."
The room buzzed.
Tunde's eyes narrowed slightly.
But his smile stayed.
"That proves nothing," he said.
"Designs are similar all the time."
Shemmy took a step closer to Tara.
"Then explain the speech."
Tara froze.
Shemmy repeated the exact words Tara had said earlier on the runway.
"Fashion should celebrate every body."
The audience murmured again.
"That was written in my design journal," Shemmy continued.
"And I haven't shown it to anyone."
Tara's confidence cracked.
Tunde intervened quickly.
"This is not the place for accusations."
He turned to the host.
"Continue the show."
But suddenly—
A large screen behind the stage flickered.
Daevyd's laptop connected wirelessly.
The projector lit up.
Shemmy's original sketches appeared.
Dated.
Timestamped.
Signed.
Gasps filled the room.
The audience began whispering louder.
Tara's face turned pale.
Tunde's jaw tightened.
Shemmy looked out at the crowd.
"This collection was stolen from me."
She pointed directly at Tara.
"And funded by the man standing beside her."
All eyes shifted to Tunde.
Camera flashes exploded.
Reporters rushed forward.
Questions fired like bullets.
"Did you steal the designs?"
"Is Adebayo Holdings involved?"
"Is this corporate sabotage?"
Tunde grabbed Tara's arm.
"This show is over," he said coldly.
But the damage was already done.
Online, livestream viewers were watching everything.
The hashtag #FashionTheftLagos started trending within minutes.
Daevyd took Shemmy's hand.
"Let's go."
They stepped off the stage together.
But just before they reached the door
Tunde's voice cut through the room.
"This isn't over."
Shemmy stopped.
She turned slowly.
Tunde's smile was gone.
Only anger remained.
"You just started a war," he said.
Daevyd looked back calmly.
"No."
His voice dropped.
"You did."
Outside the venue, reporters surrounded them instantly.
"Shemmy! Did Tara steal your designs?"
"Daevyd! Is Tunde sabotaging you?"
Flashes blinded them.
But across the street
Inside a black car
Nadia watched the livestream on her phone.
Her lips curled slowly.
"Interesting," she whispered.
She typed a message.
To Tunde.
"If they want war… we give them war."
Back inside the venue
Tara sat backstage shaking.
Her phone buzzed.
A new message appeared.
Unknown number.
"The next phase begins tonight."
Her hands trembled.
Because whoever sent that message…
Was not Tunde.
And not Nadia.
The game was getting bigger.
Much bigger.