Kofi.
The office smelled of failure.
I didn't notice it at first—just the quiet hum of computers, the faint whir of the air conditioning, the soft click of keyboards. But slowly, painfully, I realized… this wasn't the same empire I had built with Akosua.
The numbers didn't lie. Projects that had been flawless under her guidance were now stuttering. Investors were jittery. Teams argued over tasks I barely understood. Everything she had built… was slipping through my fingers.
I ran a hand down my face, pushing back the guilt that burned hotter than the fluorescent lights above. I had ignored her warnings, brushed aside her advice, and now… I was watching our empire crumble.
Princess Adjoa leaned over my desk, pointing at a graph I barely understood.
"Kofi, see? This expansion plan… if we adjust the margins here, maybe—" Her voice wavered, but her eyes were full of false confidence. Pride. Arrogance. She had never understood the details. She had never understood the empire. And yet she acted like she did.
I swallowed hard. My hands trembled. "Adjoa… this isn't how it works."
She straightened, huffing. "I understand perfectly. Why are you doubting me?"
I wanted to scream. I wanted to pull my hair out. But instead, I closed my eyes and inhaled slowly. The anger, the regret, the obsession… it all twisted inside me.
Akosua.
Her name hit me like a wave, cold and sharp. She had taught me everything—taught me to think like an empire, to see beyond numbers, beyond charts, beyond politics. And I had let her go. I had let her walk away.
Now, this—this mess—was the result.
I looked at Adjoa again. She didn't see it. Couldn't see it. Her hands trembled as she rearranged papers like she understood them. But she didn't. She had never understood.
I slammed my palm on the desk. "No! Stop pretending!"
Her eyes widened. "Kofi—what's gotten into you?"
"Stop pretending you can run this company!" I roared, my voice echoing through the boardroom. "Stop pretending you know anything about the empire Akosua built!"
The silence that followed was suffocating. Adjoa's lips trembled, and she blinked rapidly, like she wanted to cry—but her pride wouldn't allow it.
I turned to the window, staring out at the city lights. Akosua's empire had been stronger than this, smarter than this, cleaner than this. Every detail, every strategy, every single calculation had been hers. And now… I was drowning in her absence.
A pang of guilt shot through me. I had betrayed her. Not only betrayed her… I had erased her.
And for what?
A royal marriage. A name that pleased my mother. An empty victory that tasted like ashes.
I remembered the look in her eyes the last time we met—the calm, controlled disappointment. She had known this would happen. She had warned me. And still, I had ignored her.
I closed my eyes again, picturing her hands moving across spreadsheets, her brow furrowed in concentration, the quiet determination in her every move. Akosua had been the backbone of this empire, the mind behind every success. And I had pushed her aside.
The office door clicked.
I turned sharply. My mother, Queen Afia, stood in the doorway. Regal. Imposing. And utterly calm, as if the chaos surrounding me was nothing but a minor inconvenience.
"Kofi," she said softly, almost gently. But the weight behind her voice crushed me. "What is happening here?"
I swallowed, words failing me. How could I explain? How could I admit that without Akosua, everything we built together was falling apart?
"She… she left," I said finally. My voice cracked. "I… I thought I could manage."
Queen Afia's eyes narrowed, sharp and assessing. "Manage? Or pretend?"
I flinched. She always knew. Always. Even before I saw it myself.
"She was the reason this empire thrived," I admitted, my hands trembling. "And I… I let her go. I thought… I thought I could do it alone."
The Queen's silence was deafening. Then she spoke, her voice low, like a threat wrapped in silk.
"Do you understand what you have lost?"
I nodded, but the truth was, no, I didn't. Not yet. Not fully.
I felt the weight of the office press down on me. Each spreadsheet, each report, each failed decision screamed her absence. And with each failure, my obsession with her grew.
I couldn't stop thinking about her. Not the empire. Not the money. Not the board. Her. Akosua.
I rubbed my temples, trying to think. Trying to plan. But the more I tried, the more I realized… no plan could fix this. Not without her.
The door opened again, and Adjoa peeked in, smiling nervously. "Kofi… maybe we just need more time?"
I whirled on her, my voice shaking with rage and despair. "Time? Time? You don't get it! She built this. She created this. And you… you're destroying it!"
Her face paled. "I—I know what I'm doing!"
"You don't!" I shouted, and the room felt smaller, tighter, like the walls themselves were closing in. "You never did!"
A silence fell again. Only the hum of the air conditioning, the faint clatter of the city below, and my own ragged breathing.
I sank into my chair, head in my hands. I had wanted power. I had wanted control. I had wanted to follow the path my mother set. But now, I realized… I had thrown away the one person who could have guided me through it all.
Akosua.
I didn't deserve her. And yet… the thought of her slipping away, of her thriving without me, filled me with a desperate, consuming need I couldn't name.
Regret. Obsession. Fear. All wrapped into one.
I knew one thing with terrifying clarity: if she didn't return, if I didn't find a way to bring her back…
This empire, everything I had built, would fall.
And so would I.
I leaned back, staring out the window, the city lights blurring into streaks of gold and blue. Somewhere out there, Akosua was moving forward, rising higher without me. And I—helpless, obsessed, and broken—had only one choice.
Find her.
Before it was too late.