The days moved slowly inside the Okechukwu mansion, wrapped in silence and soft shadows.
Zaria was adjusting—at least on the outside. She woke early, joined the housekeeper in the kitchen when she felt restless, walked around the quiet garden in the evenings, and read borrowed novels from the small library tucked away on the third floor.
But inside, her mind was far from calm.
She had not seen Darius properly since the first night. He left early, returned late, and when they crossed paths at dinner once, their conversation was brief and polite. Like strangers waiting for different buses at the same stop.
It disturbed her. Not because she wanted his attention. But because his distance felt… intentional.
Like he was building a wall not just between them, but between himself and the child she carried.
And the more she thought about it, the more it gnawed at her.
---
One evening, after the house had grown quiet and the stars above Banana Island blinked peacefully in the sky, Zaria wandered into the study.
She hadn't meant to go snooping. But the door had been slightly open, and curiosity had a way of whispering too loudly.
The room was dimly lit, lined with shelves of books—business, economics, even classic African literature. But what caught her attention wasn't the books.
It was the photo frame on the desk.
She walked slowly toward it.
The picture was old. Slightly faded. It showed a younger Darius—probably in his mid-twenties—standing between a woman and a boy. The woman looked elegant, her features strong and graceful, and the boy beside her… he looked just like Darius, only smaller. Smiling brightly.
Zaria picked up the frame gently.
Before she could wonder too long, a voice behind her startled her.
"You shouldn't be in here."
She spun around.
Darius stood in the doorway, shirt sleeves rolled up again, his face unreadable.
"I—I'm sorry," Zaria said quickly, placing the photo down. "The door was open."
He stepped inside, walking past her to the window. For a moment, he said nothing. Just stared out at the garden below.
"That's my mother," he said finally.
Zaria turned toward him, sensing something shift in the room.
"She passed away five years ago. Cancer."
"I'm sorry," she said softly.
"She raised me alone. My father left when I was eight. Took another woman. Another life."
Zaria watched his shoulders tighten.
"She never remarried. Never complained. Just worked and worked until her body gave up. Everything I built… I built because she never had the chance to."
Zaria's voice was gentle. "And the boy? Your brother?"
He looked away. "David. My half-brother. Same father. Different mother. He's in the UK now. I send money. We don't talk much."
Zaria didn't know what to say. She hadn't expected this window into his life.
"I didn't grow up rich," Darius added, his voice a little lower. "I earned every kobo I have. People think it was handed to me, but it wasn't. I clawed my way here. With blood and sweat."
Zaria stepped closer. "Is that why you stay so closed off?"
His eyes snapped to hers. "I don't have the luxury of softness. Emotions get you killed in my world."
"And what about your child?" she asked, voice firmer now. "Will you stay distant from them too?"
A pause.
"I don't know how to be a father," he admitted. "I never had one worth learning from."
Zaria's heart clenched.
"But you have a chance to learn," she said. "This baby... it's not just a problem to solve. It's a life. A second chance."
He looked at her, something unreadable flickering in his eyes.
She held his gaze. Didn't flinch.
In that moment, something shifted between them. Not romantic. Not yet. But human.
Real.
---
That night, Zaria lay in bed and pressed a hand to her belly.
For the first time since stepping into the mansion, she didn't feel alone.
Not completely.