Zainab's eyes were still wet when the SUV finally came to a stop.
In front of them stood a tall, black gate heavy and imposing, like the entrance to a fortress. Armed guards stood on either side, unmoving, their rifles resting in their hands as though they were part of their bodies.
The gate creaked open slowly.
As the convoy drove in, Zainab's lips parted in silent awe.
The compound was enormous.
Bright lights illuminated every corner, revealing perfectly trimmed flowers, elegant fountains, and luxury cars lined up with precision.
It didn't feel like a home.
It felt like a kingdom.
Zainab's chest tightened painfully.
So this was how the rich lived.
While she struggled for food.
While she spent her days washing plates and her nights on a torn mattress.
The SUV came to a halt in front of a massive mansion.
Zainab stared.
The building was so large, she wondered how many families could live inside it.
The door opened.
"Come down," one of the guards instructed.
Zainab stepped out slowly, her legs unsteady beneath her. She clutched her scarf tightly, her eyes fixed on the house.
She felt small.
Insignificant.
Like something that didn't belong in a place like this.
Ibrahim Danjuma stepped out as well.
He didn't spare the mansion a glance.
As if it meant nothing.
As if the only thing that mattered was his mother.
Without a word, he walked inside.
Zainab followed, guarded on both sides.
The moment she stepped into the living room, she froze.
White marble floors gleamed beneath her feet. Golden curtains framed tall windows. Expensive paintings hung neatly on the walls, and the furniture looked untouched perfect.
Everything was beautiful.
Yet somehow it didn't feel warm
Zainab felt it immediately.
A heaviness in the air.
A quiet kind of sorrow that lingered beneath all the luxury.
Suddenly, a woman rushed out from the hallway.
"Ibrahim!"
Zainab's gaze shifted to her.
The woman was young.
Beautiful.
Elegant in a way that seemed effortless like someone who belonged on magazine covers.
She ran straight to Ibrahim, gripping his arm tightly, her face filled with distress.
"Any news? Have they released her?"
Ibrahim's expression hardened.
"No."
The woman's eyes filled with tears instantly.
"Oh my God… this is killing me!"
Zainab stood still, confusion settling in her chest.
Who was she?
Then the woman's gaze landed on her.
And everything changed.
Her expression turned cold.
Sharp.
Unforgiving.
"Who is this?" she demanded.
Ibrahim didn't hesitate.
"She found the bag."
The woman blinked.
"The bag?"
Her eyes slowly moved back to Zainab, scanning her from head to toe.
"This girl?"
Zainab lowered her gaze instinctively.
The woman took a step closer, her lips curling slightly.
"And how exactly does a girl like this 'find' a bag containing millions?"
The words were soft.
But the insult was clear.
Zainab felt it.
Like a slap.
Still, she remained silent.
Ibrahim's voice cut through the tension.
"Enough, Safiya."
So her name was Safiya.
Zainab swallowed.
Safiya's eyes narrowed as she turned back to him.
"You trust her?" she said sharply. "Ibrahim, you're not thinking clearly."
Ibrahim didn't argue.
He simply turned away.
"Take her to the guest room," he instructed a maid.
The maid nodded respectfully.
Zainab followed her quietly.
But as she walked away…
She could feel it.
A gaze burning into her back.
Sharp.
Hostile.
Unwelcoming.
Zainab didn't need to turn around to know
Safiya already hated her.