THE HEIR I HATE

CHAPTER ONE The Blackwood Heir Amara Okafor hated rich people. Not all of them. Just the ones who believed money gave them permission to look down on everyone else. Unfortunately, the man currently blocking her path belonged firmly in that category. She stopped walking. He didn't. The stranger continued toward her with the kind of confidence that suggested the entire university belonged to him. Tall. Impossibly well-dressed. Dark suit, white shirt, expensive watch, polished shoes. He looked completely out of place among the students rushing across the university courtyard with backpacks hanging from their shoulders and lecture notes clutched against their chests. Amara frowned. "Excuse me." Nothing. He kept walking. She stepped directly into his path. "Excuse me." This time, he stopped. His eyes lifted to hers. And Amara immediately understood why half the girls around them had gone suspiciously quiet. He was handsome. Annoyingly handsome. The kind of handsome that looked effortless. Dark hair slightly falling over his forehead. Sharp features. A calm expression that bordered on arrogant. His eyes moved over her face before settling on hers. "Yes?" His British accent made the single word sound far more irritating than it had any right to. Amara folded her arms. "You're standing in the middle of the walkway." He glanced down. Then around them. There was plenty of space. "I'm aware." Her eyebrows rose. "Then why aren't you moving?" Something almost like amusement appeared in his eyes. "Because you stepped in front of me." "And because you were blocking everyone." "I wasn't." "You were." He studied her for a moment. "Do you always argue with strangers?" "Only the annoying ones." That earned her a small smile. Not a friendly one. A dangerous one. "I'll remember that." "Please don't." She stepped around him. His voice stopped her. "Amara." She froze. Slowly, she turned. He knew her name. That shouldn't have bothered her. But it did. "How do you know my name?" He said nothing. Instead, he walked past her. Amara watched him disappear through the glass doors of the administration building. Her irritation turned into curiosity. Then suspicion. "Okay..." She stared after him. "Who the hell was that?" --- By lunchtime, Amara had almost forgotten about him. Almost. She sat beneath one of the large trees near the student centre, picking at her rice while her best friend, Teni, talked continuously about a lecturer who had apparently ruined her entire week. "I'm telling you, Amara, that man hates students." "You say that about every lecturer." "Because every lecturer hates students." Amara laughed. Teni pointed her spoon at her. "Don't laugh. You're next." "Next for what?" "Professor Adebayo's surprise test." Amara groaned. "Please don't remind me." Teni grinned. "You didn't study?" "I studied." "How much?" Amara hesitated. "Enough." "That's not a number." "Enough to survive." Teni shook her head. Then her expression suddenly changed. She looked over Amara's shoulder. "Oh." "What?" "Don't turn around." Amara immediately turned around. Teni sighed. "I literally said don't." "What am I looking at?" "The reason half the girls here suddenly remembered they have eyesight." Amara followed her gaze. The stranger from the morning was standing near the administration building. Except now, there were several men around him. Men who didn't look like university staff. Dark suits. Earpieces. Serious faces. Amara's smile disappeared. "Who is he?" Teni lowered her voice. "You really don't know?" "No." "That's Alexander Blackwood." The name meant nothing to Amara. Teni stared at her. "Blackwood." Still nothing. "The Blackwoods?" "No." "The London Blackwoods?" Amara shrugged. Teni leaned closer. "His family owns companies in Britain, Nigeria, Dubai—everywhere. Hotels, property, shipping, private investments. Apparently, they're worth an insane amount of money." Amara glanced back at him. "So?" "So?" Teni looked offended. "Girl, that's a billionaire's son standing twenty metres away." "Good for him." "He's also twenty-seven." Amara looked at her. "And?" "And you're twenty." "So?" Teni laughed. "I'm just saying. Seven years." "I don't care." "You cared enough to argue with him this morning." Amara nearly choked on her drink. "You saw that?" "Everyone saw that." "Oh my God." Teni burst out laughing. "You told Alexander Blackwood to move." "He was blocking the walkway." "Apparently nobody tells Alexander Blackwood what to do." "Well, someone should." Teni's smile slowly faded. "Amara." "What?" "Just be careful." Amara looked toward Alex again. He was speaking to one of his security men now. For a brief second, his eyes moved across the courtyard. Straight toward her. Their eyes met. Amara looked away first. She hated that she had. --- That evening, Amara stayed late at the library. She had an assignment due the next morning and absolutely no intention of embarrassing herself in front of Professor Adebayo. The library was quieter than usual. Most students had already left. Amara packed her laptop into her bag and checked the time. 7:42 p.m. She sighed. She should have left twenty minutes ago. As she walked toward the exit, she noticed something lying on the floor near one of the study tables. A folder. Black. No name on the front. She picked it up. Maybe someone had forgotten it. She opened it, intending to check for an identification card. Instead, she saw a photograph. An old photograph. A group of men standing outside a large mansion. One of them looked familiar. Amara's fingers tightened around the photograph. Her father. Her heart stopped. "No..." She looked again. It was definitely him. Younger, but unmistakably her father. Why was he standing with strangers? And why was the Blackwood family crest printed on the corner of the photograph? She flipped the photograph over. There was writing on the back. Blackwood Estate — London, 2009. Her father's death had been in 2014. Amara stared at the date. Five years before. She turned the photograph over again. There were several documents beneath it. Names. Company records. Bank transfers. And one handwritten note. Ask Daniel Okafor what happened that night. Amara stopped breathing. Daniel Okafor. Her father's name. She read the sentence again. Then again. A sound behind her made her freeze. Footsteps. Slow. Measured. Coming closer. She quickly shoved the photograph and documents back into the folder. "Who's there?" No answer. The footsteps stopped. Amara's heart began pounding. She grabbed her bag and hurried toward the exit. The library doors opened. She stepped outside. And nearly walked straight into Alexander Blackwood. He caught her arm before she could collide with him. "Careful." Amara pulled away immediately. "What are you doing here?" His expression changed when he noticed the folder in her hand. For the first time since she'd met him, the calmness disappeared from his face. "Where did you get that?" Amara stared at him. "Why?" "Amara." It was the first time he'd said her name without amusement. He looked serious. Almost worried. She held the folder tighter. "Is this yours?" He didn't answer. His eyes remained fixed on it. "Where did you find it?" "The library." "Give it to me." "No." His jaw tightened. "You don't understand what you're holding." "Then explain it." "I can't." "Why?" "Because you shouldn't have found it." Silence. Amara stared at him. "What does my father have to do with your family?" Alex went completely still. That was her answer. He knew. He knew something about her father. Something she didn't. She stepped closer. "What happened to him?" Alex's expression hardened. "Go home, Amara." "Answer me." "Go home." "You knew my father?" His eyes met hers. For several seconds, neither of them spoke. Then Alex said quietly, "Your father wasn't who you think he was." Amara felt as if the ground had shifted beneath her. "What does that mean?" Alex looked past her toward the dark parking lot. His security team was already approaching. Then he looked back at her. "It means you need to stop asking questions." He reached for the folder. Amara stepped back. "No." "Amara—" "No." She turned and walked away. "Amara!" She didn't stop. She didn't see Alex watching her leave. She didn't see the man standing inside a parked black car across the street. And she didn't hear the phone call made less than a minute later. "She's found the file." A pause. Then the voice on the other end replied, "Then the girl needs to be watched." The man looked through the car window at Amara disappearing into the night. "And Blackwood?" Another pause. "Keep him away from her." The call ended. Across the road, Alexander Blackwood stood motionless beneath the library lights. For the first time in years, he was afraid. Not for himself. For her. Because whoever had killed Daniel Okafor five years ago had just realized his daughter was looking for the truth. And they would do anything to make sure she never found it.