PART 2 — “THE POOR FARMER ARRIVED WEARING DUSTY SANDALS… BUT THE MOMENT MR. BELLO SAW HIM, HE STOOD UP IN FEAR.”
The knife trembled violently in Kemi’s hand.
Mr. Obiora’s breathing became shallow.
“Put it down,” he said weakly.
“No!” Kemi screamed. “You want to ruin my life for HER!”
She pointed the blade toward Chika with pure hatred burning in her eyes.
“She can’t even give a man children!”
The words hit like a slap.
Chika lowered her face immediately, humiliation flooding her chest.
But before she could speak, Mr. Obiora’s voice thundered through the room for the first time in years.
“Enough!”
Everyone froze.
Tears filled the old man’s eyes.
“You think wealth is everything because your mother protected you too much,” he whispered painfully. “But one day, pride will bring you to your knees.”
Kemi laughed bitterly.
“Easy for you to say when you’re handing your favorite daughter the rich husband.”
Chika immediately shook her head.
“Daddy… let her have him.”
Both of them turned toward her.
“I don’t want anyone forced into marriage because of me.”
Kemi’s expression shifted instantly.
Victory.
Cruel, satisfied victory.
But Chika continued softly:
“I’ll marry the village farmer.”
Silence swallowed the room.
Mr. Obiora looked heartbroken.
“Chika…”
She forced a small smile despite the pain crushing her chest.
“Mom made those promises for a reason. Let me keep one of them.”
Kemi lowered the knife slowly, relief flooding her face.
Then she laughed.
Actually laughed.
“You’re finally useful.”
Chika said nothing.
Because some wounds become too deep for tears.
—
Three weeks later, the compound buzzed with wedding preparations.
Kemi transformed into a queen overnight.
Designer fabrics.
Expensive makeup artists.
Luxury cars arriving daily from Lagos.
The Bello family was one of the wealthiest families in Abuja, and Kemi made sure everyone in town knew she was about to become Mrs. Kemi Bello.
Meanwhile, whispers followed Chika everywhere.
“The poor sister.”
“The barren one.”
“The one marrying a farmer.”
Even relatives pitied her openly.
One aunt pulled her aside during the engagement ceremony and whispered:
“At least village men don’t expect much.”
Chika only smiled politely.
Inside, she felt numb.
Because the truth was…
she had stopped dreaming about happiness a long time ago.
—
The morning her future husband finally arrived, rain clouds gathered heavily over the village roads.
Everyone expected embarrassment.
Especially Kemi.
She stood beside the gate wearing gold jewelry and a mocking smile.
“I hope your farmer at least owns shoes,” she sneered.
Then the vehicle appeared.
Not a luxury convoy.
Not security escorts.
Just one dusty old pickup truck rattling slowly into the compound.
Kemi burst into laughter immediately.
“Oh my God,” she gasped. “He actually came in THAT?”
The truck stopped.
And a man stepped out.
Tall.
Broad shoulders.
Simple dark clothes.
Dust-covered sandals.
No jewelry.
No designer watch.
Nothing flashy.
He looked calm in a way that almost felt dangerous.
His name was Malik.
And the moment Chika saw his eyes…
something inside her paused.
Because there was no shame in him.
No insecurity.
No desperation.
Just quiet control.
Kemi looked delighted.
“This is perfect,” she whispered cruelly. “You actually belong together.”
Then another vehicle arrived behind Malik’s truck.
A black Rolls-Royce.
The entire compound fell silent.
Kemi frowned.
Mr. Obiora slowly stood from his chair.
And when the driver stepped out to open the rear door…
even the servants stopped breathing.
Tunde Bello himself emerged from the luxury car.
Young.
Handsome.
Powerful.
