Maduabuchi's friend's smile deepened, a triumphant glint in his eyes.
Chibuzor's silence was a storm in itself, louder and more painful than any accusation that had been hurled at Olaedo. His eyes, dark and unreadable, swept over the room, taking in every face, every whispered word.
The subtle shifts in the crowd, the gasps, the shifting of eyes, the hushed murmurs, felt like a suffocating blanket pressing down on Olaedo, forcing her to the brink of collapse.
Her fingers tightened into fists, nails digging into her palms as she forced herself to breathe, though it burned her chest. 'Why won't he say anything?' The question echoed in her mind, taunting and merciless.
'Does he believe this too?' The thought cut deeper than the accusations themselves, twisting the knife in her heart. The room seemed to blur, but she blinked away the tears threatening to spill.
The room, once filled with electric anticipation, fell into a heavy silence when Chibuzor finally stood. His movements were measured, almost deliberate, as he rose to his full height, the air around him crackling with suppressed power.
The murmur of the guests died down, every single eye fixed on him, awaiting his words. His gaze, sharp and cutting, swept across the room like a predator assessing its prey.
Chibuzor's voice, when it came, was as cold and sharp as steel, slicing through the tension and turning it into an almost tangible presence. "We will not discuss this any further in front of outsiders," he said, each word deliberate, a command that brooked no argument.
A sharp intake of breath sounded from the back of the room, and whispers broke out anew, this time tinged with awe and curiosity. The sheer weight of Chibuzor's authority left the guests stunned, their eyes flicking between him and the woman who stood at the center of the storm.
Some exchanged knowing glances, their expressions a mix of speculation and intrigue. It was rare for Chibuzor to speak with such conviction, and even rarer for him to assert his control so publicly. He usually kept silent, with the mindset that nothing was worth his expensive words.
Mr. Arinze stood next to Chibuzor, his face drawn tight with the strain of the situation. He glanced at his wife, who seemed to wear a triumphant, almost gloating expression, before clearing his throat and stepping forward. The room stilled again, the sharpness of the moment hanging in the air like a blade poised to strike.
"Enough," Mr. Arinze said, his voice deep and authoritative, but with an undertone of exhaustion. "This is a family matter."
Murmurs of discontent shifted through the crowd like a wave, but the weight of his words stilled them, the realization dawning that the Arinze family would not tolerate such public scrutiny.
Some of the older guests, who knew the family's reputation for handling their affairs with an iron hand, shifted uncomfortably. This was not a spectacle they wanted to be a part of, and it was clear they were being given a warning.
Chibuzor's eyes locked with Olaedo's, and in that moment, he saw the storm behind her gaze, fear, defiance, and something else that made his chest ache. She didn't speak, but the plea in her eyes was enough to send a jolt through him. The look she gave him felt like a question and an accusation all at once, and it made his throat tighten.
'Why does this matter so much to me?' he thought, the question gnawing at his resolve.
The stepmother's triumphant smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before she masked it with an expression of polite indifference. It was a victory for now, but Chibuzor had cast his gauntlet. This battle, she knew, was far from over.
Olaedo felt the weight of Chibuzor's stare, but she didn't dare let herself read too much into it. The room was shifting, the gaze of the guests heavier than any physical burden she'd ever carried. The line between public and private had blurred, and she realized, with a sinking feeling, that whatever happened next, nothing would be the same.
But for now, Chibuzor's command had put a temporary end to the chaos. The whispers dwindled, the room slowly exhaled, and the guests settled back into a restless silence. The stage had been set, and the next move would define them all.
As the guests reluctantly quieted, whispers of an old scandal began to resurface.
As the ballroom buzzed with speculation, Olaedo stood alone, her heart heavy with the weight of accusations. She knew the truth, but the odds were stacked against her. And with Chibuzor's silence, her position seemed more precarious than ever.
Meanwhile, the stepmother retreated to a corner, her smile wicked as she savored her victory.
'Let's see how long you can hold onto that Young Madam title, Olaedo,' she thought.
But little did she know, this scandal would unravel far more than she intended, and not all her plans would go as expected.
The atmosphere, once warm with festivity, now felt heavy, suffocating even. The air was thick with the weight of a history that had never truly faded.
A woman leaned closer to her companion, her voice dropping to a murmur. "Do you remember the first Mrs. Arinze?"
The other raised an eyebrow, the corners of her lips turning down in thought. "Of course. Onyinye. How could anyone forget? The tragedy of it all..."
Across the room Chibuzor felt an icy shiver run down pine. His hands tightened around the glass he was holding until the rim bit into his skin, Onyinye's name was like a scar he
couldn't forget. The woman who had been both the sun and storm in his childhood. Her laughter had once filled the house, bright and unwavering, but so had her pain. Now, history was repeating itself.
"Do you remember how she died?" the first woman continued, glancing nervously at the Arinze family. "It was said she couldn't bear the shame after Mr. Arinze cheated with his old lover. The betrayal, the humiliation... it drove her to despair.
The murmurs deerened into a low collective gasp shifted uncomfortably toward Mr. Arinze, who sat at the head of the long table, the weight of the years and the guilt of his choices carved into the lines of his face. His jaw was clenched, hands unmoving on the polished wood as if it could ground him against the storm brewing within.