CHAPTER 80The subject line was strange,just a crown emoji and a question mark. Sophia hovered over it, breath caught somewhere in her throat. She clicked.International Peace Prize Nomination ,Confirmation & Media BriefShe blinked, once, then again. Read it a third time just to be sure.They were serious.One of the world’s most revered recognitions for impact, justice, and reform—and her name was on the list. They were honoring The Fire We Share, her policies, her cross-border healing work, the noise she had dared to make for those forced into silence.They wanted a bio. A headshot. A video message. By Friday.Clara screamed into a cushion so loud the next office heard it. Ralia danced across the room like she'd won a lottery. Owen sent a string of fireworks emojis and a single voice note: “You did this. You.”Sophia smiled. “We did.” Her voice was barely a whisper.But before she could even enjoy the glow of that moment, her phone buzzed again.A new message. No contact name. Just
CHAPTER 79Sophia hadn’t braced for the sting that came with that letter.It slipped in silently, an unmarked white envelope slid beneath her office door—quiet as a shadow, anonymous, like a whisper from a ghost. Her assistant laughed, thinking it was a love note or another glowing letter from one of her admirers. It wasn’t. It was a knife disguised in paper.Inside: a name. One that hadn’t crossed her lips in decades.David Chukwuma.Her father.The phantom who vanished when she was only six years old.No goodbyes. No phone calls. Just a void. A man-shaped hole in her childhood that no success could ever fill. He hadn’t just disappeared—he had erased himself. And now, suddenly, this?“You’ve become quite the public figure, Sophia. We’ve been watching.But the past doesn’t stay buried forever.Let’s meet. There’s… family that wants to talk to you.”She didn’t finish reading. The letter trembled in her hands before falling to the floor like something rotten. The name alone was acid in
Chapter 78: The Grave of Truth The wind howled low through brittle trees, carrying with it the scent of red dust and long-forgotten sorrow as Sophia stepped onto the scorched earth of the graveyard in Zaria.It had taken her nearly a lifetime to get here.Years blurred into memories,years spent whispering Mariam’s name like a sacred vow, forging sanctuaries from shadows, raising voices from the silence, lighting torches in the darkness for girls who’d been buried alive in silence and shame. Sophia had built an entire world on grief and justice. But never had she stood before the grave that started it all.Until now.Clara had offered to come. So had Ralia. But this wasn’t a journey she could share. This was a pilgrimage meant for one heart alone.She moved slowly past rows of sun-bleached tombstones, through a maze of unmarked graves, forgotten names, and splintered wooden crosses. The silence here was suffocating—too loud for comfort, too sacred to break.And then she saw it.Mariam
Sophia’s phone buzzed just as she stepped out of a suffocating policy briefing—three straight hours of legislative knots and legalese that still rang in her ears.She glanced at the screen.Liam.Again.Her thumb hovered over the decline button.But something—instinct, intuition, history—made her pause.She stepped into an empty hallway and answered.“Liam?”His voice was taut. Clipped. Urgent.“I didn’t want to call. But I didn’t know who else I could trust with this.”A chill rippled through her.“What’s going on?”Silence.Then:“My company is under investigation. Bribery. Forged contracts. Federal kickbacks.”Her pulse stuttered.“And why are you calling me?”Another beat of silence.“Because they’re trying to drag you into it.”Thirty minutes later, they met at a quiet lounge in Maitama. The shadows were low and the tension high.Liam looked nothing like the polished heir to an empire. His shirt was wrinkled, his drink untouched, his face drawn.“They’re saying you approved one o
The morning hadn’t even stretched into full daylight when Clara burst into Sophia’s office, phone in hand, face carved with worry.“You need to see this,” she said, placing the screen gently but urgently on Sophia’s desk.The headline pulsed at the top of a national blog:“Former Billionaire’s Mother Breaks Silence: ‘Sophia George Is a Threat to Stability’”Sophia’s eyes narrowed. Her fingers stiffened around the ceramic mug.Below it played a video of Camilla Hart,Liam’s mother. Poised. Perfectly coiffed in her signature bun and pearl necklace. But her words were sharp enough to cut steel.“She hides behind a cause,” Camilla said with a measured sneer. “But underneath it is a bitter, emotionally unstable woman who tried to destroy my son’s life. She doesn’t belong in government. She belongs in therapy.”Sophia didn’t flinch.But inside,something cracked.This wasn’t just character assassination.It was psychological warfare.By midday, the video had saturated the internet.TikTok edi
The marble gleamed like a warning beneath Sophia’s heels.Each step echoed with history, weight, and the echo of promises yet unkept.She walked the corridor of the Ministry of Women and Child Welfare as if stepping onto sacred ground.Flashbulbs had exploded at the gates when she arrived.Her name was already printed on the office plaque in clean serif gold.A sleek desk. A spotless press schedule. A title now etched into state records.But power didn’t wait politely.Before she could even sit, her assistant burst in.“Ma—there’s someone here. A girl. She says she must see you.”Sophia looked up. “No appointment?”“She came alone. Crying. Security tried to send her away, but she refused to leave. Said it’s urgent.”Sophia’s pulse quickened.“Bring her in.”She entered like smoke—small, trembling, but impossible to ignore.Seventeen, maybe.Dark skin. Thin frame.Hijab unraveling around her neck like the last thread of control.“My name is Mariam,” she said, her voice catching. “From