Chapter 17

The air in the Tunde household was heavier than usual. A creeping silence lingered over the walls, thick with unspoken words and emotional tension. Zara’s door remained firmly shut, not a creak, not a whisper, not even the sound of her footsteps in the hallway.

Inside her room, Zara lay curled beneath her duvet, hugging a throw pillow like it was a shield from the world. Her curtains were drawn shut, dimming the light from the outside world she didn’t want to see. She hadn’t stepped out since the confrontation with her father. Her mini-fridge was her only companion—snacks and bottled water kept her alive. Emotionally, though, she was drained.

From outside her door, her mother knocked gently for the third time that day. “Zara, sweetheart, please eat something proper. I made your favourite—jollof rice with dodo and grilled chicken.”

No response. Just the rustle of a biscuit wrapper inside.

Mrs. Tunde sighed deeply and turned away. Enough was enough. It was time to speak to her husband.

Downstairs, she met him in his study, hunched over financial documents and notes for a pending merger. She waited a few seconds before speaking. “Tunde, we need to talk. And this time, you’re going to listen.”

He looked up, slightly annoyed by the interruption. “What is it?”

“It’s about Zara. She’s been locked in that room for two days. Two days! Not coming out, not eating well, not saying a word. And you… you haven’t even noticed.”

“I noticed,” he said quietly, removing his glasses. “I just didn’t think it was serious.”

“Not serious?” Her voice cracked. “Your daughter, your only child, is breaking down, and you call that not serious?”

“She’s strong. She’ll come out when she’s hungry enough.”

“You’re unbelievable!” Mrs. Tunde exploded. “You keep saying you love her, yet you’re always the one crushing her spirit. Can’t you see she’s hurting?”

He leaned back in his chair, staring into the air. “She’s hurting because she wants to chase a dream with no stability. A dream that can’t guarantee her anything in the long run. I’m doing what’s best for her.”

“No, Tunde. You’re doing what you think is best. Not what she wants. First, you pick her husband. Now, you’re picking her job? When does she get a say in her own life?”

He was quiet.

Mrs. Tunde softened her tone. “Someone is stalking Zara,and who ever they are,they sound dangerous “

His face changed slightly, a flicker of concern dancing in his eyes before disappearing. “Nothing is happening,” he said gruffly. “Have you forgotten who you married?”

“I haven’t. But you forget that your pride won’t protect her.”

He stood up, pushing his chair back. “No one can harm my daughter. Forget the fact I’m rigid and harsh towards her. She is my only eyes. Nobody born of a man can harm you or her. You both are all I have. So let her be less worried about shadows and focus on her upcoming wedding and the job I got her.”

Mrs. Tunde froze. “Upcoming wedding? What wedding? When was the date fixed? And why wasn’t I informed?”

He gave a soft chuckle. “Relax. No date was fixed. I just know it’s happening soon.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “I don’t know who you’ve become, Tunde. But you better not lose your daughter in the process of controlling her.”

Meanwhile, upstairs, Zara lay in silence, her phone in hand. She finally gathered the courage to scroll through her notifications, and then she saw it.

A new message.

“You looked better in red.”

She gasped, the phone nearly slipping from her fingers. Her breath quickened as her eyes scanned the words again and again. She hadn’t worn red in days—except two days ago, when she went to pick up Kemi and wore a red tank top with high-waisted jeans. She hadn’t posted it anywhere.

Her stomach churned.

She dialed Regan’s number, her hand shaking. He picked up after a few rings.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” she said hurriedly. “I got another message. Just now. From that person. It’s creepy—he said I looked better in red. Regan, someone is watching me.”

A pause.

Then his voice came, flat and uninterested. “Okay. And?”

Zara blinked. “What do you mean ‘and’? I’m telling you someone is stalking me!”

“I don’t know who it is, Zara. What do you want me to do? You already told me.”

“You—” Her throat closed up. “Regan, are you serious right now?”

“I’m busy with work, Zara. This is your father’s house. It’s guarded. You’re safe.”

Her mouth opened, but no words came out. She could hear his disinterest bleeding through the phone line.

“So I should just ignore it?” she whispered.

“I’m not saying that. Just… don’t overthink it.”

She hung up.

The phone fell to the bed as tears stung her eyes. She stared at the wall for a long time, letting the silence swallow her, before picking the phone again and calling Kemi.

Kemi picked on the first ring. “Girl. You sound off.”

“I called Regan. He doesn’t care.”

Kemi sighed deeply. “I’m not surprised. He’s acting like a bored fiancé.”

“I told him someone’s watching me.”

“And he did nothing?”

Zara bit her lip, trying not to cry again. “Nothing.”

“Okay, listen,” Kemi said with firmness. “I found something for you. There’s a local modeling interview this weekend. Not the big leagues, but it’s something. You need to get out. Do something for you.”

Zara sniffled. “Where?”

“Lekki. I’ll send the address. Just pretend we’re going out to eat or something.”

Zara managed a weak smile. “Okay.”

“I’ll come tomorrow. We’ll plan. Pick outfits. Plot your escape if we have to.”

Zara ended the call feeling slightly less broken.

Across town, Regan paced his room, mind spinning. He wasn’t cold-hearted—he just didn’t know how to react. He had too many suspicions, too many questions. Was it Imani? His father? Some outside force?

He rubbed his temples and sank into his chair. Every time he got close to understanding what was going on, another shadow appeared.

He picked up his phone, typed a message to someone in his contacts—one he hadn’t spoken to in months.

“Need a favor. Private surveillance. I want to know who’s tailing Zara. No questions asked.”

He stared at the message for a moment… then hit send.

Back in Zara’s room, she lay back down, the message still floating in her mind.

“You looked better in red.”

Whoever it was, they weren’t done. And neither was she.

Not with this marriage.

Not with this house.

And definitely not with her dreams.