Akosua.
The conference room smelled faintly of coffee and polished mahogany. Sunlight spilled across the long glass table, but it did little to warm the chill in my chest.
Today, I was to teach Prince Kofi and Princess Adjoa everything I had built over the past two years. Every strategy, every plan, every method that kept Agyeman Group from collapsing—was now their responsibility. Their empire. My labor. My blood.
And I was expected to smile while doing it.
"Alright," I began, placing my notes carefully on the table. My hands didn't tremble, though my mind danced with fury, betrayal, and a strange… aching disappointment. "We will start with the Northern expansion. I'll explain the risk charts, the investment flow, and the projected profit margins. Pay close attention."
Kofi leaned forward, elbows on the table. Eyes focused. I could see the tension in his jaw. Princess Adjoa, on the other hand… reclined in her chair, perfectly poised, a smile playing on her lips that screamed I'm better than this.
I ignored it. I had learned patience from survival, and patience was what I needed now.
I walked them through the first set of projections. Charts, figures, timelines—everything I had fought for, rebuilt, and optimized.
"Understand this?" I asked.
Kofi nodded slowly. "Yes… mostly."
Princess Adjoa tilted her head. "Of course," she said sweetly. Her tone, polished and perfect, carried arrogance that made my teeth clench. "I get it. Fully."
I studied her carefully. Pride. Ignorance. Dangerous combination. But I said nothing.
Next, I showed them how to anticipate threats—internal sabotage, rogue employees, external competitors. How to secure contracts without leaving room for mistakes. How to balance profit and risk while keeping the board unaware of vulnerabilities.
I expected questions. Confused glances. Skepticism.
Kofi was quiet, absorbing, asking only the essential questions. Good. That gave me hope.
Princess Adjoa, however, interrupted every five minutes. "But I don't see why this is necessary. Surely the team can handle it?"
I smiled politely. "And if they fail? Who takes responsibility?"
She shrugged. "I suppose… the team leader?"
I didn't answer. I let silence speak. It always did.
Hours passed. I remained patient, respectful, professional. Every correction, every explanation—carefully measured. Kofi followed attentively. Princess Adjoa nodded endlessly, claiming understanding, but her distracted eyes betrayed her.
And there it was. The moment I had feared. A subtle glance from her toward Kofi. Her smile widened ever so slightly when he leaned closer to ask a question. A flicker of jealousy, annoyance, and pride all mixed together in one perfect storm.
I swallowed the sharp edge of my own emotions. This was not about me. It was about the empire.
Yet every second, every glance, every misplaced smile from Princess Adjoa cut deeper than any insult Queen Afia could give.
By the fourth hour, I stopped. Laid my hands on the table. Looked at them both.
"This is not just numbers, figures, or contracts," I said slowly. "This is strategy. Vision. Execution. Do not mistake confidence for understanding. You can claim comprehension, but true mastery requires respect for what has been built."
Kofi's eyes met mine. I could see the conflict there—respect, regret, fear. He understood far more than he admitted.
Princess Adjoa's lips pressed into a thin line, a sharp edge hidden behind perfection. "I understand everything," she said again. Too sharp. Too forced. Too loud.
I nodded slowly. "Good. I hope that remains true when the stakes are real. Because when numbers fail, loyalty falters, or pride misleads… your empire will collapse."
She didn't flinch. But I knew. She had already underestimated what she couldn't even see yet.
By evening, the teaching ended. Notes compiled. Reports updated. Every projection, strategy, and contingency meticulously documented. I had done my job. Flawlessly. Respectfully. Patiently.
And yet… I felt hollow.
Kofi walked me to the door. "Akosua… I—"
I stopped him with a shake of my head. "No words, Kofi. Not now. Not here."
He hesitated, frustration flickering in his eyes. He wanted to apologize, to explain, to make me understand. I only nodded once and turned away. I had given him enough of my presence. The rest would be earned.
Princess Adjoa's eyes followed me as I left. I felt the thin, simmering heat of her envy, the arrogance of a woman who had never truly worked for anything herself.
And I smiled faintly.
Good. Let her jealousy fuel her. Let her pride blind her. Let her underestimate what she could never build herself.
Because one day… when the empire she inherited began to crumble, she would realize she had no foundation.
I knew what I had. I knew my strength. And while Kofi and Princess Adjoa fumbled in the shadow of my work, I would begin my own path—my own empire. One built not for approval, not for love, not for titles… but for respect. And power. And revenge, if necessary.
The day ended. Lights dimmed. The city stretched below like a river of gold and steel. The empire I had built for two years… was about to be handed over. To someone else.
And yet, something in me thrived.
Because for the first time, I truly believed: what I create cannot be stolen. It can only be challenged. And I am ready.
Cliffhanger: As I stepped into the elevator, my phone buzzed. A single message. One word.
"Don't fail. —K"
I smiled faintly, pocketed the phone, and whispered to myself: Oh, I won't. But it won't be the way you expect.