The afternoon sky hung heavy with clouds, thick and gray, threatening rain. Lagos had a way of turning moody in August, as if the weather carried its own grudges. By the time Amara ducked into the café, the drizzle had already begun, streaking the glass windows in uneven lines. Inside, the hum of conversation, clinking cups, and the warm smell of roasted beans wrapped the little place in a comfort she could hardly feel.
She sat near the window, her bag resting by her side, and stared at the cappuccino cooling in front of her. She hadn't touched it. Money was too tight for luxuries, but she had ordered the cheapest thing on the menu so she wouldn't be chased out for loitering. The steam had faded now, leaving a dull froth on the surface.
Her phone buzzed against the wooden table. She already knew it wouldn't be good news.
Debit Alert: ₦150,000
Rent.
Her chest tightened. The landlord had refused to wait another week. He had threatened to throw their belongings out if she delayed again. And just like that, the money she had kept aside for her brother's tuition vanished into his greedy hands.
Amara pressed the phone screen face down and closed her eyes. A wave of helplessness crashed over her. She hated feeling this way-weak, cornered, like life had pinned her against a wall with no room to breathe.
"God, how much more do I have to take?" she whispered under her breath.
"Miss Johnson?"
Her eyes shot open at the deep, even voice.
Standing before her was a man she recognized instantly, though they had never spoken more than a polite hello in passing. Tade Adewale.
He was hard to miss, even in a crowd. Tall, broad-shouldered, with the air of someone who carried entire empires on his back without breaking a sweat. His navy suit fit like it had been stitched onto him, his tie crisp, his shoes gleaming despite the wet streets outside. But it wasn't his clothes that commanded attention—it was the way he carried himself. Calm, in control, every movement deliberate, as if the world bent to his will.
Amara blinked, caught off guard. "Mr. Adewale?"
He inclined his head politely. "May I join you?"
Her first instinct was to say no, but her lips betrayed her with a stiff nod.
He sat across from her, settling into the chair with an ease that made the tiny café suddenly feel smaller. The scent of his cologne;sharp and clean, with a hint of spice, mingled with the coffee aroma in the air.
"You're probably wondering why I asked to meet you," he said.
Amara tightened her grip around her cup. She hadn't been given much choice. His assistant had called her earlier that morning with a tone that left no room for refusal. Mr. Adewale would like to see you. 2 p.m. at Green Bean Café.
She nodded warily.
Tade leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes never leaving hers. "I'll get straight to the point. I need a wife."
The words hit her like a slap.
For a moment, she thought she had misheard him. "I… beg your pardon?"
"I need a wife," he repeated, his voice steady, businesslike. "And I want you to be that woman."
Amara's mouth went dry. Her brain scrambled for a response, but all she could manage was a shaky laugh. "Is this some kind of joke?"
"I don't joke about things like this."
Her heart pounded so loudly she swore he could hear it. She stared at him, waiting for a smirk, a twitch of amusement, something that would tell her he was playing a prank. But Tade Adewale wasn't smiling. His face was carved from stone.
"You can't be serious."
"I am."
"Why me?" she asked, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "You don't even know me."
"That's exactly why," he replied smoothly.
Amara frowned. His answer made no sense.
He adjusted his cufflinks before speaking again, like he was preparing to close a deal. "Miss Johnson, this isn't about romance. It's not about love. This is business—a contract. You'll play the role of my wife for one year. In return, you'll be compensated handsomely."
She stared at him, disbelief written all over her face. A contract marriage? Those things belonged in movies and cheap romance novels, not real life.
"You must think I'm desperate."
"Aren't you?"
The bluntness of his words stung. Heat rose in her cheeks. "That's insulting."
"It's the truth." His gaze didn't waver. "You're drowning financially. I know about your mother's passing two years ago, your father leaving when you were a child. I know you're the sole guardian of your younger brother, and that your salary barely covers your expenses. I know you're struggling to keep him in school. You've been fighting hard, but you're at the edge of breaking."
Her stomach turned. How did he know so much about her life? The realization sent a chill down her spine, this man had researched her.
Her pride screamed at her to get up and walk away, but the reality of her situation pinned her to the chair.
"What's in it for you?" she asked, her voice sharper now, defensive.
For the first time, a shadow passed across his expression. His jaw tightened, his eyes darkening. "My grandfather's will. If I'm not married by my thirty-second birthday, control of Adewale Holdings goes to my cousins. I won't allow that to happen."
Amara let out a humorless laugh. "So I'm supposed to help you fight your family battles?"
"You need money. I need a wife. This solves both our problems."
He reached into his briefcase and slid a folder across the table. Amara didn't touch it.
"There's a signing bonus of ten million naira," he said, his voice smooth, matter-of-fact. "A monthly allowance of two million. At the end of the year, a final settlement of fifty million."
Amara's breath caught in her throat. Fifty million.
Her hand twitched against the table. That kind of money could change her life, secure her brother's education, wipe away years of struggle. It could buy freedom.
But at what price?
She pushed the folder back toward him. "I can't. This is crazy."
"You can," he said quietly. "And it's not crazy—it's practical."
Her eyes flashed. "It's selling myself."
"No," he corrected, his gaze steady. "It's saving yourself."
The café seemed to fade around them, the noise of clinking spoons and chatter falling away. It was just the two of them, locked in a tense silence.
Amara finally stood, her hands trembling as she grabbed her bag. "I don't need your charity, Mr. Adewale."
She turned sharply, but his voice stopped her cold.
"Walk away if you want. But remember, your landlord won't wait. And neither will your brother's school."
The words sliced through her like a blade. She hated him for saying them, hated him more for being right.
Outside, the rain had grown heavier, soaking her instantly as she stepped onto the street. The city buzzed around her, cars honking, people rushing for shelter, but she felt strangely numb.
She wanted to hate him. She wanted to dismiss his proposal as absurd. But deep down, beneath her pride and anger, she knew the truth.
The offer he had laid on the table was a lifeline. A dangerous one, yes, but one she might not be able to refuse.
And that thought terrified her more than anything.