How toxic can she get? - by Thoughts From Emilia

<img alt="" src="/media/inline_insight_image/Screenshot_20250819-170726.jpg"/>In the heart of Abuja, where glass skyscrapers kissed the sky and the streets buzzed with the rhythm of ambition, lived Amara, a woman whose beauty was as sharp as a double-edged sword. Her penthouse in Maitama overlooked the city’s glittering lights, a throne from which she wielded her charm and venom with equal precision. Amara was the kind of woman who could make you feel like the only person in the room—or like you didn’t exist at all. It started with Tunde, a rising tech entrepreneur who’d just secured a multimillion-naira deal. He met Amara at a high-profile gala in Wuse 2, where she floated through the crowd in a red gown that seemed to defy gravity. Her smile was magnetic, her laughter a melody that drowned out the clinking champagne glasses. Tunde was smitten. “You’re different,” he told her over cocktails at Sky Lounge. She tilted her head, her eyes glinting like the city below. “You have no idea,” she replied. At first, it was paradise. Amara was attentive, showering Tunde with witty texts and late-night calls that stretched into dawn. She’d show up at his office in Garki with jollof rice from her “secret chef” and stories that kept him laughing. But paradise had cracks. Amara had a way of turning every compliment into a test. “You think I’m beautiful? Prove it,” she’d say, half-joking, half-daring. Tunde bought her a diamond bracelet from a boutique in Asokoro. She wore it once, then “lost” it. “It wasn’t my style anyway,” she said, dismissing his effort with a flick of her wrist. The toxicity crept in slowly, like smoke under a door. Amara would vanish for days, leaving Tunde’s calls unanswered, only to reappear with vague excuses and a smile that disarmed his questions. She’d criticize his friends, calling them “small-minded” for not matching her vibe. At a party in Jabi, she humiliated Tunde’s best friend, Chidi, for mispronouncing a designer’s name, her laughter cutting sharper than any insult. “Why do you hang out with losers?” she asked Tunde later, as if it were his fault. Tunde’s world began to shrink. Amara demanded his time, his attention, his everything. She’d show up at his meetings unannounced, charming his investors while subtly undermining him. “Tunde’s brilliant, but he overthinks,” she’d say, her hand on his arm like a leash. His confidence waned, replaced by a nagging need to please her. When he tried to confront her, she’d flip the script. “You’re too sensitive,” she’d say, her voice dripping with faux concern. “Maybe you’re not ready for someone like me.” The breaking point came at a rooftop dinner in Central Area. Amara, radiant in gold, spent the evening flirting with a senator’s son, her laughter ringing out as Tunde sat silently, his egusi soup untouched. When he called her out, she exploded. “You’re suffocating me!” she screamed, loud enough for heads to turn. “You think you own me because you bought me a few things? You’re nothing without me.” She stormed out, leaving Tunde to face the pitying stares of strangers. But Amara wasn’t done. Over the next week, she flooded social media with cryptic posts about “ungrateful men,” tagging Tunde indirectly. She leaked private texts to her circle, painting him as controlling. His reputation took a hit; clients hesitated, whispers followed. Tunde realized too late that Amara didn’t just break hearts—she dismantled lives. In Abuja’s glittering chaos, Amara moved on to her next target, her smile as lethal as ever. Tunde rebuilt, scarred but wiser, learning that some beauty hides a poison that seeps deeper than you ever expect. How toxic could she get? In a city where power was currency, Amara was a billionaire.

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