Adaora was the pride of her town in Enugu State. She was as radiant as the morning sun, her skin the color of polished mahogany, her figure a masterpiece of nature. But it was her wide hips and curvaceous waist that made her unforgettable. She was the kind of woman who didn't walk into a room—she commanded it.
Men and women alike admired her. Mothers would nudge their sons, whispering, "That one would make you a fine wife." Market women teased her good-naturedly, "Adaora, don't forget us when you marry that rich man."
But Adaora wasn't just confident—she was proud, some said arrogant. She knew her beauty gave her power and wasn't afraid to wield it. She looked down on anyone she considered beneath her, including those who couldn't afford the lifestyle she desired.
Her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Okonkwo, were modest traders. They sold palm oil and garri in the local market and raised their children with strong moral values. They believed in humility, hard work, and kindness, but Adaora seemed deaf to their teachings.
"You will ruin your future with this attitude," her mother often warned.
But Adaora would toss her braids over her shoulder and scoff. "Mama, don't worry about me. I'm not like you. I won't marry a poor trader and spend my life struggling. I deserve a man who can afford me."