Morning light crept into the penthouse like a soft whisper, gold laced with tension. Amaka was already dressed in a sharp olive suit, her natural curls pinned up, eyes steeled behind dark eyeliner.
Today was the panel. Her debut as more than a background fixture. A calculated, strategic power move.
But her heart wasn't steady.
Not after the message from SovereignZero.
She hadn't told Obinna about the comment. She needed to be sure first. About what it meant. About who Kenan really was… and why her name was involved.
She pulled out her laptop, fingers flying.
Kenan Okoye.
Years ago, he was Obinna's co-founder in a startup that was swept under the rug: Zenetek — a data analytics company that went silent after a mysterious crash and financial scandal. She remembered the name now, buried in the many articles she'd skimmed while prepping Obinna's calendar early in her employment.
She dug deeper.
Zenetek was funded by a micro-loan from a private donor named… Ifeoma Chinyere.
Her eyes froze.
Ifeoma.
Her mother's name.
No.
She clicked.
The document loaded — a copy of a business grant agreement signed 11 years ago by an Ifeoma C. Obi, who lived in Enugu at the time. The photo on the application was pixelated, but unmistakable.
Her mother. Years younger. Wearing the same coral necklace she wore during Amaka's graduation.
Why had her mother funded Obinna's first company?
And why had she never said a word?
At the conference center, Obinna stood in a private wing, adjusting the cuffs of his white senator suit. He looked regal, collected. But his eyes scanned the crowd like a general surveying a battlefield.
Kunle approached. "Security's tight. No flagged devices. No unregistered drones. But there's chatter."
"Go on."
"Someone is trying to submit forged documents to local blogs—claims about a financial tie between your office and one Ifeoma Obi."
Obinna stiffened.
His eyes narrowed.
"They're reaching now," he muttered.
"Except… that name does mean something to you," Kunle said carefully. "Doesn't it?"
Obinna looked away, jaw tight.
"Ifeoma Obi was a friend. Once. Before all this. She helped when no one else would."
Kunle tilted his head. "A friend? Or something more?"
Obinna didn't answer.
Didn't have to.
Onstage, Amaka sat beneath a glowing banner that read:
"WOMEN IN POWER: INNOVATION & RISING LEADERSHIP"
Next to her were three seasoned executives. But all eyes were on her.
She spoke with poise. Clear. Passionate. Visionary.
"…so we stop treating female assistants like glorified clerks and start training them as the next generation of boardroom leaders."
Applause rippled through the hall. She smiled.
But as the cameras flashed and the moderator beamed, someone in the back row slipped a file to a blogger.
Within seconds, her phone buzzed in her lap.
She glanced down — a link from an unknown sender.
"You should know who you really are before the next question."
She clicked.
A blog post had gone live. It was titled:
"The Hidden Bloodline Between Amaka Ifeoma and Echelon CEO: A Scandal Born in Shadows."
The article claimed that Amaka's mother had once been romantically involved with Obinna Nwosu and had helped fund his early business ventures — implying that Amaka herself was planted years later to repay a personal debt.
A pawn. A daughter of a mistress. A scandal dressed in elegance.
Her throat tightened. She forced her face to remain neutral.
But her hands began to shake.
Across the room, Obinna entered the hall and saw the look in her eyes.
He didn't need to read the article.
He already knew.
After the panel, Amaka slipped into the green room, her head pounding.
Obinna followed, closing the door behind them.
"Amaka," he began.
She turned to him, eyes burning. "You knew."
He didn't deny it.
"She helped me when I had nothing. I promised I'd protect her daughter if I ever made it."
"So that's all this is?" Her voice cracked. "A promise?"
"No." He stepped forward. "I didn't know you were her daughter until I saw you in the interview room that first day. I saw her in your face. I panicked."
She blinked rapidly, her lips trembling.
"You should've told me," she said.
"I thought if I told you, you'd think all of this… everything between us… wasn't real."
"Was it?" she asked. "Or was I just a debt you repaid with power and kisses?"
He flinched.
"I fell for you, Amaka. Long before I realized who you were. And when I did find out, I kept it from you because I was afraid. Not for me — for you. You deserve more than to be known as my legacy's footnote."
She shook her head slowly.
"This changes everything."
"No," he said quietly. "This explains everything. But it doesn't change what we've built."
She stepped back. "I need space."
"I'll give you anything," he whispered. "Except distance."
But she had already walked out the door.
Outside the conference center, a man in a ballcap filmed her departure from a parked car.
He spoke into a Bluetooth mic.
"She doesn't trust him anymore. The crack is open."
A voice responded from the other end.
"Good. Start Phase Four."
The man looked into the camera.
"She's alone now. We move tonight."