The Reluctant Vow

"You know your father has made the decision. That's final."

Zara's eyes widened in disbelief as her mother's voice echoed through the living room, sharp and unwavering. "So nobody cares about me or my dreams? Not even my happiness?"

Mrs. Tunde stood still, arms folded across her chest. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, like she was trying to stay calm, but the tension between them was too thick to ignore.

"I don't love Regan. I don't even know him!" Zara burst out, voice trembling as she stood in the middle of the room, her fists clenched by her side.

"You don't need to know him or love him." Mr. Tunde's deep baritone cut through the air as he stepped into the living room. His expression was unreadable-cold, commanding, final. "All you need to know is that the marriage is happening. You, Zara Tunde, are going to be the wife of Regan Kareem."

Zara felt her chest tighten. Her legs wobbled beneath her. "You can't do this to me," she said, almost in a whisper.

"We already have," her father replied bluntly. "The Kareems have been our business partners for over two decades. This marriage is not just a union between two people, Zara. It is a merger. A consolidation of trust, legacy, and power."

Zara's mother looked away, as if she didn't want to witness the way her daughter's spirit was being crushed. But she said nothing. That hurt Zara the most.

"I'm not some pawn you can move around," Zara snapped, trying to hold back the tears stinging her eyes. "I'm not an asset to trade!"

"But you are," her father replied without flinching. "As long as you bear my name, you are part of the business. And this is bigger than your childish dreams of catwalks and cameras."

Zara's face dropped.

Childish dreams? Was that what they thought of her?

She stormed upstairs without another word, refusing to let them see the tears rolling down her cheeks. Her feet pounded against the steps, matching the thunderstorm inside her chest. Once inside her room, she slammed the door shut and collapsed onto her bed, letting the sobs take over.

Minutes passed.

The silence in her room was suffocating. The ticking clock on the wall mocked her helplessness with every second. She reached for her phone on the nightstand, wiping her face with the sleeve of her hoodie. When she unlocked the screen, a single notification lit up her world:

"Congratulations! You've been selected as one of our top finalists. The final show will take place in a few months, and if successful, you will represent Nigeria in Paris as part of the Elite Global Runway program."

Zara screamed. Loud.

It was a raw, uncontrollable burst of excitement. She shot up from the bed, staring at her phone in disbelief. Her hands trembled. Her tears had turned into laughter-relieved, giddy laughter.

She clutched her phone to her chest.

Her dream was real. Not just a fantasy she played over in her head. The biggest modeling opportunity she'd ever prayed for had come knocking. She was one of the finalists. She still had to compete in the final show, but this was more than hope-it was a door cracked open.

Before she could bask in the joy, the door to her room flew open.