The Crown And Her Shadows

chapter 37

Iman tied her ponytail with one hand, the other adjusting the oversized black T-shirt and a white loose sweatpants. Her feet were slipped into, no makeup on just lip balm and her usual quiet confidence.

She checked her phone. A message from Hudayya read: “Your piece is ready for pickup.”

“Finally,” she muttered, grabbing her keys and slipping on a pair of large sunglasses. She stepped into the Abuja heat, heading to the car parked neatly in the driveway.

The interior of her GLE Coupe still smelled brand new, and the dashboard shimmered faintly in the sun. She started the engine, rolled down the windows slightly, and pulled out of the gate with a quick wave to the security guard.

Her first stop was Hudayya Fashion House on Libreville Crescent. She walked in with her usual graceful confidence, her presence turning a few heads. Hudayya herself came to greet her and handed over the packaged custom piece for Haifa’s wedding.

“Everything perfect?” Iman asked, inspecting the embroidery.

“Exquisite, as always,” Hudayya said with a smile.

With a nod of approval, Iman thanked her and headed out, stowing the bag carefully in the backseat. She was supposed to collect a few more outfits from Wuye market, and then she’d be done for the day.

Or so she thought.

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The road toward Wuye was crowded as usual Abuja’s traffic always held a personality of its own. As she slowed down at a junction near the market, a pair of police officers stepped forward, waving for her to stop.

She lowered her sunglasses slightly and sighed.

One officer a woman in a tight-fitting uniform with an aggressive posture stepped up to her window.

“Where your number plate?” the woman barked.

Iman blinked. “It’s a new car. The papers are in the glove compartment. I haven’t gotten the permanent plate yet—”

“Madam, come down. We’re taking the car.”

Her tone was already hostile, dismissive. Iman held back a scoff.

“I’m telling you the truth. I can show you the documents—”

“Park well!” the male officer chimed in, already circling the car.

“What is this?” she muttered, more to herself. She was about to reach for the documents when the female officer yanked the door open and grabbed her arm.

“Step down, now!”

Iman’s jaw dropped. “What is wrong with you people—!”

Before she could finish, a hard slap struck her across the cheek.

A gasp escaped her lips.

The sound of the slap was loud. Shocking. People nearby paused. A few phones were already up, recording.

She touched her cheek, stunned. Her eyes didn’t water, but the burn of the slap spread through her face like wildfire.

“You need to be taught authority,” the officer spat.

Iman straightened, slow and deliberate, her expression cooling into steel.

She said nothing, only pulled out her phone and dialed.

“Nassim. Wuye junction. Police just slapped me. I’ll wait.”

She ended the call and sat back in the car without a word.