The mansion smelled of politics and fresh orchids. Every inch had been curated for perfection, a press-worthy engagement home, designed to prove unity where there was none.
Bella sat at her new vanity, unmoving as the stylist fussed over her curls. Her reflection was flawless: smooth skin, lined eyes, lips curved into a soft, fake smile.
"Madam, the press is here. They want a few minutes of the couple together before the shoot."
Bella blinked, slowly. "Let them wait."
Lanre stood downstairs, surrounded by aides and reporters, adjusting his cufflinks while murmurs swirled around him like smoke.
"Sir, remember to mention how supportive Miss Alakija has been."
Supportive. The word itched at his tongue.
He checked his phone. No texts. No calls. Nothing from Amaka. The silence stung louder than her slap.
Footsteps echoed from the staircase.
Heads turned.
Bella descended in a pale champagne gown that dripped elegance. Her expression? Pure frost.
Lanre offered his arm. She took it without a word.
Flashes. Applause. The perfect couple. Nigeria's future.
A reporter leaned in.
"How does it feel to be marrying one of the most eligible bachelors in politics?"
Bella's lips parted in a smile that could cut glass.
"I wouldn't say eligible," she said smoothly. "More like... available by force."
Laughter rippled through the crowd. The reporter chuckled nervously. Lanre didn't flinch, he knew the rules now. This was war wrapped in pearls.
Later, when the guests had thinned and the cameras were gone, they found themselves alone in the study.
"You didn't have to embarrass me like that," Lanre said.
"Don't flatter yourself," she replied, pouring a drink. "I didn't do it for you."
He studied her, really studied her. There was something dangerous behind her calm, something that both unsettled and intrigued him.
"You're not what I expected," he said.
"Neither are you."
Silence.
Then, she placed the drink down.
"Let's get something clear," she said. "You may have the party's name, the press, and your secrets — but I have my pride. We don't have to like each other. But if you ever try to control me, I will burn this whole arrangement to the ground."
He stepped closer, expression unreadable.
"Are you threatening me?"
She tilted her head. "No. I'm introducing myself."
He didn't respond.
But for the first time since it all began, he smiled.
That night, a single message buzzed on Amaka's screen.
From an unknown number:
"Do you still want him? I can help you get rid of her."
She stared at the message, heart pounding.
And then she replied.
"I'm listening."