Akosua
Accra never truly slept.
Even at 2:17 a.m., the city breathed—generators humming in distant compounds, cars slicing through the motorway, the Atlantic wind whispering secrets against glass towers. From the twenty-fourth floor of Agyeman Group Headquarters, the city lights scattered like restless stars.
Beautiful.
Relentless.
Unforgiving.
Just like the empire beneath my fingers.
My hands moved fast across the keyboard, faster than my tired thoughts. My eyes burned, my back ached, but my mind stayed sharp. Numbers rolled across the screen—profit margins, risk charts, expansion timelines, acquisition forecasts. One wrong digit could destroy everything.
Everything we had built.
I straightened and exhaled slowly.
Four cups of coffee sat abandoned beside me. Cold. Bitter. Forgotten. Like sleep. Like weekends. Like a life outside this building.
Success didn't wait.
Failure didn't care.
I had learned that early.
The glass door behind me opened quietly.
"You're still here."
The voice was deep. Controlled. Familiar enough to live under my skin.
I didn't turn.
"Someone has to be," I said calmly. "The Northern expansion projections had holes."
Prince Kofi Agyeman stepped into my space like he owned the air itself.
CEO. Billionaire. Heir to the Agyeman royal business dynasty. The man Accra worshipped on magazine covers and business panels.
The man whose empire I had rebuilt from the ground up.
He leaned against my desk, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, tie loose. Even tired, he looked powerful. Untouchable. Born to command rooms without raising his voice.
"You've reviewed those numbers three times already," he said, eyes scanning my screen. "The board approved the last version."
"They approved it because they didn't understand the risks," I replied. "I do."
Silence stretched between us.
Then he smiled faintly. "That's exactly why I trust you."
I looked up.
His gaze wasn't on the charts. It was on me.
Something twisted in my chest. I forced it down immediately.
"Trust doesn't protect empires," I said. "Preparation does."
He studied me for a moment longer than necessary. "You built this place like it was your own."
I stiffened.
That was the truth no one liked to say out loud.
Two years ago, Agyeman Group had been bleeding—bad investments, hidden enemies, internal betrayal. Kofi had inherited a throne already cracking. I had walked in quietly as a strategist.
And I rebuilt it.
Sleepless nights. Silent negotiations. Enemies dismantled before they realized I existed. Deals saved. Billions recovered.
Yet my name never appeared in headlines.
"I did my job," I said softly.
Kofi's phone buzzed. His jaw tightened briefly before the mask returned.
"Lunch tomorrow?" he asked casually.
I shook my head. "Deadlines."
"You always say that."
"That's why this empire still stands."
He didn't argue. He never did.
"Get some rest," he said instead. "Board meeting at nine."
"I'll be ready."
"I know."
And just like that, he left.
By morning, the boardroom was full—expensive suits, polished accents, power disguised as smiles. Men who spoke loudly. Women who listened carefully.
I presented calmly. Ruthlessly.
Every strategy. Every safety net. Every backup plan if things went wrong.
When Kofi stood to speak, he repeated my ideas as if they had always been his. His voice carried authority. His presence demanded obedience.
The board applauded him.
But when his eyes flicked briefly to me, I knew he knew the truth.
By noon, the deal was sealed.
Expansion approved.
Billions secured.
Success.
Yet I felt invisible.
Back in my office, I loosened my heels and leaned against the desk, closing my eyes for just one breath.
My phone vibrated.
East Wing. Immediately. —Q
My stomach dropped.
Queen Afia Agyeman.
Kofi's mother. The real power behind the throne. She never summoned without a reason. And she never explained herself.
I straightened my blazer and walked out.
The corridor was silent. Too silent. My heels echoed sharply against the marble floor. Each step felt heavier.
At the end of the hall, someone waited.
Not the Queen.
She was young. Beautiful. Regal in a way money could never imitate. Silk wrapped perfectly around her body. Chin lifted. Smile gentle—and sharp.
"Agoo," she said sweetly.
My heart skipped.
Princess Adjoa Owusu.
Royal blood. Old lineage. The kind of woman newspapers praised before she ever spoke.
"Akosua Mensah," she continued. "We haven't been formally introduced."
I forced a polite smile. "How can I help you?"
She stepped closer. "Prince Kofi will be marrying me."
The words struck like ice.
I didn't move. Didn't breathe.
"Soon," she added, eyes studying me carefully.
Something cracked inside my chest.
She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "When that happens… people like you fade away."
I took a step back.
That was when I saw him.
Kofi stood at the far end of the corridor, watching. Silent. Still. His face unreadable.
Our eyes met.
For the first time, I saw hesitation.
Calculation.
Fear.
"Akosua—" he began.
But the words never reached me.
All I could hear were the echoes of everything I had given. Every night. Every sacrifice. Every dream buried beneath this empire.
Could he erase me so easily?
I turned and walked away.
Back in my office, my hands trembled as I sat down. The glass walls felt colder now. The empire I built suddenly felt like a trap.
I had never feared failure.
But betrayal?
That was different.
I stood slowly.
If they thought I would disappear quietly, they didn't know me at all.
The door opened again.
Kofi stepped in, his confidence fractured, his voice low.
"We need to talk."
I looked at him—really looked.
And in that moment, I understood something terrifying.
This empire was no longer my sanctuary.
It was a battlefield.
And the war had just begun.