Chapter 1

AMARA:

On Friday night, I was standing in my bedroom when I heard a knock on the door. I walked over and opened it to find Agnes, my mother’s maid, smiling at me.

Agnes was dressed in a long blue gown. She was light-skinned and about my age—I am twenty-four. I wore a blue nightgown myself, as it was already night, around 11:30 p.m. on December 31st.

I had pulled my hair into a bun shortly after drying it from my bath. “What is it, Agnes?” I asked, looking at her face as she smiled back.

“Amara, your father sent for you,” Agnes told me.

I sighed and muttered, “But we just finished dinner. What could he want now? I’m not interested in the New Year’s celebration.”

Agnes smiled faintly. “I don’t know, but he’s downstairs with your mom. The guests have all gone outside to prepare for the fireworks.”

“Hmm, okay. Tell my father I’ll be down soon. Let me go freshen up first,” I said. Agnes smiled and left.

I sighed again, returned to my room, and made my way to the restroom. Afterward, I headed downstairs inside my father’s enormous mansion. We live in the countryside. My father is a chief here and works in agricultural farming.

At home, I am treated like a princess—the center of admiration. Our people love me because my parents taught me to be kind and helpful to those around us. We were preparing for the crossover into the new year, and I wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

I am my parents’ only child. I am still single, and my parents aren’t pressuring me to marry. My father is understanding, yet many men have asked for my hand in marriage—even my crush, Charles Wilfred—but my father refused.

I don’t know his reason, but my mother assured me he only wants the best for me and wouldn’t give me to just any suitor who might treat me poorly in the future. I understood, sighed, and continued downstairs to the living room.

We live in a standard duplex surrounded by many trees and gardens.

My father’s mansion is fenced, but with the celebration ongoing, we had many visitors. The guest rooms were full with cousins and aunts.

When I entered the living room, Agnes approached me and said, “Your dad asked that you meet him in his office.”

“Okay,” I replied, then proceeded to my father’s home office. I suspected he wanted to speak privately so none of our relatives would eavesdrop.

I arrived at his office door, knocked gently, and heard his calm voice respond, “Come in.”

I quietly pushed the door open and peeked inside the spacious office, which had two guest chairs and a set of four blue couches.

My parents sat on one of the blue couches. My father smiled and said, “Come, Amara. Have a seat before the fireworks start. Your mother and I have something important to tell you.”

“Okay, Dad.” I walked in and sat on another blue couch across from them. My mother wore a red nightdress, and my father had on a white garment with black trousers underneath—visible since he was seated.

My dad smiled at me. “Amara, the time has come for your mother and me to inform you about an arrangement. We’ve kept it from you, but now you should know. You’re familiar with my friend Mr. Joshua Briggs, aren’t you?”

I smiled and replied, “Yes, Dad. The one who lives in the city and visits sometimes.”

“Good. You are married to his only son, Darlington Briggs, and you will be going 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 don’t remember getting married—did I lose my memory?”

I stared at my parents in shock. How could I be married without remembering? And though I wished to settle down and have my own home, this felt unreal. My father sighed, and my mother gave me a knowing smile.

“It was an arrangement I made with Mr. Joshua Briggs. You aren’t officially married to Darlington yet, but you will go live with him to see if you both get along—then you can marry,” my father explained.

“Dad, I still don’t understand. Do you mean I’ll just visit them, or am I already married to this man—your best friend’s son?” I asked, trying to make sense of it.

“Amara, as of now, you are married to Darlington Briggs. You must be on your best behavior when you get to their home. Don’t worry—Darlington’s father has paid all the necessary dues for your hand in marriage. So you are Darlington’s wife. The only difference is that Darlington didn’t come here to marry you, and you didn’t wear a wedding dress or walk down the aisle. But traditionally, by our custom, you are now Mrs. Amara Briggs, and Darlington Briggs is your husband,” my father said.

“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, hoping for her support.

My mother sighed and assured me. “Calm down, Amara. This is for your own good.”

“How, Mom? I don’t want to live in the city. "Dad, I don’t like the bustling life there. I want to stay here in the countryside where it’s quiet and close to nature,” I protested, hoping he would reconsider this sudden arrangement.

“I understand your complaint, but I trust Mr. Joshua’s son to take care of you. So you're traveling tomorrow,” my father said.