The rain had barely stopped when the letter arrived.
A sleek white envelope, gold-trimmed and thick with the kind of expensive paper that only came from overseas. It was slipped under Zaria's door early that morning, and when she picked it up, her hands trembled before she even opened it.
University of Cape Town — the letterhead was bold, official, and terrifying.
Darius walked in seconds later, still buttoning his shirt. "What's that?"
Zaria didn't speak.
She unfolded the paper, eyes scanning quickly. Then she stopped breathing.
"Zaria?" he stepped closer.
Her voice came out in a whisper. "They've suspended the scholarship."
Darius froze. "What?"
"They cited 'reputational concerns'. Apparently, the foundation that funds it doesn't want to be associated with scandal. With me. With… this." She motioned to her bump.
She sat on the edge of the bed, as if her knees couldn't hold her weight anymore. "They said I can appeal, but the odds are slim."
Darius cursed under his breath. "That's ridiculous. You earned that scholarship. You're the top of your class. You've done nothing wrong."
Zaria laughed bitterly. "To them, I'm the girl who got knocked up by a billionaire and started living in his mansion. That's not the image they want to promote."
"I'll make a call—"
"No," she said sharply. "No backdoor favours."
He hesitated. "I'm not trying to fix it for you. I just want to help."
She stood and paced, her voice raw. "It's more than just the degree, Darius. That scholarship—it was the last piece of my mother's dream. She wanted me to travel, to rise, to stand on my own feet. And now…"
Her voice cracked.
He stepped closer, gently reaching for her hand. "Zaria. You have stood on your own feet. You've survived more than most people ever will. Carrying this child doesn't erase your ambition. It doesn't cancel your worth."
She looked at him, tears glistening. "But it changes everything."
He nodded. "Yes. It does. And that's not always a bad thing."
By noon, the house was quiet.
Zaria sat on the balcony overlooking the garden, thinking.
Of her mother's sacrifices.
Of the long nights in crowded hostels.
Of how much she'd wanted freedom. Independence.
Now she had safety. Wealth. A growing child. A man who, for all his faults, showed up more than he ever promised to.
But at what cost?
Was she giving up the version of herself she'd worked so hard to become?
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Madam Yejide's soft slippers approaching.
The older woman sat beside her with a gentle sigh, balancing a tray of bitterleaf soup and warm water.
"I heard about the scholarship," she said gently.
Zaria nodded.
Madam Yejide looked at her for a long time, then asked, "Do you want the truth?"
Zaria blinked. "Always."
"You can't live two lives at once, my dear. Not fully. You have to choose which one matters more. The dream of a girl who once needed to prove herself to the world… or the woman you are now, standing on the edge of something new."
Zaria's chest tightened. "But why do I have to choose at all?"
"You don't," the older woman said. "You only have to decide what matters most now."
Zaria swallowed, staring out at the garden.
She felt the baby flutter inside her. Like it was gently knocking to remind her it was still there. Still real.
Still counting on her.
That night, Darius found her in the study.
She handed him her phone.
"I wrote the appeal."
He scanned it. Honest. Firm. Passionate.
"You want me to send it to my lawyers?"
"No," she said. "I've already sent it."
Then she looked up. "But I also want to start looking at options here. Online degrees. Business schools in Nigeria. Maybe I can finish the program locally. Build something new."
He smiled faintly. "You're incredible, you know that?"
She chuckled. "I'm hormonal and tired."
"You're both. But still incredible."
Then he hesitated, stepping closer.
"I've been thinking about something too," he said.
She raised an eyebrow.
"I want to set up a foundation. For young women. Scholarships. Mentorship. Legal support for girls kicked out of school because of pregnancy."
Zaria's eyes widened. "You do?"
"Yes. And I want you to run it."
She stared. "Me?"
"Who better? You are the reason for it. You know what it feels like to lose your dream. But you're also the reason I believe women like you can build something better."
Zaria's heart pounded.
She didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she smiled.
A quiet, deep smile that didn't belong to a girl unsure of herself anymore—but to a woman shaping her future, her way.