Chapter 1
The first thing Amara noticed when she returned home was the silence.
It wasn't the peaceful kind.
It was the kind of silence that made every small sound feel too loud.
The crunch of gravel beneath her shoes.
The distant cry of a bird.
The rustling leaves of the mango tree beside the gate.
Everything felt strangely unfamiliar, even though she had spent most of her childhood in this house.
Amara stood beside the car and stared at the large white mansion in front of her.
Her father's house.
For several seconds, she couldn't move.
She had imagined coming back here many times.
She had imagined her father standing at the entrance, waiting for her with his usual serious expression.
She had imagined him complaining that she had taken too long to visit.
She had imagined everything except this.
Coming home to bury him.
“Amara.”
She turned.
Mama Ngozi stood a few steps behind her.
Her aunt looked tired. Her eyes were swollen from crying, and she held a black handbag tightly against her chest.
Amara swallowed.
“I still can't believe he's gone.”
Mama Ngozi walked toward her and pulled her into a hug.
Neither woman spoke for several seconds.
“He was waiting for you,” Mama Ngozi whispered.
Amara pulled away.
“What do you mean?”
Her aunt looked toward the house.
Then she looked away.
“Nothing.”
Amara frowned.
“Aunty, what do you mean he was waiting for me?”
“I said nothing, Amara.”
There was something strange about her voice.
Something she was hiding.
Before Amara could ask another question, Mama Ngozi took her hand.
“Come inside. You have had a long journey.”
Amara followed her.
The moment she stepped through the front door, memories came rushing back.
The old staircase.
The paintings her father had collected over the years.
The huge grandfather clock in the hallway.
The smell of polished wood.
Even the leather chair where her father used to sit every evening with his newspaper.
Amara stared at the empty chair.
Her chest tightened.
She quickly looked away.
“Your father's lawyer came earlier,” Mama Ngozi said.
“Why?”
“He said there are some things you need to know.”
Amara turned toward her.
“What things?”
“About your father's will.”
“I don't want anything.”
Mama Ngozi stopped walking.
“What?”
“I don't want his money. I don't want the house. I don't want anything.”
“Don't say that.”
“Why?”
“Because your father worked very hard for everything he left behind.”
Amara sighed.
“I just wanted my father.”
Her aunt's face softened.
“I know.”
That night, Amara couldn't sleep.
Rain tapped against the bedroom window.
She lay awake staring at the ceiling.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw her father's face.
Then she remembered something.
The lawyer.
He had mentioned that her father had left behind a personal letter specifically for her.
Amara sat up.
She switched on the bedside lamp.
Her father's belongings had been placed in an old wooden box.
She searched through it.
Photographs.
Documents.
A gold wristwatch.
An old family Bible.
Nothing.
Then she noticed a small envelope underneath the Bible.
Her name was written on it.
AMARA.
Her heart began beating faster.
She opened it.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
Her father's.
She unfolded the paper.
The first sentence made her hands tremble.
My dear Amara,
If you are reading this, then I am no longer alive.
She covered her mouth.
Tears filled her eyes.
She continued.
There are things about my life I never told you. Things I believed I could protect you from. I was wrong.
Amara wiped her eyes.
She read the next line.
Whatever you hear about my death, do not believe everything they tell you.
Her heart stopped.
“What?”
She read it again.
Then she continued.
There is someone you must never trust.
A cold feeling moved through her body.
She turned the page.
Only one name was written there.
DANIEL EZE.
Amara stared at it.
She had never heard the name before.
Who was Daniel Eze?
Why had her father warned her about him?
She continued reading.
Stay away from him, Amara.
Do not allow him into this house.
Do not accept anything from him.
Then came the final sentence.
And whatever happens, never marry him.
Amara's mouth fell open.
“What?”
A sound suddenly came from downstairs.
She froze.
Someone was in the house.
She quickly folded the letter and slipped it beneath her pillow.
Another sound.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Heavy.
Coming up the staircase.
Amara reached for her phone.
The footsteps stopped outside her bedroom.
Silence.
She stared at the door.
Then—
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
“Who is there?”
No answer.
Her fingers tightened around her phone.
“Who is there?”
The door handle moved.
Amara stepped backward.
The door opened slowly.
A man stood on the other side.
Tall.
Broad shoulders.
Dark suit.
His face was calm, but his eyes were impossible to read.
Amara had never seen him before.
Yet somehow, the moment she looked at him, she knew exactly who he was.
The man looked at her.
“My name is Daniel Eze.”
Amara's blood ran cold.
He stepped into the room.
“I came because your father asked me to protect you.”
Amara stared at him.
Then she remembered the letter beneath her pillow.
Do not trust him.
Daniel looked directly into her eyes.
And for the first time, Amara wondered whether her father had been trying to protect her from Daniel...
Or whether he had been trying to protect Daniel from her.
