Blood That Stains The World

There was love, and then there was Zara and Tyler.

Not the Instagram-filtered kind of love that looked perfect in pictures but cracked in reality. No, theirs was the kind that felt like a movie even when no one was watching. They were the couple people referenced in group chats, the standard in Twitter threads about "real love," and the faces behind viral TikToks captioned "When he's your peace and she's your home."

Married for just two years, their story was the kind that made people believe again. No kids yet-not for lack of trying, but because they were "enjoying each other first," as Zara had once said during a podcast interview that hit a million views in two days.

Zara Martins was every bit the boss she appeared to be. Manager at one of Lagos' most elite interior design firms, she brought soft life and sharp discipline into the same room. Her presence screamed class-from her white Tesla Model X with a custom "ZBOSS" plate, to her minimalist silk outfits that somehow always matched Tyler's street-style luxury fits. The two were made for each other-Zara with her soft voice and bold ideas, and Tyler Blake with his tech-genius charm and diamond-level drip.

Tyler was the kind of man who didn't just walk into rooms-he owned them. Co-founder of a wildly successful fintech startup, his name was everywhere from Forbes Africa to LinkedIn praise posts. But offline, he was the man who carried his wife's bag at events, kissed her forehead in parking lots, and posted her picture every Monday with captions like "My win in every season."

People believed in them.

So did they.

Or so they thought.

Zara's 29th birthday fell on a Thursday, but Tyler had shut down an entire beach house two days earlier. She walked into the surprise-blindfolded, her heels clicking against soft marble-and removed the satin scarf to a room filled with white roses, slow jazz, their closest friends, and one too many phone cameras.

"Tyler Blake, you're insane," she laughed, face lighting up.

"You knew this was coming," he whispered in her ear as he hugged her from behind, the cameras clicking furiously. "You deserve everything good in this life."

And in that moment, she believed him.

They slow danced under fairy lights as the DJ played their favorite song. Every second felt frozen in gold. Their followers doubled in 48 hours, and so did the fairytale comments: "This is the soft life I pray for." "If it's not like this, I don't want it." "God when?"

But beneath the polished smiles and public sparkle, a slow crack was forming.

It started with a text message.

Tyler had come home late one night from a business dinner and found Zara already asleep on the couch. He kissed her cheek, then walked past her phone charging on the kitchen island. A screen lit up.

Boss Olamide: "Thanks for staying late. You always get the job done."

The words were innocent. The timing wasn't.

Tyler's mind spun into places even Google Maps couldn't track.

Why was her boss texting her at 10:57 p.m.? Why thanks for staying late? Why that emoji at the end?

He didn't confront her. Not immediately. But the seed had been planted-and seeds, when watered with doubt, grow wild.

The following weeks were silent wars.

Zara noticed it first in the way Tyler stopped complimenting her outfits. The way he skipped their morning prayer routine. The way he barely looked up from his phone when she walked in wearing that fire emerald jumpsuit he used to go crazy for.

"Is everything okay?" she asked one night, wiping off her makeup in front of the vanity.

Tyler didn't look up from his MacBook. "Yeah. All good."