DURU'S HOUSE
''Sister Amara, Sister Amara!''
The knocking on the door grew louder, more insistent, like someone hammering away at her skull. Amara stirred in her bed, the sheets twisted around her legs from a restless night. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, heavy with sleep, and for a moment, she just lay there, staring at the smooth ceiling of the guest room.
The knocks came again, sharper this time. Groaning, she swung her feet to the floor, the cool tiles sending a shiver up her spine. She padded to the door, rubbing her eyes, and cracked it open. It was Duru, and he was standing there with a face like thunder. His eyes were red-rimmed, and his jaw set tight.
''Sister Amara, can you come downstairs, please? We need to talk.'' The way he said it hit her like a splash of cold water, snapping her fully awake. Her heart skipped.
''Is anything the matter?'' she asked, a flicker of fear creeping into her voice.
''Please, just dress up and join us downstairs.'' He didn't elaborate, just turned on his heel and walked away, ignoring her as she called after him,
''Duru? Duru, wait!'' Anxiety twisted in her gut like a knot. What could this be about? She hurried back inside, throwing on a loose blouse and skirt, brushing her teeth in a rush, her mind racing. Had something happened to Mama? Or was it about her staying here too long? By the time she made it downstairs, her palms were sweaty. They were in the living room—Duru and his wife, Kaira, sitting stiffly on the couch. The air felt thick, charged with unspoken tension. Amara slipped into an armchair quietly, trying to read their faces.
''Hope everything is okay? Why are you two just sitting here like statues?'' Duru leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his voice steady but edged with frustration.
''Sister Amara, I've spoken with Mama about your situation, an—''
''Urgh!, Brother Duru! I told you not to tell Mama anything, at least not yet!'' She leapt from her seat, her voice rising sharp and accusatory, cutting him off mid-sentence.
He ignored the interruption, his expression unchanging, serious as stone.
''Look, I don't think keeping Mama in the dark is the solution. We need to understand what's really going on between you and... well, everything, to find a way forward. Besides, ever since you've been living with us, you've barely lifted a finger. You're always in bed, you don't clean up after yourself, and you do absolutely nothing around here. We're not asking for the world. No matter what's going on, you're still a guest in this house—with me and my wife. She's handling all the cleaning, all the chores, by herself. But you don't help at all. Okay, fine, forget the housework. You're disrespectful to Kaira, and you're not even trying to help yourself—find a job, do something to stay busy. All you do is hole up in that room, eat, sleep, and watch TV. It's not healthy. You don't even step out for a walk in the neighbourhood, meet people, make friends, or get some exercise.''
Amara's eyes welled up, tears stinging as betrayal hit her hard.
''Brother, are you tired of having me in your house? Is that it? Are you already fed up with me and want me gone?'' Her voice cracked. This wasn't the Duru she knew—the indulgent little brother who'd always spoiled her. He felt so distant now, like a stranger, and it terrified her.
''That's not the issue, and you're missing the point entirely,'' Duru said, his tone softening just a touch, but his eyes still firm.
''Sis, you used to be so full of life—vibrant, outgoing. Now, you're like a shadow of yourself, repeating the same routine day in, day out. You've given up on everything, not keeping busy at all. This is terrible for your mental health, and we're all worried sick. Especially Mama. She thinks you're leaning on us too much, forgetting that you need to build your own life, gain some independence-.''
''Brother, first you scold me, call me lazy, accuse me of disrespecting your wife. Now you've gone behind my back to Mama, and suddenly you're all "worried" about me? You just want me out on the streets hunting for a husband so I can get out of your hair, right?''
She was shouting now, chest heaving, breaths coming in short, angry bursts. Kaira had been silent up to this point, sitting with her arms crossed, her face a mask of disbelief at the outburst. She caught Amara shooting her the nastiest glare, full of venom, but chose to ignore it—for now. There'd always been this undercurrent of discomfort since Amara moved in, like she was trying to play queen of the castle, treating Kaira like some intruder. But then Amara whirled on her.
''You! This is all your fault. You're trying to drive a wedge between me and my brother!'' That did it. Kaira wasn't about to sit there and take it. She'd put up with enough—Amara acting like the lady of the manor, trying to boss her around in her own home. No more. She shot to her feet, eyes blazing, facing Amara down with a look that could cut glass.
''Look here, I don't know how things went down with your brother's ex-wife or what kind of doormat she was, but let me make this crystal clear: I'm not her. I married Duru legally, in a church, with vows and everything. This is my home. So you either play by my rules or you pack your bags and go. I'm not your live-in maid to clean up your messes and wait on you hand and foot. As the oldest adult here, you should know better without needing it spelt out like you're a child.'' Amara's mouth fell open in shock, her face flushing red.
''Brother, are you just going to sit there and let her insult me like this?''
She turned to Kaira with fury in her eyes
''And why drag that wicked woman into it?''
''Wicked?'' Kaira let out a sharp, sarcastic snicker, the word hanging in the air like a challenge.
She didn't elaborate, but the implication was clear. Living with Amara had given her a pretty good idea of what Duru's first wife must have endured—constant belittling, mistreatment and manipulation. Kaira hadn't dug into the past; it wasn't her place. But with Amara's behaviour sending her to her wits' end these past weeks? It was pretty clear she was used to being this way.
Fuming, Kaira turned to Duru, shooting him a glance.
''Handle this.''
And with that, She stormed upstairs, grabbed her bag from the bedroom—the leather strap cool against her heated skin—and marched out the front door, slamming it behind her. The echo reverberated through the house. Amara turned back to Duru, a look of unbelieve twisting her features. She shook her head, grabbing his arm desperately.
''You're not going to kick me out, right?'' Her voice trembled, breaking on the words as she slid to sit next to him
''Right?'' She shook him harder, but his face was a mask of worry, eyes averted. He couldn't even meet her gaze, which only fuelled her panic. She was spiralling, emotions crashing over her like waves.
''D, please, look at me! Are you really going to throw me out?'' Her voice cracked like dry wood snapping. Tears smeared her cheeks. He still wouldn't look at her.
In a frenzy, she grabbed his face, forcing him to face her. He tried to pull away, but she held firm. Without thinking, driven by a raw, desperate urge, she crushed her lips against his. It was cold, primal, fueled by a hunger she couldn't contain. Duru froze, eyes wide in shock, his body rigid for those first agonising seconds. When reality hit, he shoved at her, but she pressed in harder, pinning him with surprising strength. Their teeth clashed, tongues battling in a messy, aggressive tangle. Duru pushed back, trying to break free
"Amara! Stop!"
He tried, but her hands roamed wildly—deliberate, claiming, sliding down to grab his member through his pants. The air filled with her ragged breaths.
Finally, with a violent shove, he heaved her off, sending her tumbling to the floor. He scrambled up from the sofa, backing away, his face a mix of bewilderment, disgust, and weariness. Amara rose, lunging at him again, but he dodged.
''Stay back...'' H e warned, his voice low, shaky, and laced with revulsion. The realisation dawned on her then. She sank to the floor, her expression shifted from manic desperation to one of hollow regret before it hardened again. But Duru was reeling, wiping his mouth furiously until his lips turned raw and red.
''You... sis... what did you just do?'' He stammered, retreating further, his back hitting the wall. Amara slowly staggered up to her feet, wiping her eyes, taking a deep breath. She met his gaze head-on, sitting back on the sofa with a shameless poise, any trace of regret gone.
''I've always been in love with you.'' Duru's face contorted in disbelief, disgust twisting his features.
"You're insane," he snapped, horror in his voice.
"You're my sister. My sister!"
She laughed, a bitter sound.
''Oh, come on, don't act like you never suspected it.'' He shook his head vehemently.
''But you're my sister. Why the fuck are you doing this?'' It was the first time he'd sworn at her like that, raw and unfiltered, and oddly, she relished it—this unhinged side of him.
''Sister?'' She scoffed, rolling her eyes.
''I'm not your sister. We're not biologically related.'' It felt like ice water doused over him. His mind reeled—how could that be? She was family, blood or not. This was wrong, twisted.
''You've gone crazy. How can you say that?'' She calmly pulled out her phone, unlocked it and opened a file before sliding it across the coffee table.
''See for yourself.'' He hesitated, then snatched it up, eyes scanning the opened file. He gasped
''… this… this a DNA result…"
His breath caught in his throat, and his eyes grew big, the shock widening them.
''But how? Why does this say...?''
''Because it's the truth, stupid. That's why Mama's been trying to keep us apart. She knows I've always loved you.''
Duru's knees nearly gave way. His world tilted.
"You've lost your mind," he whispered
"No," She advanced again, backing him against the wall.
Her face inches from his, she inhaled deeply, eyes fluttering shut as she let his scent fill her.
''You have no idea how long I've held back, repeating to myself that we're siblings. But I couldn't stop. You're in my head, always.''
Her hands pressed to his chest, breathing ragged. He squirmed, but she unbuttoned her top, grabbing his hand and forcing it to her bare breast. She moaned, eyes hooded with seduction.
''I've fantasised about your touch so many times, masturbated to the thought. But that bitch Amy stole you away. I want you. I've always wanted you.''
He ripped his hand away as if burned, before bolting across the room, averting his eyes from her exposed chest.
"You're sick."
He spat, grabbing his car keys, shaking
''I hope by the time I'm back, you're gone. You're crazy! You're not my sister anymore. Pack up and leave.'' With that, he fled the house, the door slamming like a gunshot.
A WEEK LATER
The banquet hall shimmered with golden light, buzzed with energy, colleagues mingling under fluorescent lights, wine glasses clinking.
Kyle stepped to the front, tapping his glass, drawing everyone's attention. Heads turned, conversations dying down. He grinned.
''Ladies and gentlemen, today, I'd like to introduce our new R&D Director. Everyone, please, a round of applause for Mr Duru Bem!''
Applause erupted, echoing off the walls and thundering through the hall. Duru strode forward, smiling modestly.
''Hello, everyone. I'm Duru Bem. I've been given this opportunity to lead an exceptional team into what could be a groundbreaking chapter for us all. I hope we can collaborate smoothly to push the company to new heights.''
More claps followed, the room alive with chatter as Duru mingled, shaking hands, exchanging pleasantries. Kyle returned to the mic, clearing his throat once more.
''And now, a special performance for your delight. Enjoy!''
The lights dimmed. Tango music flared.
A couple glided onto the floor. The woman was striking, wearing high stilettos that clicked with every step, a short off-shoulder black-and-red skater dress hugging her curves, deep cut at the back exposing smooth skin. Her braids were in a ponytail, curls bouncing, face hidden behind a black mesh mask. She moved with liquid grace, her hips swaying, every spin intoxicating as the
music swelled, sultry and rhythmic.
Duru's heart stopped.
The way she moved. That shape. That presence.
No. It couldn't be.
The couple moved as one, bodies entwined in a passionate dance. The dim lights cast shadows, highlighting their fluid grace. Eyes locked, desire crackling. She glided against him, dress flaring to reveal toned legs. His hands traced her smooth curves seductively and intoxicatingly. He spun her three times, breaths mingling hotly. In the climax, he dipped her low, bodies pressed, heaving chests in sync. He skillfully flicked off the mask
And then he saw her face. Shock thundered through him. His chest tightened. No matter the weight loss, the fitness and charisma that the lady had presented on that stage, the person he was seeing was undoubtedly Amy. His supposedly dead wife. He'd been mesmerised by her hips' sway, doubting at first, but no, he wasn't seeing things. Stunned, before the applause even began, he was already moving, pushing through the crowd, leaving colleagues bewildered.
The couple bowed and exited the stage, leaving the resounding applause behind them.
By the time Amy slipped into the corridor, Duru was following her subtly as he watched her speaking with her partner.
''Good work today,'' she said, smiling.
''Good work,'' he replied, dimples flashing. As soon as they parted ways, someone caught her by the arm, and gently slammed her against the wall. She yelped, smelling alcohol on his breath.
''Amy! You—you're alive!'' Duru exclaimed, pulling her into a hug, tears streaming.
"You—you are alive."
He hugged her tightly, sobbing against her shoulder. But she shoved him hard, sending him to the floor. He rose, confused.
''Don't you know it's rude to hug without permission?'' She snapped, dusting herself off disdainfully, no sign of recognition in her eyes.
Duru stared, dazed.
''Wait, Amy, what's wrong? How can you act like you don't know me?''
Hurt etched his face.
''And do I?'' Her tone was icy, anger simmering.
He reached for her hand, desperation in his eyes. "Please… don't do this. It's me. It's Duru."
But she yanked her hand away.
She'd fought to survive, to come back and clear her name and her children's, only to see Duru and his family move on without a fight. Hatred burned now. Tears pricked, but she refused to let them fall.
''Mr. Bem, I suggest you either get glasses, or see a shrink. I'm not the person you think I am.''
She turned to leave, but his footsteps followed her. Panic rose. Not wanting to be around him anymore, she looked around for a way to lose him. That was when she spotted Tonna entering with Kyle.
Without hesitation, she strode straight to Tonna, wrapped her arms around his neck, and whispered against his ear, her lips brushing his skin:
"Please excuse me."
Then, before Duru could reach her, she pulled Tonna into a searing kiss.