The storm followed her home.
Thunder rolled across the city, shaking the glass towers like a warning bell. Rain clawed at the windows, sliding down in hard, glittering lines that blurred the lights below.
Dombi hurried through the lobby, her soaked shoes squealing against the tiles. The night guard looked up to greet her, then hesitated—something in her face told him to stay silent.
Inside the elevator, the mirrored walls threw her reflection back at her: drenched hair, wild eyes, breath trembling in her chest. She looked like someone who had lost everything and found danger instead.
The apartment on the twelfth floor glowed with false calm.
Soft jazz drifted from the speakers ( Selaelo Selota Song)Threee…Phaaa; and candles burned steadily on the table; the smell of stew lingered in the warm air. It was the kind of peace that came after violence.
Gugu sat at the table with a tablet balanced on her palm, glasses low on her nose. She smiled when she saw Dombi.
"Ah, my girl! You're drenched. Come, take off that jacket before you—"
"Stop pretending."
The words sliced through the room.
Gugu blinked. "What?"
"I said stop pretending."
Dombi flung the folder onto the glass table. Papers burst across the surface—photographs, contracts, that one picture of Gugu standing between two men in suits.
The rain hammered the windows. For a moment, that was the only sound.
Gugu set her tablet down and removed her glasses with deliberate calm.
"Where did you get these?"
"From someone who watched you destroy everything my parents built."
Gugu didn't flinch. "You've been digging where you shouldn't."
"And you've been lying my whole life." Dombi's voice broke. "You said we struggled after they died. You said you saved me. But you were the one who took everything!"
Gugu rose from her chair, composed and terrifying.
"You think the world rewards honesty? Your father was going to ruin us all. He couldn't handle power—he was too naïve."
"They were your family."
Her tone hardened. "And I made sure their legacy survived through you. I gave you education, safety, a home. Don't stand there acting like a victim when I've made you everything you are."
Dombi's throat tightened. "You built my life on their graves."
Lightning flared, bleaching the room white. The apartment seemed to shrink around them.
Then Gugu's voice softened—the same dangerous gentleness she'd used all her life to keep control.
"You're my blood, Dombi. You think you're different, but you're not. You have that same hunger. One day you'll understand how the world works, and you'll thank me."
Dombi's hands trembled, but her voice came out steady.
"I'd rather starve than become like you."
For a heartbeat, neither woman moved. The storm roared against the glass.
Finally, Gugu smiled—slow, cold, certain.
"You have no idea what you've started."
Dombi turned for the door. Her reflection caught in the dark window—a girl dissolving into someone unrecognizable.
As she stepped out, Gugu's voice followed her, soft as a curse.
"You think you're ready for war, child. But wars like these don't end. They inherit you."
The elevator doors closed with a chime.
Downstairs, the city lights bled through the rain. Somewhere in the parking garage, a car engine stirred to life.
High above, behind the curtains o
f glass, Gugu lifted her phone.
"Yes," she whispered.
"She knows."