The invitation came in a thick, cream-coloured envelope sealed with the Okonkwo family crest—an ouroboros curled around a gold crown.
Zaria read it twice, her breath catching each time.
"You are hereby requested to attend a private family session at the Okonkwo estate on Sunday at 3pm regarding the matter of an unregistered testament left by the late Chief Samuel Okonkwo."
She was stunned.
Not only had the patriarch left a second will, but someone had fought hard to keep it hidden… until now.
Her fingers trembled as she placed the letter back on the counter.
Across the room, Darius watched silently.
"I didn't know about this," he said.
"Didn't you?" she asked, not accusing—just exhausted.
"No," he replied firmly. "If I had, I would've told you. This wasn't part of the documents I found last year."
Zaria believed him. But the mistrust still lingered in her chest like a bitter taste she couldn't swallow.
Sunday came fast.
The Okonkwo estate sat on the edge of Victoria Island—an opulent stretch of colonial architecture, white columns, and endless hedges. The gates opened with a slow groan, revealing the ancestral mansion that had housed three generations of legacy and silence.
Zaria arrived in a tailored black gown, her baby bump clearly visible beneath the satin fabric. She held her head high as the family gathered in the drawing room, all whispers and stares.
Ayo was there, of course, seated like a king in waiting, his expression unreadable.
Three uncles, two aunts, and a few cousins milled about, glancing at Zaria like she was a ghost.
Then the family lawyer entered.
A small man with thick glasses and a folder pressed to his chest like a secret.
"We'll begin," he announced, and silence fell.
He opened the folder.
"This second will was signed on the 3rd of September, three years before Chief Samuel's passing. It remained sealed under the instruction that it only be revealed should the family descend into serious internal dispute."
Eyes shifted. Everyone knew the tension between Ayo and Darius had nearly shattered the company after the patriarch's death.
The lawyer cleared his throat and began reading.
"To my family," the old man's voice echoed through a recorded video, "you may think you know me. But legacies are not built on what's visible. They're built on truth."
Zaria held her breath.
The recording continued:
"There is another heir. My granddaughter. The child of my first daughter, Nnenna, whom I left in Ghana in my foolishness. She has grown into a woman of fierce dignity. Her name is Zaria."
Gasps filled the room.
Ayo shot up from his seat. "What madness is this?"
The lawyer held up a hand. "Please let the video finish."
"I leave her ten percent of my personal holdings in Okonkwo Industries," the recording went on, "and the deed to the original family house in Ibadan. May she do with it as she pleases. She is blood, no matter who tries to erase her."
Zaria sat frozen.
Darius reached for her hand. She barely noticed.
It was real.
Not just whispers, not just Madam Essi's memory.
Proof.
Legacy.
Ayo stormed forward. "This is fraud! My father would never—"
The lawyer interrupted, producing a notarised DNA result. "The chief had this confirmed before he died."
The room fell into stunned silence.
Zaria stood slowly.
Her voice was clear. "I didn't come to steal a name. I came because the name already belonged to me."
She looked around the room—every face shocked, every eye calculating.
"You spent decades building wealth while ignoring truth. I'm not here to fight for scraps. I'm here to remind you what blood truly means."
Then she turned to leave.
But just before she reached the door, Ayo hissed behind her: "Be careful, cousin. That name you've claimed? It comes with enemies you don't even see yet."
Zaria didn't flinch.
"I was born into war," she said, without turning. "Now I've learned to command it."