Chapter 2
The email had landed in Elena's inbox late at night, just as she was about to shut down her old laptop.
Subject: Private Meeting Request – Damian Adeyemi
Her breath caught. She reread it twice, convinced she was hallucinating. The name was too big, too powerful. And yet, the words were clear—his office had reached out, politely but firmly instructing her to meet him at a café on Allen Avenue the next afternoon.
No explanations, just a time and a place.
She almost ignored it. After all, why would a man like Damian Adeyemi want to see her? But curiosity gnawed at her, and so did the desperation in her life. Rent was due, jobs were scarce, and rejection had become her daily bread. Whatever this was, it felt important—maybe even life-changing.
That night, she barely slept. She lay awake, staring at the ceiling, her mind swinging wildly between hope and dread. What could he possibly want from her? And what if it was some cruel mistake?
By morning, her nerves were in knots. She stood before the mirror, pulling outfit after outfit from her small wardrobe. A black dress? Too formal. A colorful blouse? Too loud. Finally, she settled on simple jeans and a white blouse—clean, modest, and safe. She tied her hair into a loose wave, applied just a touch of lip gloss, and told herself not to overthink. "You're just meeting a man," she whispered to her reflection, though her pounding heart said otherwise.
Meanwhile, across town, Damian was dressing with the same precision he brought to his boardroom. He chose a dark tailored suit, crisp shirt, no tie—enough to look serious but not intimidating. He told himself this was nothing more than business. And yet, as he adjusted his cuffs in the mirror, his jaw tightened. He didn't like this part—depending on someone else, exposing even a fraction of his private life to a stranger.
But the recommendation had been strong. And more than that—he remembered the first time he'd seen her.
By afternoon, their paths converged at the café.
Damian sat at the farthest corner, his cappuccino untouched, posture upright and commanding. His phone buzzed with messages from his assistant, but he ignored them. This meeting demanded his full focus.
Elena pushed through the glass door, her nerves wrapped tight under her calm exterior. She spotted him instantly—hard to miss with his quiet aura of power—and for a moment, she considered walking back out. He looked… untouchable, like someone who lived in a different universe.
But she steadied herself and approached.
"Mr. Adeyemi?"
He looked up, recognition flickering in his eyes. "Elena. Please, sit."
She lowered herself into the chair across from him, her hands clasped to hide the tremble in her fingers.
For a long while, silence filled the air, heavy with tension. Then Damian leaned forward, his voice clipped but steady.
"I'll be direct. You know why I asked you to meet."
Her throat tightened, but she gave a small nod.
"I need a wife."
The words landed like a hammer. Elena blinked, stunned by his bluntness.
He continued, his tone even. "It isn't about love. My family is pressing me, my board is restless. They want a married man at the helm—someone who looks stable. They don't need the details of my personal life, and I intend to keep it that way. Which is where you come in."
Elena's chest tightened. "And why me?"
Damian's gaze sharpened, and for the first time, a small curve tugged at his lips. "Because you caught my attention at Prestige Mall."
Her eyes widened. "Prestige Mall?"
"Yes." His voice was calm, but firm. "That scene you caused with the sales clerk. You stood your ground in the way they were treating you—badly, disrespectfully. You didn't back down."
Elena froze. Suddenly, the memory rushed back—the crowded boutique, the haughty saleslady who had sneered at her for touching a designer bag, the whispered insults, the way people had stared when Elena refused to be humiliated.
The flashback made her cheeks burn hot. She dropped her gaze, embarrassed that he had seen her like that.
"I… I had to," she murmured. "The lady was being too disrespectful."
Damian's eyes stayed on her, unwavering. "And that's not bad. Not many can do what you did—boldly, without flinching. So I decided to do a background check on you."
Elena's stomach tightened. She looked up, meeting his piercing gaze. "So you know… my whole story?"
Her voice was a whisper now, vulnerable. She quickly dropped her head again, shame washing over her.
Damian cleared his throat, leaning back slightly. His tone shifted back to business, curt and firm. "We're not discussing that. We're here to talk about the contract." He folded his hands together. "So, Elena—are you in or not?"
The words hung in the air, heavy and unrelenting.
Elena's pulse raced. She wanted to breathe, to stall, but his eyes bore into her, steady and unreadable. She had never felt so cornered—and yet, so strangely seen.