Chapter 9

The night had settled in like a heavy blanket, silent and still, yet the Tunde household was far from peaceful.

In the living room, the air was thick with unspoken words. Mr. Tunde sat in his armchair, his posture rigid, hands clasped tightly together as he stared at the muted television. The glow from the screen reflected in his tired eyes, but his mind wasn’t watching the news.

Mrs. Tunde entered quietly, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. She studied her husband for a moment before walking over to sit beside him. The silence between them stretched long enough to become uncomfortable.

“She’s not eating,” she said softly, glancing toward the hallway that led to Zara’s room.

Mr. Tunde didn’t look at her. “Let her starve, if that’s what she wants.”

“Must you always be this harsh?” Her voice was calm but carried a thread of hurt.

His jaw tightened. “She’s too stubborn. I won’t reward that kind of defiance.”

“She’s not defiant. She’s just… a dreamer. Like you were once.”

His eyes snapped to hers.

Mrs. Tunde held his gaze, undeterred. “You forget I knew you before all this. Before the land deals, before the politics, before Kareem. You wanted to be a poet, remember?”

“Poetry doesn’t put food on the table,” he muttered.

“No. But it fed your soul.”

He looked away again.

“She’s not the enemy, Tunde,” she continued. “She’s our daughter. You don’t have to be afraid to love her out loud.”

“I’m not afraid of loving her,” he snapped.

“Then what are you afraid of?”

The question hung in the air like smoke.

For a long moment, he said nothing. The silence dragged, until finally, his voice came low and strained. “I’m afraid she’ll be like her sister.”

Mrs. Tunde flinched, the name they never spoke pressing between them like a ghost.

“You think I don’t remember?” he asked bitterly. “The way Zara looked at me when she mentioned going abroad… the same fire, the same ambition. And where did that lead us last time?”

Tears welled in Mrs. Tunde’s eyes. “You can’t punish Zara for what happened to Fola.”

“I’m not punishing her,” he said, voice cracking. “I’m trying to save her. If I have to be the villain in her story to keep her alive, then so be it.”

Mrs. Tunde reached for his hand. This time, he didn’t pull away.

“She doesn’t need a villain, Tunde. She needs a father. One who sees her. Listens to her. One who doesn’t break her spirit in the name of protection.”

His grip tightened, but he nodded slowly, as if her words were finally beginning to sink in.

Mrs. Tunde looked toward Zara’s hallway again, eyes clouded. “We already lost one daughter. Don’t let your fear make you lose the other.”

The room fell into silence again, this time gentler, more understanding. Two parents, both broken in different ways, sitting side by side in their grief and guilt, unsure how to move forward.

But somewhere upstairs, Zara sat on her bed, unaware that her parents were finally speaking about the very thing that had haunted their home for years.

Elsewhere, miles away…

Regan stood on the balcony of his room, the cool night breeze brushing against his face. The city lights twinkled below like fireflies scattered across the dark.

Inside the Kareem mansion, all was quiet, but peace was a foreign concept within those walls. He leaned on the iron rail, jaw tense, mind heavy.

His phone buzzed on the table behind him. He didn’t check it.

His father had summoned him earlier for a conversation—one of those stiff, veiled threats disguised as fatherly concern. Something about “handling Zara carefully,” “keeping her in line,” “not letting her get too curious.”

Regan had nodded, but his mind was elsewhere—on Zara’s eyes during the engagement, the way they silently begged for escape. He hadn’t forgotten her condition: one year. Only one.

And he hadn’t forgotten what his father was capable of, either.

He turned back toward the room and picked up his phone.

One notification.

New follower: @Zara_T

He stared at the screen, lips twitching slightly. Was she checking up on him?

Before he could decide what to make of it, the door creaked open behind him.

He turned.

It wasn’t a servant.

It was his father.

“Regan,” Chief Kareem said, voice low. “We need to talk. Privately.”

Regan’s jaw tensed the moment his father stepped into the room. He didn’t move, but the air shifted, thick with the weight of everything unspoken between them.

Chief Kareem closed the door quietly behind him. “You don’t look happy to see me.”

Regan didn’t respond. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the edge of the table. “You said you wanted to talk. Go ahead.”

Chief Kareem walked slowly to the armchair by the window and sat down, exhaling as though preparing for war. “This marriage… I know you weren’t expecting it.”

Regan raised an eyebrow. “Is that your version of an apology?”

“No,” Kareem replied coolly. “It’s my version of an explanation.”

Regan scoffed. “Funny. You didn’t think I deserved one when you broke things off between me and Imani.”

A flicker of something crossed Kareem’s face—regret, maybe, or calculation. “Imani was not your future. She was a fantasy. A distraction. Pretty, yes, but not built for the life ahead of you.”

Regan’s eyes narrowed. “And Zara is?”

“She’s the daughter of a powerful ally,” Kareem said, steepling his fingers. “The Tundes hold land, influence, and secrets. We need that union.”

“So it was never about me,” Regan muttered. “It was always about leverage.”

“Everything in this world is about leverage, son. Even love.”

Regan turned away, trying to swallow the bitterness rising in his throat. “You could’ve told me. Prepared me. Instead, you dumped it on me like an order.”

“You’re not a boy anymore. I expect you to adapt.”

There was silence for a moment, thick and cold.

“I liked her,” Regan said quietly. “Imani. I really did. We had plans.”

“And she would’ve ruined you,” Kareem said sharply. “That girl was soft. Weak. She couldn’t survive in our world.”

“Then maybe I didn’t want this world,” Regan snapped.

His father stood, voice steely. “You don’t have a choice.”

They stood like that, two generations of ambition staring each other down.

Finally, Kareem’s tone softened, just barely. “Zara is sharp. Resilient. I’ve watched her. She has fire. And fire can be useful, if controlled.”

Regan stared at him. “And what if she can’t be controlled?”

Kareem smiled faintly. “Then you tame her. With patience. Or power. Whatever works.”

There was a long pause.

Regan finally asked, “What happens after the one year?”

Kareem’s eyes glittered. “Then we decide if she’s a threat or an asset.”

The words chilled Regan to the bone.

Later, after his father had left, Regan remained by the balcony, staring into the night. His fingers hovered over Zara’s name on his phone screen. She was nothing like Imani. She was trouble, fire, rebellion.

And yet, somewhere deep down… he wasn’t sure he hated that.