Chapter 13: The Crown’s Weight
The Crown Table meeting was a theater of power. Heavy oak chairs encircled the gleaming mahogany table, portraits of past rulers gazing down from the walls. Amara sat poised, back straight, her gown a soft royal blue that commanded attention without shouting for it.
Across from her, older members exchanged knowing looks. The whispers from the article had already reached them.
“Mrs. Adeniyi,” one of them began deliberately using her former name “what do you say to the reports that your success was… conveniently timed with your divorce?”
Amara inhaled slowly, her eyes flickering to Darius seated at her side. His subtle nod steadied her.
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“I say,” Amara replied, her voice calm but cutting, “that strength is never convenient. It’s forged in fire. My divorce did not break me it revealed me. And if my rise makes people uncomfortable, then perhaps it is because they are not used to women standing tall on their own.”
The room fell silent. Even her detractors couldn’t deny the force in her words.
Darius reached under the table, squeezing her hand. Silent, but proud.
For the first time, Amara felt the full weight of the crown she was building not just for herself, but for every woman told she couldn’t rise after being broken.
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