Amara barely slept that night.
She tossed and turned on the thin mattress, the ceiling fan clicking with every rotation as though mocking her restlessness. Sleep came in fitful snatches, each dream a tangle of faces and voices. Her mother's warm smile, Chike's laughter, and then Tade's piercing eyes—always calm, always calculating.
By dawn, she gave up. The city was already stirring outside their window, the distant honking of buses, hawkers calling out their goods, the buzz of life pressing against her walls. She sat up slowly, her hair a tangled mess, her throat dry.
Her phone lay on the nightstand, the message still glowing faintly on the screen: You don't have much time, Decide quickly.
Her chest tightened.
"Decide quickly," she muttered under her breath. As if choices like this were made over breakfast. As if signing away a year of her life was as simple as choosing between garri or bread.
A knock on her door interrupted her spiraling thoughts.
"Amara?" Chike's voice was groggy with sleep. "You awake?"
"Yes, come in."
He pushed the door open, hair sticking up in every direction, rubbing his eyes. He looked younger in that moment, vulnerable, still the boy who used to cling to her hand at school gates.
"You didn't sleep," he said, reading her like an open book.
She smiled faintly. "Neither did you."
He shrugged and sat on the edge of her bed. "I was thinking about the relay race. I need new sneakers. Mine are spoilt."
The words, so innocent, struck her like a hammer. Sneakers. A simple thing other kids took for granted. For Chike, it was a luxury Amara wasn't sure she could afford.
She reached out and squeezed his hand. "Don't worry. You'll have them."
His eyes lit up. "Promise?"
"Promise," she whispered, though her heart clenched at the lie.
When he left, bounding off to get ready for school, Amara sat frozen on the bed. Her brother's future was a fragile thread in her hands, and she could feel it slipping.
Maybe Ifeoma was right. Maybe pride didn't put food on the table. Maybe dignity didn't pay tuition fees.
But if she agreed, it couldn't be with her head bowed. She would not walk into this arrangement as a beggar. She would walk in with her spine straight, her voice steady.
By late afternoon, she found herself standing outside Adewale Holdings.
The building loomed above her, all glass and steel, reflecting the restless city. People moved briskly through the revolving doors, suits and heels clicking across the polished floors inside. Amara hesitated, her heart hammering.
She almost turned away, Almost. But then she thought of Chike's eager face, his hopeful voice asking for sneakers. She squared her shoulders and stepped inside.
The lobby was grand; marble floors, high ceilings, the quiet efficiency of wealth. A receptionist in a sleek uniform glanced up as Amara approached.
"I'm here to see Mr. Adewale," she said, her voice steadier than she felt.
The receptionist's eyes flicked over her modest dress, then softened slightly as she checked a schedule, "You're expected. Take the elevator to the top floor."
Expected.
The word made her stomach twist.
The elevator ride felt endless, the numbers ticking upward slowly. By the time the doors slid open to reveal a hushed corridor lined with glass walls, her palms were damp.
Tade's office door stood at the end, large and imposing. She knocked once.
"Come in."
His voice carried through the wood, deep and steady.
She stepped inside.
The office was vast, with floor-to-ceiling windows that framed the city like a living painting. Shelves lined with books and awards, a massive desk, leather chairs—everything screamed power.
And there he was, standing by the window, his back to her. He turned slowly, hands clasped behind him, eyes locking on hers.
"You came," he said simply.
Amara lifted her chin. "Yes. To talk."
He gestured to the chair opposite his desk. "Sit."
She sat, though every nerve in her body was taut.
Tade studied her for a moment, then lowered himself into his chair. "So, Have you made your decision?"
"Yes." Her voice rang louder than she expected. "But not on your terms."
His brows lifted slightly, the only sign of surprise. "Go on."
"If I agree to this marriage, it won't be as your puppet," she said, forcing her voice to stay even. "I won't be treated like an employee you've paid off. I'll have conditions."
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then, slowly, a smile ghosted across his lips. Not warm more like a spark of amusement.
"You intrigue me, Miss Johnson. Most people would have signed the papers already."
"I'm not most people."
"Clearly." He leaned back, steepling his fingers. "So, what are these conditions?"
Amara's heart pounded, but she held his gaze. "First, my brother, His education must be guaranteed. Full tuition, no matter what happens between us."
"Done."
"Second, my independence. I won't be locked away like some trophy. I'll continue working, living my life. I won't be paraded around unless necessary."
"Acceptable."
She swallowed hard. "Third… respect. I don't care if this is fake. I don't care what image you want to project. But in private, you will not treat me as less than equal. I will not be humiliated."
For the first time, his expression shifted. His eyes, usually so cold, flickered with something unreadable. He leaned forward, voice lower now.
"You're very bold."
"I have to be."
Silence again, heavy with unspoken words.
Finally, he nodded. "Agreed."
Relief washed over her, mingled with fear. It was happening.
He reached into a drawer and pulled out the same folder from the café. Sliding it across the desk, he said, "Read it. Sign it when you're ready."
Amara placed her hand on the folder, her fingers trembling slightly.
"This changes everything," she whispered.
"Yes," Tade said. "For both of us."
Their eyes locked, and in that moment, Amara felt it the sense that she was stepping onto a path she couldn't turn back from.
She hadn't sold herself. She hadn't bowed. She had chosen.
And yet, deep inside, she knew the price of this deal would be heavier than any contract could capture.
Tade slid the folder closer.
"Go ahead," Tade said quietly. "Read it."
Her throat tightened. She had imagined this moment all night—the signature, the binding of herself to something she couldn't fully control but reality was sharper. She flipped the folder open.
The first page bore a neat heading in bold print:
Contractual Agreement of Marriage Between Mr. Tade Adewale and Miss Amara Johnson
Her breath caught. Seeing her name in ink, paired with his, made her chest tighten. This wasn't fantasy anymore. It was law.
Her eyes skimmed the clauses.
• Duration: The contractual marriage shall last twelve (12) calendar months from the date of signing, unless terminated earlier by mutual agreement or breach of contract.
• Public Image: Both parties are to present themselves publicly as a married couple for the duration of the contract.
• Compensation: The sum of ₦10,000,000 shall be allocated to Miss Johnson in installments across the marriage duration, plus tuition coverage for her brother, Chike Johnson.
• Confidentiality: Neither party shall disclose the true nature of this arrangement to outsiders.
• Termination Clause: Breach of trust, exposure of the contract, or failure to comply with public appearances may result in termination without compensation.
Amara's eyes burned. Ten million naira. She had never even held more than a hundred thousand at once. Her hands trembled as she turned to the next page.
Additional Clauses:
• Both parties shall reside under one roof for the duration of the marriage.
• Physical intimacy is neither demanded nor required, unless both parties consent.
• In the event of death or incapacitation, inheritance rights shall be determined according to existing wills.
She froze. "One roof?"
"Yes," Tade replied, calm as ever. "It's necessary. People will ask questions if we live apart."
Her voice rose before she could stop it. "You expect me to move into your house? Just like that?"
His eyes narrowed slightly. "Would you rather explain to the world why my wife lives elsewhere?"
Heat rushed up her neck. The thought of living with him under the same roof, breathing the same air, waking up to that cold gaze made her stomach churn. But he was right. A fake marriage wouldn't survive separate addresses.
She turned back to the papers, forcing herself to keep reading.
There were pages of legal jargon she barely understood. Each word seemed to tighten the net around her.
Finally, she slammed the folder shut. "This is insane."
Tade didn't flinch. "It's practical."
"You've thought of everything. Every loophole. Every possible way to bind me."
"I don't leave things to chance."
She glared at him, heart pounding. "And what if I change my mind tomorrow?"
His expression didn't shift. "You won't."
Silence. The weight of his certainty pressed against her.
Amara rose from her chair and paced to the window, staring out at the endless stretch of Lagos. The city looked small from this height, like a toy. But her life down there wasn't small. It was raw and real and fragile.
She thought of Chike again. His laughter. His sneakers. His future.
Slowly, she turned back. "Fine. I'll do it. But I'm not signing until I add something of my own.
That caught his attention. "What do you propose?"
"A clause for me." She took a deep breath. "At the end of this year, when it's over, I walk away free. No strings. No debts. No more control from you."
His jaw tightened, but he nodded. "Agreed."
Amara sat down again, pulled the folder closer, and picked up the pen lying neatly across the desk.
Her hand hovered over the page. The pen was heavy, smooth, cold. Her name was waiting at the bottom line.
She hesitated, her heart thundering in her chest.
Tade watched her silently. Not rushing her. Not pressuring. Just waiting.
She thought of her mother's voice, whispering in her memory: Amara, never sell yourself short. You are worth more than gold.
Maybe this wasn't selling herself. Maybe it was surviving.
Her hand shook as she lowered the pen to the page. One stroke. Two. The letters of her name bloomed in ink, binding her to a man she barely knew.
When she finished, she dropped the pen, her breath coming fast.
It was done.
Tade reached across, turned the folder toward himself, and signed with steady, elegant handwriting. No hesitation. No tremor.
The sound of the pen scratching against the paper was final, like the closing of a door.
When he placed the pen down, he looked at her, his expression unreadable. "Welcome to our marriage, Mrs. Adewale."
The title hit her like a blow "Mrs. Adewale".
Her stomach twisted, her throat dry.
But she lifted her chin, refusing to look away. "Don't think for a second that this makes me yours."
For a fleeting moment, something flickered in his eyes—amusement, maybe respect.
"We'll see," he murmured.
Amara sat back, her pulse racing. She had signed. She had crossed the line.
There was no going back.