propose a compromise. I can arrange for the assistant to be removed from your schedul

else steering my words on a live broadcast was intolerable. "5,000,000 naira?

u want full control of your narrative, and that refund

nt sum but it was better than having my every word second guessed. "Fine," I

d. "I'll have the refund

to my account. The relief was bittersweet I still owed them a large sum, and the tension

buzzed again with a new message from Tom. This

r the topics you will address during the broad

f with my early failures, moved on to my rise in the beauty pageant world, and then delved into my personal life. There were segments on relationships, on my supposed s

not abide by outline. I demand full creative freedom, or I de

No going back on the agreed terms. You eithe

ight wrestling with the decision. My instincts screamed rebellion demanding my truth be unfiltered-yet the stakes were impossibly high. With so m

f survival. In that moment, I realized I was caught in a web of high

he heart of the city where every camera, every microphone, and every light was waiting to capture my transformation. I packed my bags with a mix of determination and d

ike a high-stakes gamble. I couldn't shake the sensation that I was being manipulated, that somewhere behind the polished veneer of The Honest Bunc

I was greeted by a flurry of assistants, cameras, and flashing lights. The energy was palpable both

space that felt more like a holding cell. I sat alone, rehearsing the outline

p to see a woman in a crisp suit, her expre

, my voice barel

she said, extending a hand in greeting.

eens showing previous broadcasts each a study in carefully orchestrated controversy. My reflec

area. "Your segment will begin

hought of the countless hours spent fighting for my voice, of the sacrifices I'd made in pursuit of authentic

for any missed messages or warnings. Nothin

hadow that moved with deliberate intent. I squinted, trying to discern a face in the gloom, but it vanished as quickly as it had appe

m. "Lisa, please proceed to the stag

As I walked toward the stage, I couldn't help but wonder: Was this the moment when I'd finally break free fr

anning the room for a sign of what lay ahead. Every step felt like a battle cry a declaration that I would not be d

the arguments all of it had led to this charged moment. I raised my chin, determined to reclaim w

hush fell over the audience as a deep, commanding voice resonated through

ping into the bright glare of the stage, and for a moment, everything slowed down. I could a

a shadow that moved against the backdrop of the set, far too deliberate to be

the intercom, "Cut! We're going to live in five...four...three..." The countdow

narrative trembling in the face of an unknown threat. The mysterious shadow loome

final second, the studio lights blinked out

ging by a thread and the broadcast poised to redefine every