Ah, let me go!' I shrieked, my fingers clawing at their meaty hands as I fought to wrench free from their iron grip. My gaze darted wildly across the Grand Imperial Hotel's Presidential Suite – soaring twenty-foot ceilings adorned with hand-painted murals of Nigerian royalty, gilded columns framing floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Lagos's glittering Victoria Island skyline – and landed on the five towering men looming over me. Their faces were twisted into grotesque sneers beneath the glow of a twelve-foot crystal chandelier imported from Venice, each facet catching the light and scattering rainbows across walls lined with silk damask. What dark web have I stumbled into? I thought, my heart hammering against my ribs like a caged bird as I took in the suite's marble floors, plush Persian rugs worth more than our entire house, and a grand piano polished to a mirror shine. I should have known better than to trust her honeyed words.
One of them – a bald brute in a custom silk suit tailored in Milan – lifted a cut-crystal goblet of deep crimson Bordeaux, holding it to my lips with a force that made my jaw ache. 'Drink,' he growled, his diamond cufflinks winking in the light. OMG – I'd walked straight into a trap, and I was about to pay the price! As he leaned in closer, his breath reeking of Cuban cigars and aged cognac, I drew back my leg and drove my knee with every ounce of strength I had into his most vulnerable spot. 'Ahh! Ahh!' He howled in agony, collapsing to the Carrara marble floor in a heap of expensive fabric, knocking over a vase of rare orchids imported from Thailand. In that split second, I snatched a heavy decanter of 1920s brandy from the mahogany bar – its surface inlaid with mother-of-pearl – and brought it crashing down on another man's skull, then slammed my palm into a third's temple, sending him crumpling unconscious beside a velvet-upholstered sofa stuffed with goose down. While the remaining two stumbled about in panic, their shouts echoing off the coffered ceiling, I tore through the suite's massive double doors of carved mahogany and fled.
I flew down the grand hallway, my satin gown billowing behind me as I kicked off my diamond-studded heels – custom-made in Paris, with straps woven from gold thread – they were nothing but chains now. I raced barefoot across the cool Italian marble, past display cases holding ancient Benin bronzes and walls hung with paintings by Nigeria's most celebrated artists. My feet stung as I rounded corners lined with crystal sconces that cast warm golden light across the corridor, my sobs catching in my throat as I burst through the hotel's ornate glass entrance – framed by polished brass and flanked by marble lions carved by a master sculptor from Ibadan – into the humid night air. I crumpled against the doors, tears streaming down my face as I gazed out at the maze of Lagos's neon-lit streets, the distant glow of the Eko Atlantic towers cutting through the darkness as I desperately tried to find my way back to the Maxwell residence.
.... FLASHBACK ....
'Isabella! Isabella!' The voice rang out through the Maxwell residence's sprawling foyer, bouncing off marble floors polished to perfection and past towering marble statues of Greek gods that stood guard at the base of a sweeping staircase of white marble. Madam Mary – my stepmother – stood at the top of the stairs, draped in a floor-length gown of emerald satin embroidered with thousands of tiny emeralds and pearls, a smile playing at the corners of her crimson lips that I'd never once witnessed before. The hall around her was a vision of opulence: crystal chandeliers hanging from every corner, walls paneled in rich mahogany, and a grand fountain in the center spouting water scented with rose petals. I froze mid-step, my hands still clutching the dust cloth I'd been using to polish the silver candelabras – each one a family heirloom from Scotland – warmth from her was as foreign as snow in Nigeria.
'Yes, ma'am? Did you wish to speak with me?' I asked, bowing my head so she wouldn't see the confusion in my eyes as I stood on the rug that had been hand-woven in Kano, its intricate patterns telling stories of ancient kingdoms.
'Isabella dear,' she purred, gliding down the stairs with the grace of a cat, her gown rustling against the steps like leaves in the wind. She held out a sleek black leather clutch embossed with gold lettering from a London designer, its clasp set with a single sapphire. 'There's something I need collected from the Grand Imperial – here's the address.' She paused, pressing the bag into my hands, and gestured to a garment bag hanging from a brass stand beside her. 'And wear these. They'll be perfect for the occasion.' Inside lay a breathtaking gown of midnight blue silk, adorned with tiny sequins that caught the light like scattered stars, and paired with diamond drop earrings that had once belonged to Florence Nightingale, according to the family archives. 'You'll leave at precisely 9pm. The driver will be waiting in the Rolls-Royce Phantom – the one with the custom cream leather interior.'
'Of course, ma'am,' I whispered, still stunned by her unusual kindness as I took in the way the gown's fabric shimmered under the foyer's lights, casting shades of indigo and sapphire across the marble at my feet.
'Oh, and darling – put away those cleaning things for the night,' she added, her smile taking on a mischievous tilt as she brushed a strand of hair from my face with a ring that held a pearl as large as a bird's egg. 'You work so hard, polishing the silver in our dining room – with its twelve-foot table that seats twenty – and tending to the gardens where we grow exotic flowers from across the world. Go, relax a little – you deserve it.' I felt a flicker of doubt prick at my mind, but it vanished as quickly as it came as I imagined walking through the Grand Imperial's halls in such splendor. Finally, I thought, running my fingers over the luxurious fabric. A chance to feel like I belong in this grand house that's never truly been home.
..... FLASHBACK ENDED ....
So that was her game – she'd dressed me up like a prize jewel, decked me in treasures worth more than I'd ever see in my lifetime, only to sell me off to those beasts. I sank to the pavement, my expensive gown pooling around me in the gutter, its sequins catching the glow of passing cars like fallen stars. I wept until my whole body shook, the grandeur of everything I'd just seen – from the hotel's opulence to the jewels I'd worn – making the betrayal cut even deeper. After all I'd done to be obedient, after all the years of swallowing my pride in that mansion filled with treasures I could never touch… this was my reward.
the opulent Maxwell residence
Florence Maxwell - Isabella's stepsister and aspiring starlet - swept through the marble-floored corridor, her designer heels clicking sharply against the polished stone as she rushed to her mother's private chambers. Bursting through the gilded double doors, she tossed her silk shawl aside in a dramatic flourish.
"Mother! Mother! Did she really agree?" she demanded, her voice dripping with arrogant triumph as she perched on the edge of a velvet-upholstered chaise lounge.
"Of course, my precious jewel," Madam Mary purred, swirling amber liquid in her crystal snifter as she reclined behind a massive mahogany desk adorned with gold leaf detailing. "She's far too guileless for her own good - not a single flicker of suspicion crossed that pretty little face of hers."
Florence threw back her head and let out a peal of laughter that echoed off the high, coffered ceilings. "Magnificent! At last, I'll claim my rightful place in the glittering world of entertainment - no more sharing the spotlight or settling for second best. Oh, but mother… what if she runs to Father? You know how he dotes on her, how he hangs on every word she utters and moves heaven and earth to keep her content."
Madam Mary rose from her chair, her floor-length satin gown rustling with every step as she crossed to her daughter's side. She placed a perfectly manicured finger to her lips, her crimson lipstick gleaming under the chandelier's crystal prisms. "Fret not, my love - I have crafted a plan so exquisite, so utterly flawless, that even our dear husband will not dare to question a word of it. Come closer…"
She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that sent shivers of delight down Florence's spine. When she pulled away, Florence's eyes blazed with excitement, her perfectly coiffed hair catching the light as she jumped to her feet.
"Mother! It's brilliant! Once we set this in motion, he'll never look at her with anything but doubt and disdain again! Hahaha!" She twirled across the room, her laughter ringing out like bells in the palatial space.