She whispered, “If you disgrace me, I will faint publicly and haunt you.”
Suddenly, a low rumbling sound began in the distance, growing louder.
People paused.
“What is that noise?”
“Maybe thunder?”
“No rain today.”
Then—
Vroooom.
Dust rose in the distance.
Heads turned.
Eyes widened.
One elder stood up. “Is that a convoy or an army?”
The sound grew louder. Closer. Stronger.
Then black SUVs entered the village like a moving army of silence and power.
People froze.
Chioma’s mouth opened.
One car.
Two cars.
Ten cars.
Ngozi stood up slowly. “What kind of wedding is this?”
The doors opened.
Bodyguards stepped out first.
Then an elegant, powerful-looking older couple.
Jackson’s parents.
Silence fell.
Even the wind behaved.
Ngozi whispered, “Farmer Jackson…”
Jackson smiled. “I told you.”
The villagers were now confused.
“Who are these people?”
“That cannot be a farmer’s family.”
Chioma slowly sat down. “I am seeing an upgrade.”
Jackson stood up—calm, collected, carrying an entirely different energy.
“I think it’s time.”
Ngozi blinked. “Time for what?”
Jackson faced the crowd and spoke calmly.
“I am not a farmer.”
Silence.
Total silence.
“I am Jackson Ekenna.”
Pause.
“I own multiple companies.”
Another pause.
“And I never left the city because I was poor.”
He looked at Ngozi.
“I left because I was broken.”
Gasps. Shock. Confusion.
Ngozi whispered, “You what?”
Bodyguards began bringing items—goats, yams, palm wine, money, boxes, more boxes.
Chioma screamed, “Is this dowry or national budget?”
Ngozi’s mother covered her mouth.
Her father sat down slowly. “We are finished.”
Ngozi turned to Jackson. “So all this time?”
