The "Zambia-China Mineral Cooperation Gala" was not a party. It was a battlefield where the weapons were champagne flutes and the armor was silk.
"Keep your head up," Mwansa muttered as we stepped out of the Maybach. The flashes of a dozen cameras blinded me instantly. "Smile like you've never seen a bill you couldn't pay."
"I'm an economist, Mwansa. I'm smiling because I'm calculating the opportunity cost of being here instead of in my pajamas," I whispered back, my teeth gritted in a perfect, pageant-ready beam.
I was wearing a floor-length emerald gown that clung to every curve. It was the color of money and envy. Around my neck sat the "Tembo Emerald," a stone so large it felt like I was carrying a small green brick.
The ballroom of the Mulungushi International Conference Centre was packed with the "One Percent." Ministers in safari suits, Chinese investors in sharp navy, and the "Lusaka It-Girls" who looked at me like I was a glitch in the matrix.
"So, this is the 'Girl from the Compounds' we've heard so much about," a voice purred behind us.
We turned. Standing there was **Lombe Kapiri**. She was tall, skin the color of dark honey, and dressed in a white jumpsuit that screamed *Vogue*. She was Mwansa's ex-fiancée and the lead counsel for his biggest rival, African Power Grid.
"Lombe," Mwansa said, his voice dropping an octave into "Corporate Defense" mode. "I didn't know you were on the guest list."
"I'm on every list that matters, Mwansa. You know that." Lombe turned her gaze to me, her eyes scanning my face like she was looking for a crack in the foundation. "And you must be Chileshe. I must say, the PR team did a wonderful job. You almost look like you belong here."
The air around us turned freezing. Mwansa's grip on my waist tightened—not in affection, but in warning.
"I don't need a PR team to belong, Lombe," I said, tilting my head. "I have a degree in Economics. I understand the value of things. For example, I understand that your jumpsuit is last season's Paris collection, but your attitude is very much 'Old Lusaka'—outdated and screaming for attention."
A soft *gasp* went up from the small circle of socialites eavesdropping. Mwansa looked at me, his eyebrows nearly reaching his hairline.
Lombe's smile didn't falter, but her eyes turned murderous. "Sharp. I see why he picked you. But tell me, dear, when the two-year 'strategic partnership' ends, do you have a plan? Or are you just hoping the severance package is better than your father's?"
The mention of my father hit me like a physical blow. The room felt smaller. The diamonds felt heavier.
Mwansa stepped forward, his shadow falling over Lombe. "That's enough, Lombe. My wife's family is not a topic for your entertainment."
"Wife," Lombe laughed, a cold, tinkling sound. "Is that what we're calling her? I've seen the way you two look at each other. There's more chemistry in a glass of tap water. Be careful, Mwansa. If the government realizes this marriage is as hollow as your empty mines, that mining license you're chasing will disappear faster than the Kwacha's value."
She winked at me and sauntered away.
I felt like I was suffocating. I pulled away from Mwansa's arm. "I need air."
"Chileshe, wait—"
I ignored him, pushing through the heavy glass doors onto the balcony. The night air was cool, smelling of rain and charcoal smoke from the distant townships. It was the only real thing in this building.
I leaned against the railing, my hands shaking.
"She was right," I said to the darkness.
Mwansa stepped onto the balcony, closing the door behind him to shut out the music. "She's a shark, Chileshe. She's paid to find blood in the water."
"No, she was right about us," I turned to him, the emeralds on my neck catching the dim light. "We are a hollow mine. We're standing here in clothes we don't own, in a life we didn't build, pretending we don't hate the system that brought us together. How long can we do this before we forget who we actually are?"
Mwansa walked over, standing beside me but not touching me. He looked out at the city lights—the same lights I had watched from the back of a minibus just weeks ago.
"I haven't forgotten who I am," he said quietly. "I'm the man who did what he had to do to survive. And right now, surviving means keeping you by my side."
"Is that all I am? A survival tactic?"
He didn't answer immediately. He reached out, his fingers hovering just inches from my cheek before he pulled back.
"You're the only person in that room who didn't lie to me tonight," he said. "That makes you the most valuable thing I own. And the most dangerous."
Suddenly, the balcony doors burst open. It was Mwansa's assistant, looking pale.
"Sir? You need to see this. There's a protest forming at the South Gate. It's the former employees. They're calling for you... and they're calling for the 'People's Bride' to come out and speak."
I looked at Mwansa. He looked at me. The lie was officially crashing into the truth.
---