The morning sunlight poured through the master bedroom's floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a soft golden glow over the meticulously designed space. The room was a picture of elegance: creamy drapes fluttered lightly in the breeze, the polished wooden floors gleamed, and the oversized bed with its crisp white linens sat like a throne at the room's center.
Adaora stood near the windows, a steaming cup of chamomile tea cradled in her hands. Her gaze was fixed on the sprawling garden below, where neatly trimmed hedges framed bursts of colorful blooms. The estate was her pride and joy, the culmination of years of tireless effort and relentless ambition. Everything within these walls—from the carefully curated artwork to the Italian-imported furnishings—was a testament to her success.
And yet, it felt hollow.
She took a sip of her tea, wincing slightly at the bitter taste. It was meant to calm her nerves, but this morning, it seemed to have the opposite effect. Her mind was restless, tugged by the relentless whispers of the past. No matter how far she had come, no matter how much she had built, the shadows of what she had left behind refused to disappear.
Adaora moved to the vanity, setting the cup down with deliberate precision before lowering herself onto the plush stool. The mirror reflected a woman who had mastered the art of appearing flawless. Her silk robe hung perfectly, her skin glowed with the care of expensive treatments, and her jewelry sparkled with understated elegance. But beneath the surface, cracks were beginning to form.
She opened the drawer beneath the vanity, her movements slow and measured, as if bracing herself. From within, she pulled out an old photo album. It was leather-bound, its corners worn from years of handling. She hadn't opened it in a long time, but today, something compelled her.
Flipping through the pages, Adaora stopped when her fingers brushed against a photograph. The image stared back at her—a younger version of herself standing beside Dapo. His arm was draped casually over her shoulder, his smile wide and unguarded in a way it never was anymore.
Her eyes drifted to the other figures in the photograph. A boy, no older than ten, stood between them, his small face lit with a shy smile. And next to him stood a woman—a woman Adaora had tried for years to forget.
Ifeoma.
Adaora's grip on the album tightened. Her sister's face radiated warmth, the kind of kindness that seemed to envelop everyone around her. It was a quality Adaora had always envied and despised in equal measure. Ifeoma had been everything Adaora was not: gentle, nurturing, content with simplicity. While Adaora had chased ambition with ruthless determination, Ifeoma had been content to live a quiet life, valuing relationships over achievements.
But Ifeoma's innocence was her downfall. At least, that's how Adaora justified it to herself.
She slammed the album shut, the sound echoing in the still room. Her chest tightened as memories came rushing back, unbidden and unwanted. She had spent years erasing Ifeoma from her life—removing photographs, rewriting family narratives, silencing anyone who dared to bring up her name. Even Dapo, who had initially protested, eventually stopped mentioning her.
But erasure didn't mean forgetting.
The last argument they had was still etched in Adaora's memory. She could see the anguish on Ifeoma's face, hear the tremble in her voice as she accused Adaora of prioritizing ambition over family.
"You'll regret this, Adaora," Ifeoma had said, her voice trembling with both anger and heartbreak. "One day, you'll realize what you've lost."
Adaora had dismissed her words at the time, convinced that she was doing what was necessary to secure their family's future. Ifeoma was a liability, someone who threatened the very foundation of everything Adaora had worked so hard to build. Cutting her out had been a painful but necessary decision.
Or so Adaora had believed.
Now, as she sat in the stillness of the room, the weight of those choices pressed heavily on her chest. She pushed the album back into the drawer, slamming it shut with more force than intended. Dwelling on the past wouldn't change anything.
As she adjusted the necklace around her neck, the sound of footsteps in the hallway made her pause. A moment later, the bedroom door opened, and Dapo stepped inside.
"You're up early," he said, his voice cautious.
"I couldn't sleep," Adaora replied evenly, keeping her tone neutral.
Dapo nodded, moving toward the closet without another word. His movements were sluggish, his shoulders weighed down by an invisible burden. Adaora watched him carefully, noting the lines of exhaustion etched into his face. He had been like this for weeks now—distant, distracted. She had thought about asking him what was wrong, but the words never came.
Their relationship had become one of unspoken agreements and carefully maintained facades. They coexisted in the same space but rarely truly connected. It was easier that way.
"Another long day at the hospital?" she asked, more out of habit than genuine concern.
"Yes," he replied, his back still turned to her as he selected a tie.
The silence that followed was thick, charged with unspoken tension. Adaora wanted to press him, to ask him what was on his mind, but she held back. It wasn't her place anymore.
When Dapo finally left the room, Adaora exhaled slowly, as if releasing a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. She turned back to the vanity, her reflection staring back at her with a mix of weariness and resolve.
Her thoughts drifted to Tayo, the new maid. There was something about the girl that unsettled Adaora. Tayo was diligent and polite, but her curiosity was impossible to miss. Adaora had caught her lingering in places she shouldn't be, her sharp eyes noticing details others overlooked.
It was a dangerous quality in a house like this.
Adaora sipped her now-lukewarm tea, a chill running down her spine. The mansion was full of secrets, and it was her job to ensure they stayed buried. If Tayo had stumbled upon something she shouldn't have, Adaora would have to act swiftly.
She set the cup down and stood, her movements deliberate. The past was a ghost she couldn't exorcise, but she could control the present. Whatever it took, she would protect the life she had built.
Even if it meant silencing the echoes of Ifeoma once and for all.