The city carried on, but inside Ifyoma, time stopped.
Back in the grand Adaku mansion, everything looked the same. Shiny floors. Expensive art. Glittering chandeliers. But it all felt empty.
Without her parents, without her brother, without Tunday, it was hollow.
Every meeting, every press conference, every headline calling her the Iron Heiress only made the silence inside grow deeper.
Every night, when she pulled off her heels and dropped onto her large bed, she replayed one memory over and over:
Tunday’s eyes the last time he looked at her—not angry, not hateful, just broken.
And that hurt more than politics or power ever could.
One evening in her office, she stared at the city lights. Her reflection in the glass looked ghostly.
Her aunt Chioma, who used to be cold toward her, had suddenly become proud of her. She recently told her, “You’re building an empire. Your father would be proud.”
Ifyoma had nodded.
But inside, she wondered, Would he be proud if he knew how empty I feel?
She missed Tunday—not because he made her feel rich, but because he made her feel real.
No matter how many buildings she owned, how many contracts she signed, or how many magazines carried her face, it meant nothing without someone to share it with. Someone who did not just want her, but truly saw her. Not the Adaku name—her.
Someone like Tunday.
And deep down, she knew he still did care. That love was still there, hidden beneath hurt and the walls they had built, waiting.
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