Amaka Osei never cried. Not even when her mother died in childbirth, leaving her an orphan at eleven. She'd learned how to survive, how to smile when her heart cracked, and how to make powerful men whisper her name like a prayer.
But now, staring at Lanre, seated on her couch, looking anywhere but at her, she felt her throat close.
"You're marrying who?" she asked, voice low, cold.
Lanre exhaled, rubbing his palms together like the words might warm him.
"Bella Alakija."
"For love?"
"For the party."
She laughed bitterly, the sound echoing off the minimalist walls of her luxury apartment.
"So I was just… what? A placeholder?"
"Amaka, you know I love you."
Her hand twitched. She hated that sentence more than she hated betrayal. Love. That fragile lie men threw like confetti after burning everything to the ground.
"You don't love me. You're just too much of a coward to lose."
She stood, sharp in her wine-colored slip dress, and walked over to him. Her fingers grazed his jaw, tender, trembling. Then she slapped him.
Not out of rage, but out of heartbreak.
"Go marry her, Lanre. Win your crown. But don't come back to me when she reminds you she's not yours."
And she turned, walked to the kitchen, and opened a bottle of champagne like it was war.
IKOYI – THE ALAKIJA MANSION
Bella hated lace. But here she was, sitting in a gold-trimmed room full of lace samples, white roses, and a wedding planner with a voice like sugar and a spine like paper.
"This would be divine on your figure," the planner gushed, holding up another intricate pattern. "We're thinking modern Yoruba queen vibes. Sophistication and tradition, yes?"
Bella offered her a tight smile. "I'm thinking speed. We can skip the tiaras and focus on how soon I can walk down that aisle and walk out of this madness."
The planner blinked.
Bella stood, ignoring the hovering assistants, and walked out. She moved like silk down the hallway to her father's private study, where she found him reading the financials like scripture.
"I want control of the company before the wedding," she said.
Chief Alakija looked up slowly. "That wasn't the agreement."
"I changed it."
He studied her, the way only fathers who saw their daughters as investments did.
"What's wrong, Bella? Cold feet?"
"No. Just tired of being used."
He smirked. "You're a woman in Nigeria. That's the price of legacy."
She stepped closer, voice quiet and sharp.
"Then I'll make legacy pay for it."
THE ENGAGEMENT DINNER – PRIVATE CLUB, LAGOS
The cameras flashed. The clink of champagne glasses rang like soft bells.
Lanre sat beside Bella at the long banquet table, smiling for the press, holding hands with a woman whose fingers felt like frozen steel.
She didn't look at him. She didn't have to. Her aura screamed don't touch me louder than words ever could.
He leaned in and whispered.
"You don't have to make this harder than it already is."
Bella smiled sweetly for the cameras, then whispered back without turning.
"I plan to make it unbearable."
The guests applauded when they raised their glasses. Political godfathers grinned. Socialites took selfies. Somewhere behind the velvet curtains, Amaka watched from the shadows.
And somewhere deep inside him, Lanre wondered if the crown was worth the cost.