Chapter 7 – Whispers of Disapproval
The morning sun spilled through Amara's curtains, but instead of warmth, it carried the weight of unease. She had barely slept. Chike's words from the night before echoed in her mind, unsettling and tender all at once.
I'm not here to rush you… but I'm not going anywhere either.
She wanted to brush it off, but her heart refused to let it go.
Later that afternoon, her father, Chief Okeke, summoned her to the sitting room. He sat tall in his armchair, a presence as commanding as ever.
"Amara," he began, his voice heavy with authority, "I've been hearing things."
Her stomach tightened. "What kind of things?"
"That you've been seen around with a man. A young man who is… beneath you." His lips pressed thin. "Do you deny it?"
Amara clenched her fists. "His name is Chike. And no, I don't deny it. He's—"
"—a nobody!" her father thundered, cutting her off. "Does he come from a family of standing? Does he have wealth, land, businesses to his name? Amara, do not throw away your dignity for someone who cannot provide."
Her chest burned, anger sparking. "Why must everything be about money and status? Chike is kind. He's… real. Isn't that worth something?"
But Chief Okeke's face was like stone. "You are my only daughter. I will not watch you waste your future. Besides…" His tone softened, almost sly. "There is someone better suited for you."
Her heart sank. "Who?"
The front door opened, and in walked Ifeanyi — the man her father had always praised. Tall, polished, with the smug confidence of someone who believed the world owed him admiration.
"Ifeanyi has just returned from London," her father announced proudly. "He has big plans here. And he wishes to court you."
Ifeanyi smiled, his eyes scanning her like she was already his possession. "Amara. You look even more beautiful than I remembered."
Amara forced a polite smile, though her stomach churned.
Her father's words rang out like a verdict. "This is the kind of man you deserve."
But all she could think of was Chike's earnest smile across her dining table, the warmth in his voice, the vulnerability in his eyes.
When Ifeanyi reached for her hand, Amara pulled it back quickly. "Excuse me," she murmured, fleeing to her room before the tears betrayed her.
Behind closed doors, she pressed her palms against her eyes.
Her heart was no longer her own… but would she have the courage to fight for it?