Our wedding was breathtaking.
Fresh flowers had been flown in from overseas.
Golden decorations shimmered beneath crystal lights.
Photographers followed us from sunrise until the final dance late that night.
A week later, I moved into his mansion inside one of the city’s most exclusive estates.
The security guards saluted every time his car approached.
The floors were polished marble.
The mirrors stretched from floor to ceiling.
The chandeliers scattered warm light across every room.
For the first time in my life, I stopped checking price tags before buying perfume or shoes.
Everything felt unreal.
Everything felt perfect.
Except for one conversation.
It happened on our third night as husband and wife.
Obinna stood beside our bed, carefully smoothing the sheets with both hands before looking at me.
“There is one family tradition,” he said quietly, “that I need you to respect.”
