CHAPTER 1

Amara's POV:

On December 31, I sat in my bedroom on the top floor of our duplex when a knock sounded on my door. I walked over and pulled it open, then I saw Agnes, my mother's maid, smiling at me.

Agnes wore a long blue gown. She had light-skinned features and the build of a young woman about my size. I was also 24 years old. I wore a long blue nightgown, as it was already nighttime, around 11:30 p.m.

I had pulled my hair into a bun shortly after drying it from my bath. "What do you want, Agnes?" I asked, staring at her face as she smiled back at me.

"Good evening, Amara. Sorry to bother you, but your father sent for you," Agnes told me. I sighed and muttered, "But we just finished dinner in the dining room. What does my father want to say to me again? I'm not interested in the New Year celebration."

Agnes smiled faintly at me and said, "I don't know, but he's downstairs with your mom, and the guests had all gone outside, preparing for the fireworks."

"Hmm, okay. Tell my father I'll be downstairs soon. Let me go and ease myself," I told Agnes. She smiled at me and left.

I sighed, returned to my room, and headed to the restroom to relieve myself. I emerged and made my way down the stairs of my father's enormous mansion. We lived on the outskirts of the city, precisely in the countryside. My father served as a chief there and dealt in agricultural farm produce.

At home, I felt more like a princess—the center of admiration. My people loved me because my mother had taught me to be kind and helpful to those around us. We prepared for the crossover night into a brand-new year, and I didn't know how to feel about it.

I was my parents' only child. I remained single, and my parents didn't pressure me to marry. My father was an understanding man, but nonetheless, the majority of the men who had come to ask for my hand in marriage faced his refusal—even my crush, Charles Wilfred.

I didn't know his reason, but my mother assured me that my father wanted the best for me. He couldn't just give me to any male suitor who might treat me poorly in the future. I understood and sighed as I descended to the living room.

We lived in a standard duplex house, surrounded by lush greenery.

My father's mansion featured a fence, but with the celebration still underway, we hosted many visitors. The guest rooms filled with my cousins and aunts.

I finally entered the living room, and Agnes stepped out again to tell me, "Your dad requests that you meet him in his office."

"Okay," I said, then I proceeded to my father's home office to see him. I suspected what he had to tell me was private, so none of our relatives would eavesdrop on our conversation.

I finally arrived at the door of my father's home office. I knocked gently and heard my father's response in a calm voice: "Come in."

I quietly pushed the office door open and peeked into the enormous room, which held two guest seats and a set of four blue couches.

My parents sat on one blue couch. My father smiled at me and said, "Come, Amara. Come have a seat before the fireworks start. Your mother and I have something important to say to you."

"Okay, Dad." I walked into the office, and soon I sat on another blue couch across from my parents. My mother wore a red nightdress, and my dad sported a white garment with black trousers beneath—which I could see because he sat on the same blue couch as my mother.

My dad smiled at me and said, "Amara, the time has come for your mother and me to inform you about our arrangement. We've kept it from you, but now is the time to reveal our decision. Well, I'm sure you're familiar with my friend, Mr. Joshua Briggs?" My father asked. I smiled and replied, "Yes, Dad. I know him—the one who lives in the city and visits here sometimes."

"Good. Well, you are married to his only son, Darlington Briggs, and you will go to the city tomorrow to live with him," my father informed me. I gasped. "What? Dad, I don't understand. How can I be married to your friend's son? When? I can't remember getting married to any man. Did I suffer memory loss?"

I stared at my parents in shock. Like, how did I get married without remembering it—when I also wanted to settle down and build my own home? My father sighed, and my mother smiled at me with understanding.

"It was an arrangement I made with Mr. Joshua Briggs," my father explained. "You are not yet married to Darlington Briggs officially, but you will go live with him to see if you both can get along and finally become a married couple."

"Dad, I don't understand what you're saying. Do you mean I'll just visit them, or am I already married to the man you're saying is your best friend's son?" I asked my father, eager to understand him better.

"Amara, like I said, you are married to Darlington Briggs as of now. You should show good behavior when you get to their house. Don't worry about anything—Darlington's father has already paid all the necessary dues for your hand in marriage to his son. So you're Darlington's wife. The only difference in this marriage is that Darlington didn't come here to marry you, nor did you wear a wedding dress to walk down the aisle with him. But you are officially Mrs. Amara Briggs now. And Darlington Briggs is your husband traditionally, by our custom," my father said to me.

"What? Dad, I can't marry a man I don't know. I can't go to the city to be with him. Mom?" I looked at my mother's face, desperate to hear her opinion on all these arrangements.

My mother sighed. She looked at me and said, "Calm down, Amara. It's for your own good."

"How? I can't go to the city to live there, Dad. I don't like the bustling life of city people. I want to stay here, on this side of the country where there's no noise and abundant wildlife," I protested, hoping my father would change his mind about these sudden arrangements.

"I understand your complaint, Amara, but I trust Mr. Joshua's son to take care of you," my father said.