Not awkward.
Just aware.
“So,” she said, folding her arms, “you said level four.”
“I did.”
She tilted her head. “What is it?”
Namdi looked at her for a moment, then gestured toward the house behind him.
“My world.”
Amara followed him inside.
The moment she stepped in, she stopped completely.
Her eyes moved slowly from the polished floors to the high ceilings to the artwork to the soft lighting that made everything glow with quiet luxury.
“This is not normal,” she said finally.
Namdi watched her reaction carefully. “It’s just a house.”
She turned to him sharply. “Just a house? This place is shining like money.”
He laughed. “That’s because money built it.”
She shook her head, walking further in. Her fingers brushed lightly against a carved wooden table.
“This one alone can pay my rent for years,” she murmured.
“Then take it,” he said casually.
She froze, then turned slowly. “Don’t joke like that.”
“I’m not joking.”
She stared at him for a long second, then burst into laughter.
“You are not serious.”
He led her into the living room.
Large. Elegant. Yet warm.
A perfect mix of modern luxury and traditional Nigerian design. Rich fabrics. Bronze sculptures. Handwoven details.
Amara turned in a slow circle.
“So this is how you live?”
“Sometimes,” he replied.
“And in the city?”
He smiled slightly. “Bigger.”
She gasped dramatically. “Ah, God. Why?”
He walked toward a small bar area. “Do you want a drink?”
She hesitated. “What kind?”
“Anything.”
She squinted at him. “Do you have zobo?”
He blinked. “No.”
She folded her arms triumphantly. “Then your house is not complete.”
Namdi laughed. “I’ll fix that.”
They moved through the house together.
Every room told a story. Every corner carried intention.
But what fascinated Namdi the most wasn’t the house.
It was her.
The way she reacted to everything.
Unfiltered. Honest. Real.
At some point, they ended up in his bedroom.
Amara paused at the entrance.
“This one is too fine,” she said slowly.
“You can go in,” he said.
She stepped inside carefully, as if the room might reject her.
The bed was large, perfectly arranged. The lighting soft. The air cool and calm.
She sat at the edge of the bed, testing it slightly.
“It’s soft,” she said, impressed.
“Very.”
She looked up at him. “You’re used to this life?”
“Yes.”
Then after a pause, he added, “But it doesn’t mean anything if it’s empty.”
Her expression shifted slightly.
“Empty?”
“Yes.”
She studied him again. “You’re serious.”
“I am.”
A quiet moment passed.
Then Amara stood up slowly, walking closer to him.
“Why me?” she asked softly.
The question was simple, but heavy.
Namdi didn’t answer immediately. He reached for her hand gently.
“Because you don’t see all this first,” he said.
Her eyes flickered.
“You saw me.”
Silence.
Deep.
Honest.
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