“Marry him or forget that you were ever part of this family” “So I’m just a pawn now?” “No zara,you are the price we pay for peace “ Zara Tunde had one dream: to model for the world’s biggest fashion houses and one day walk the runway in Paris. She was ready to chase that dream—until her father shattered everything with a single demand: marry Regan Kareem, the son of a man she despised, or lose everything, including her family. But Zara wasn’t going down without a fight. On one condition, she agreed: the marriage would last only one year. If love didn’t happen by the end of the year, they would walk away. No strings, no regrets. Regan Kareem, the enigmatic son of the powerful Chief Kareem, wasn’t looking for love either. He had his secrets—some dark, some dangerous. He saw the marriage as a means to an end, a way to fulfill family expectations and cover truths that could destroy his father’s empire. What started as cold tolerance slowly ignited into something neither expected. Beneath the mansion walls, deals were made, lies unraveled, and eyes watched from the shadows. When Zara begins to uncover a past linked to her own pain—the disappearance of her baby sister years ago—everything she thought she knew crumbles. In a world where loyalty is tested and betrayal hides behind perfect smiles, Zara must decide what matters more—revenge or love.u Because in this vow, someone’s not making it out unscathed.
View More“You know your father has made the decision. That’s final.”
Zara’s eyes widened in disbelief as her mother’s voice echoed through the living room, sharp and unwavering. “So nobody cares about me or my dreams? Not even my happiness?” Mrs. Tunde stood still, arms folded across her chest. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, like she was trying to stay calm, but the tension between them was too thick to ignore. “I don’t love Regan. I don’t even know him!” Zara burst out, voice trembling as she stood in the middle of the room, her fists clenched by her side. “You don’t need to know him or love him.” Mr. Tunde’s deep baritone cut through the air as he stepped into the living room. His expression was unreadable—cold, commanding, final. “All you need to know is that the marriage is happening. You, Zara Tunde, are going to be the wife of Regan Kareem.” Zara felt her chest tighten. Her legs wobbled beneath her. “You can’t do this to me,” she said, almost in a whisper. “We already have,” her father replied bluntly. “The Kareems have been our business partners for over two decades. This marriage is not just a union between two people, Zara. It is a merger. A consolidation of trust, legacy, and power.” Zara’s mother looked away, as if she didn’t want to witness the way her daughter’s spirit was being crushed. But she said nothing. That hurt Zara the most. “I’m not some pawn you can move around,” Zara snapped, trying to hold back the tears stinging her eyes. “I’m not an asset to trade!” “But you are,” her father replied without flinching. “As long as you bear my name, you are part of the business. And this is bigger than your childish dreams of catwalks and cameras.” Zara’s face dropped. Childish dreams? Was that what they thought of her? She stormed upstairs without another word, refusing to let them see the tears rolling down her cheeks. Her feet pounded against the steps, matching the thunderstorm inside her chest. Once inside her room, she slammed the door shut and collapsed onto her bed, letting the sobs take over. Minutes passed. The silence in her room was suffocating. The ticking clock on the wall mocked her helplessness with every second. She reached for her phone on the nightstand, wiping her face with the sleeve of her hoodie. When she unlocked the screen, a single notification lit up her world: “Congratulations! You’ve been selected as one of our top finalists. The final show will take place in a few months, and if successful, you will represent Nigeria in Paris as part of the Elite Global Runway program.” Zara screamed. Loud. It was a raw, uncontrollable burst of excitement. She shot up from the bed, staring at her phone in disbelief. Her hands trembled. Her tears had turned into laughter—relieved, giddy laughter. She clutched her phone to her chest. Her dream was real. Not just a fantasy she played over in her head. The biggest modeling opportunity she’d ever prayed for had come knocking. She was one of the finalists. She still had to compete in the final show, but this was more than hope—it was a door cracked open. Before she could bask in the joy, the door to her room flew open. “What is wrong with you?” her father’s voice boomed as he entered, frowning. Zara froze, phone still in her hand. His eyes landed on it, then narrowed. “What are you smiling at?” She swallowed, heart thumping in her chest. “They picked me,” she whispered. “Who picked you?” She held out the phone. “The modeling agency. I’ve been selected as one of the finalists. The final event is in a few months, and if I qualify, I’ll go to Paris.” Mr. Tunde’s eyes darkened. He stared at her like she had said the most ridiculous thing on earth. “You’re not going anywhere.” “Daddy, please—” “I said you’re not going!” His voice thundered. “Are you out of your mind? Do you think you’ll be parading your body around in front of strangers while my name is attached to yours?” Zara’s chest caved in. Her joy shattered, piece by piece. “I’ve worked for this,” she whispered. “I’ve worked so hard. You’ve never even asked me what I want.” “You’re not a child anymore, Zara. You need to stop dreaming and start accepting reality. And your reality is that you are marrying Regan Kareem in a few weeks.” “But—” “If you disobey me,” he interrupted coldly, “then I will disown you. Simple.” Zara’s throat went dry. The weight of his words crushed her. Her father turned around and left the room, leaving the door open behind him. Zara sat on her bed, phone still in her hand, but the light in her eyes had dimmed. The email still glowed on her screen, but it no longer brought comfort. This was the choice she had to make: chase her dream and lose her family, or give up everything she had worked for and marry a man she didn’t know. Her fists curled tighter around the phone. She refused to let it end like this.The atmosphere in the room was thick—like smoke that refused to clear. Silence clung to every surface. Imani sat on the edge of the armrest, clutching Amira like a lifeline. Chief Kareem stood by the window, his gaze hard and unreadable as he stared into the night. Regan paced, hands on his waist, fury still simmering beneath his skin. Zara sat quietly in the corner, her arms folded, expression unreadable.Then a knock.GATEKEEPER (O.S.)Sir… Dr. Hakeem is here.Everyone froze.CHIEF KAREEM (without turning)Let him in.Footsteps approached. And then—Dr. Hakeem entered, slightly hunched, nervous energy clinging to him like a second skin. He removed his cap and held it respectfully in both hands, his lips twitching as he tried to summon words that wouldn’t feel inadequate.He stopped just past the doorway, eyes scanning the room—landing last on Imani. Her eyes widened, lips parting slightly in panic.DR. HAKEEMGood evening… sir. Ma. Everyone.No one responded.CHIEF KAREEMTalk.The c
KAREEM MANSION – MAIN LOUNGE – EVENINGThe atmosphere inside the grand lounge was heavy—dense with betrayal, shame, and the slow boil of fury. The room, usually reserved for elite guests and formal gatherings, had transformed into a quiet courtroom. The chandeliers above glowed a warm gold, casting long shadows across the marbled floor. But the warmth was lost on everyone in the room.Imani stood in the center, visibly shaken, clutching Amira close to her chest. Her arms trembled, not from the weight of her child, but from the weight of what had finally caught up with her. Her once-glossy lips were now dry. Her eyes darted between faces—Zara’s icy silence, Regan’s barely contained rage, Chief Kareem’s unreadable but thunderous calm.Chief Kareem paced slowly before her, one hand clasped behind his back, the other occasionally stroking the silver in his beard. He had not said a word in minutes, and that silence—the way it stretched—was far more frightening than any shouted curse.Final
NATHAN’S APARTMENT – NIGHTThe hum of the ceiling fan circled through the room like the ticking of a quiet clock. Nathan sat cross-legged on the floor, files and devices sprawled out in front of him—an open laptop, two phones, a small stack of printed documents. A single dim lamp cast a golden glow over the table beside him.He stared ahead in silence for a long moment, jaw clenched, then reached forward and pulled a manila envelope closer.FLASHBACK: INT. DR. HAKEEM’S OFFICE – MONTHS AGOThe office was cool, sterile, polished . Certificates lined the walls. Dr. Hakeem sat behind his desk, his fingers steepled nervously as Imani sat across from him, legs crossed, her voice low and sharp.IMANII don’t care how you do it. The results must say Regan Kareem is the father.DR. HAKEEMYou realize the legal implications of falsifying paternity—IMANI(slicing in)You realize the financial implications of losing the Kareem family’s goodwill?Dr. Hakeem swallowed hard. He tapped the desk ligh
LUXURY LAW FIRM OFFICE – DAYThe office was elegant and understated—glass walls, fine wood finishes, the faint scent of leather and ink. Rain tapped lightly against the tall windows overlooking the city skyline.Nathan sat opposite a suited man in his late forties—MR. AKINDE, calm and experienced, flipping through a printed document on crisp legal paper.MR. AKINDE(reading aloud)“…and hereby, both parents shall retain legal custody, with Amira Nathan Agozie,residing with her father for forty percent of each month and with her mother for sixty, pending reassessment in twelve months…”Nathan nodded slowly, fingers steepled under his chin.NATHANI don’t want to take her child away. I just want it documented. Protected. Amira deserves stability. Something her mother clearly can’t provide right now.MR. AKINDE(looking over his glasses)Then we keep it simple and focused. This isn’t about revenge. It’s about structure. The court won’t entertain character assassinations. But they’ll resp
SHOOT VENUE – LATERThe afternoon sun bathed the shoot location in warm amber light. A gentle breeze swayed the white drapes set up around the open-air venue, fluttering like silk against the backdrop of city sounds muffled in the distance. The once buzzing set was now winding down—lights being dimmed, props being gently packed, and makeup artists wiping down their kits.Zara stood near the center of the set, still glowing with the calm pride of a job well done. Her last outfit—a soft ivory silk gown that framed her baby bump with understated elegance—clung gently to her form as she sipped from a bottle of water, talking with the lead photographer and glancing over at Kemi, who stood off to the side reviewing photos on her tablet.Then, the soft purr of a familiar engine cut through the background noise.A sleek black car pulled in quietly through the side gate of the venue. Heads turned. Conversation slowed. Some of the crew looked on with curiosity, others with familiarity. But Zara
BACK AT THE KAREEM’S MANSION—REGAN’S ROOM – SAME TIMEThe room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn just enough to dull the sharpness of the midday sun. A soft mechanical hum from the ceiling fan turned overhead, blending into the quiet, almost meditative stillness.Regan lay sprawled on the bed, one arm flung over his forehead, his temples still pulsing with a dull ache. His shirt clung to his back slightly—heat and unease rising in waves. The remnants of his coffee cup sat on the nightstand, untouched since Zara left.A knock broke through the stillness—soft, measured, almost rehearsed.He blinked against the haze behind his eyes, dragged himself upright, and crossed the room. With a weary sigh, he unlocked the door and opened it.There she stood.Imani.Draped in a silk robe the color of dried rose petals, her dark eyes scanned him not with concern, but with something heavier—something dangerous and deliberate. She stepped forward before he could speak, brushing past him into the room
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