Okafor was born into a life most people only dream of, but to him, it often felt like a prison made of gold.
At thirty, he had everything the world admired. His name opened doors before he even reached them. Investors waited for his approval. Competitors feared his silence. His family’s estate stood on acres of guarded land, all glass, marble, and polished steel, rising over the city like a monument to power.
But inside those walls, Okafor felt less like a man and more like an heir being prepared for display.
Every morning began at 5:30, because that was how his father had raised him. Discipline first. Desire later. Feelings never. Chief Okafor believed greatness was built through control, and he had spent his life turning his son into the next version of himself.
Breakfast was served at a long table that could seat twenty, though most mornings it held only three people: Okafor, his father, and his mother.
His father sat at the head, reading reports with the cold focus of a man who had conquered too much to be gentle. His mother sat beside him, elegant and quiet, managing the family image with a smile that could soften any scandal before it reached the public.
Okafor sat between them, wearing a suit that fit perfectly and a life that did not.
“You’re late,” his father said one morning without looking up.
“It’s 7:01,” Okafor replied.
“Then you are one minute late.”
There was no anger in his father’s voice. Only precision.
His mother stirred her tea. “You have investors at ten. And dinner with the royal family tonight.”
At the mention of the royal family, Okafor’s jaw tightened.
Princess Diana.
