CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT “CONVINCED”

©Opeyemi Akintunde
Inspired by the Greatest Storyteller

Beauty’s POV

We left the meeting sometime around 3am.

I did not remember walking out of the room. Everything that happened after that moment felt like I was moving inside a dream that had suddenly become my real life.

My host sat beside me in the back seat, calm as always, as though what had just happened was perfectly ordinary.

I, on the other hand, could barely breathe.

The driver did not speak during the ride back. The city lights moved past the window in quiet streaks, and my mind kept replaying the same calculation over and over again.

Thirty million times one hundred and twenty.

I tried to multiply it in my head again, just to make sure I had not misunderstood.

Billions.

Actual billions.

At some point, I began to laugh.

Not loudly.

Just quietly to myself, the way people laugh when something unbelievable has finally happened and their brain is struggling to catch up.

My host glanced at me once but said nothing.

By the time we arrived back at her house, the sky was already beginning to lighten. Morning was creeping into the city slowly, the way it does when the night has been long.

I did not sleep.

How could I?

Before the sun fully rose, my host had already begun making calls. Conversations were happening around me as though my life had suddenly become a project being managed by professionals.

By nine o’clock that morning, we had visited three different places.

The first was a real estate office.

The man there spoke to my host with the kind of respect usually reserved for powerful clients. Papers were placed before me. Figures were discussed. A house was recommended: large, modern, located in one of the most expensive neighborhoods in the city.

I signed.

Just like that.

By noon, I owned a house that people spent decades trying to afford.

The next stop was a car dealership.

I had never even entered such a place before, except once to admire vehicles through the glass doors. But that day, I was seated comfortably inside, sipping water while a salesman presented options as though I had always belonged there.

Within an hour, I had chosen a car.

Brand new.

Imported.

Paid for without negotiation.

The final stop was a bank.

More Accounts were opened. Transfers were arranged. Investments were suggested. Everyone spoke to me politely, respectfully, like I had suddenly become someone important.

Someone worth impressing.

That evening, when I sat alone in the living room of my new house, I looked around slowly, almost afraid to blink in case the entire reality dissolved.

The couch beneath me cost more than everything I owned the previous week.

My phone began to ring.

Unknown numbers.

Different voices.

Professional voices.

“Hello, Beauty. This is Dr. Lillian from the aesthetics clinic. We would like to confirm your consultation schedule.”

“Hello, Beauty. This is the body sculpting center. We are ready to begin your transformation whenever you are available.”

“Hello, Beauty. Our dermatology team will handle your skin reconstruction plan. We will begin gradually.”

The calls kept coming.

Appointments.

Consultations.

Procedures.

Plans.

Everything was moving quickly.

Within one month, my life had changed so drastically that even I struggled to recognize it.

My body began to transform.

My skin changed.

My posture changed.

My wardrobe changed.

The way people looked at me changed.

But there was something else that began to change too.

Something I did not expect.

At first, the meetings returned in my dreams.

The same women.

The same voices.

The same gathering.

But something was different.

The place was no longer the elegant private restaurant filled with perfume and soft jazz.

Instead, the meetings were happening somewhere else.

Somewhere dark.

Somewhere damp.

Somewhere that smelled like decay.

The first time it happened, I woke up sweating.

In the dream, I was standing in a place that looked like an underground cave. The walls were rough and wet. Smoke hung in the air. The same women from the club were there, but they no longer looked polished and glamorous.

They looked… hungry.

Terrifyingly hungry.

There were bowls.

Dark bowls.

And inside them was blood.

I watched myself drink it.

I watched myself eat things I could not explain.

I watched myself laughing while people screamed.

The worst part was not that I saw these things.

It was that in the dream… I was enjoying them.

I woke up shaking.

The dreams came again the next night.

And the next.

Each time more vivid.

Each time more disturbing.

I saw myself hurting people.

Manipulating situations.

Breaking relationships.

Destroying homes.

The things I saw myself doing in those dreams were things I would never have believed myself capable of.

After several weeks of this torment, I could no longer keep it to myself.

One evening, I gathered the courage to speak to my host.

She was sitting in her living room, reading quietly, when I approached her.

“I need to tell you something,” I said nervously.

She looked up calmly.

“Go ahead.”

I began to explain.

The dreams.

The cave.

The blood.

The strange meetings.

The things I saw myself doing.

As I spoke, I watched her face carefully.

But she did not react.

Not once.

No shock.

No concern.

No surprise.

When I finished speaking, the room fell silent.

Finally, she closed her book and looked at me.

“So?” she said simply.

The question confused me.

“So?” I repeated.

“Yes,” she replied calmly. “What exactly are you asking me?”

My throat tightened.

“Well… I just thought… maybe something is wrong with me.”

She stared at me for a moment, then spoke in the same calm tone she always used.

“If you are asking me whether you are a witch…”

She paused slightly.

“…well, you are.”

The words struck me like lightning.

For a moment, I genuinely thought my heart had stopped.

My entire body went cold.

“W… what?” I whispered.

But she was completely unshaken.

She leaned back in her chair as though we were discussing something ordinary.

“You said you were willing to go to any length,” she reminded me quietly.

My bones felt hollow.

In that moment, the entire truth finally began to settle over me like a storm cloud.

I had not joined a network.

I had not joined a brand.

I had not joined a club.

I had entered a covenant.

And I had done it willingly.

To be continued

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