Not yet. Not when everything was already falling apart.
“I will call you,” she promised.
Tunday nodded slowly, confused, but trusting.
Ifyoma gave him one last smile—broken, tender, full of things she could not say—and slipped out into the night.
The next morning, news channels exploded with headline after headline.
Young heiress Ifyoma Adaku takes control of Adaku Holdings amid family showdown.
The images showed Ifyoma dressed in a sharp black suit, her hair tied back, standing strong against flashing cameras.
Her name and her legacy were now impossible to hide.
Meanwhile, Tunday stood frozen in a small café where he usually grabbed breakfast.
He stared at the screen.
Ifyoma.
His Ifyoma.
The girl who slept on his mattress, laughed about noisy neighbors, stirred jollof rice with a wooden spoon, who had never said a word about her real life.
A painful emptiness opened inside him.
Why had she not told him?
Why had she lied?
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