The morning sun spilled over the horizon like liquid gold, painting the Maldives sky in pinks and oranges. Seabirds wheeled above the turquoise water, their cries blending with the steady hush of waves. From their villa, the view was so breathtaking that it almost seemed unreal ,a postcard that had come to life.
But for Amara, the beauty did little to soothe the knot in her stomach.
She woke before him, curled on one side of the massive bed, covers tangled around her legs. Tade was on the sofa again, stretched out with one arm flung across his eyes, chest rising and falling in the rhythm of sleep. Even like that; hair slightly messy, shirt wrinkled from a night of tossing, he managed to look infuriatingly composed.
She sat up slowly, brushing curls out of her face. Last night's memory came rushing back in fragments: the moonlight, the balcony, the way his hand had almost cupped her cheek, the way she'd almost let him. Almost.
Her cheeks warmed just thinking about it. She pressed a palm to her skin as though she could cool the flush. What on earth was wrong with her? She wasn't supposed to feel like this. She wasn't supposed to let his nearness shake her.
She climbed out of bed, determined not to dwell. If she let herself think about him, about them, she would lose her balance. And Amara had promised herself one thing: she would never give Tade Adeyemi the satisfaction of knowing he could undo her.
She slipped into a silk robe, tied it at the waist, and padded into the kitchen.
The villa was open and airy, with sliding glass doors that overlooked the lagoon. The counters gleamed, stocked with exotic fruits and neatly arranged breakfast trays courtesy of the resort staff. She reached for a mango, slicing it carefully, the sweet scent filling the air.
Behind her, a deep voice rumbled.
"Couldn't sleep?"
She froze for half a second, then composed herself, continuing to slice as though his voice hadn't startled her. "Some of us wake up with the sun," she replied lightly.
Tade stepped into the kitchen, barefoot, shirtless except for the pajama bottoms hanging low on his hips. Amara's knife slipped slightly, nearly nicking her finger. She cursed silently at herself, forcing her eyes back on the mango.
"Coffee?" he asked, already moving to the machine like he owned it.
"No, thanks."
Silence stretched as the machine hummed, then hissed. He poured the coffee into a porcelain cup, the rich aroma filling the air. He didn't glance at her once. Not even when he took the stool opposite her, sipping his drink like they were two strangers who happened to share the same villa.
Amara stabbed a mango slice with her fork, chewing slowly. The silence between them was maddening. She wanted him to say something, to acknowledge the weight of last night. But of course, Tade was too proud. Too stubborn.
Finally, she set the fork down with a soft clink. "So… do we just ignore it?"
He looked at her, brows lifting slightly. "Ignore what?"
Her chest tightened. Of course. He was going to make her say it. She narrowed her eyes. "You know what."
He took another sip of coffee, unbothered. "As far as I recall, nothing happened."
Her jaw dropped. "Nothing—? Tade, we....." She caught herself, lowering her voice. "We almost...."
"Almost doesn't count," he cut in, his tone clipped, final.
Her cheeks burned hotter than before. The arrogance. The absolute nerve. She wanted to throw the mango slice at his perfectly chiseled face. Instead, she drew a breath, straightening her spine.
"Fine. If that's how you want to play it, then that's exactly what we'll do. Nothing happened. We're just two colleagues on an extended… business trip."
Something flickered in his eyes... irritation? amusement? but he hid it quickly, setting his cup down. "Glad we're on the same page."
But Amara caught the faint tension in his jaw, the way his hand tightened around the cup before releasing it. She realized with sudden clarity: he was just as shaken as she was. He was simply better at hiding it.
And that thought, strangely, gave her a surge of boldness.
She leaned back, popping a mango slice into her mouth with exaggerated casualness. "Good, Because the last thing I'd want is for you to think I'm… interested."
His gaze snapped to her then, sharp, piercing. For a moment, silence crackled between them, heavier than before.
Amara smiled sweetly, victorious. Two could play at this game.
By mid-morning, a polite knock echoed at the villa door. Amara answered, surprised to find a smiling staff member in a crisp white uniform holding a clipboard.
"Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Adeyemi," the woman greeted warmly. "Your excursion is ready. The boat will be leaving in thirty minutes."
Amara blinked. "Excursion?"
"Yes," the woman beamed. "The honeymoon adventure package. Today's activity is a snorkeling trip to the coral reef, followed by a private island picnic."
Behind her, Tade appeared, hands tucked into his pockets. His brow furrowed. "We didn't request that."
"It's complimentary, sir. Arranged as part of your stay. Everything has already been prepared."
The woman's cheerfulness was bulletproof. With a polite bow, she handed Amara a woven beach bag stocked with towels, sunscreen, and bottled water.
"Enjoy," she chirped, before vanishing down the walkway.
Amara turned slowly, a grin tugging at her lips. "Snorkeling. How romantic."
Tade's frown deepened. "We're not going."
"Oh, come on," she said, stepping past him to set the bag on the counter. "What's the worst that could happen? You might actually have fun for once in your life."
"I don't do fun," he muttered.
"Yes," she drawled, giving him a mock-serious look. "I can see that. Mr. Stoneface, billionaire extraordinaire, allergic to joy."
For a fleeting second, something like amusement flickered in his eyes. He turned away quickly, heading for the bedroom. "Be ready in twenty minutes."
Amara's smile widened. Victory.
The speedboat cut across the crystal water, leaving trails of white foam behind. Amara sat at the edge, hair whipping in the wind, face tilted toward the sun. She had never seen anything so blue, so endless. It felt like stepping into a dream.
Beside her, Tade was the picture of calm control, sunglasses on, jaw sharp, one hand gripping the railing. He looked like he belonged in a glossy magazine spread: Billionaire on Vacation.
When the boat finally anchored near the reef, Amara's excitement dimmed slightly at the sight of the water. It glittered invitingly, but the expanse of it deep, alive, unpredictable stirred a flutter of nerves in her stomach.
The guide handed them snorkeling gear, smiling. "The reef is shallow, very safe. You'll love it."
Tade slipped his mask on effortlessly, adjusting the straps with practiced ease. "You've done this before?" Amara asked, stalling.
"A few times," he said simply, testing the snorkel.
"And if I haven't?"
He glanced at her, one brow arching. "Then stay close."
The words, simple as they were, sent an unexpected shiver down her spine.
At first, she managed well enough. The water was warm, clear as glass, schools of rainbow fish darting beneath her. She kicked her legs carefully, adjusting the mask, trying to breathe steadily through the snorkel.
But then a shadow flickered beneath her, larger than the others. Her chest tightened. She lifted her head, sputtering, water filling her nose. Panic surged. The ocean suddenly seemed too vast, too endless.
"Tade!" she gasped, voice breaking.
He was beside her in seconds. Strong hands gripped her arms, steadying her. "Breathe," he ordered firmly. "Look at me. Not the water. Me."
Her eyes locked on his through the droplets clinging to his lashes. His face was calm, steady, unshaken. The strength in his grip anchored her in a way she hadn't expected.
"I can't"
"Yes, you can." His voice softened slightly. "You're fine. Nothing's going to happen. Just stay with me."
For a moment, the world shrank to just that: his eyes holding hers, his voice grounding her. Slowly, her breathing steadied, the panic easing.
"Better?" he asked after a beat.
She nodded shakily.
Without a word, he adjusted her mask for her, careful, deliberate. Then he slid his hand into hers, fingers wrapping firmly around hers.
"Stay close," he repeated. And this time, it wasn't an order. It was a promise.
They swam side by side after that, hand in hand. The reef unfolded beneath them in brilliant colors: corals like underwater gardens, fish flashing like jewels. For Amara, the beauty was breathtaking but what lingered most was the feel of his hand, steady and warm in hers, a tether against the vastness.
When they finally climbed back onto the boat, she collapsed onto the bench, heart still racing. Tade dropped beside her, removing his mask, water dripping down his temples.
"You did well," he said quietly.
"I panicked," she admitted.
"You didn't quit."
She glanced at him, startled by the unexpected praise. For once, his expression wasn't guarded. It was… gentle. Just for a second.
And that, she realized, was more dangerous than the ocean.
The boat anchored again, this time at a smaller island not far from the resort. The guide hopped out first, carrying a large wicker basket and a folded blanket. "Your private picnic," she announced cheerfully, setting everything on the soft white sand before retreating back to the boat. "We'll return in two hours."
And just like that, Amara and Tade were alone.
The island was impossibly beautiful — a stretch of untouched sand bordered by lush palms, the lagoon curling in gentle waves around them. Amara slipped off her sandals, sinking her toes into the warm sand, inhaling deeply.
"It's like paradise," she murmured.
Tade set the basket down, glancing at her. "I thought you said you hated fake romantic setups."
"I never said that," she corrected, dropping onto the blanket. "I said our marriage was fake. Big difference."
His mouth curved slightly not a smile, but close enough that it unsettled her. He sat opposite her, unpacking the basket with efficient movements: grilled prawns, fresh bread, tropical fruits, a bottle of champagne chilling in ice. Everything gleamed like it had been staged for a magazine.
Amara reached for a pineapple slice, biting into it. Juice dripped down her chin. She caught it with her finger, laughing. "This is ridiculous."
"What is?"
She waved at the feast spread between them. "All of this. Luxury picnics on private islands. It's… excessive."
"Excessive is relative," he said smoothly, pouring champagne into two flutes. "For some people, this is an escape. For others, it's Tuesday."
She rolled her eyes. "Spoken like a man who thinks money solves everything."
He didn't flinch, just handed her a glass. "And you'd rather what? Noodles in a plastic cup?"
"Don't knock noodles," she retorted, clinking her glass against his before taking a sip. "They've gotten me through worse days than you can imagine."
Something in his gaze sharpened at that, as if he wanted to ask but held back. Instead, he leaned back on one elbow, watching her with unnerving calm.
She shifted under his stare. "What?"
"You're different here," he said finally.
Her brows drew together. "Different how?"
"Less guarded."
She laughed, too quickly. "Maybe I'm just drunk already."
"You've had two sips," he replied dryly.
Their eyes held, and for a second, the playful banter melted into something heavier. The breeze tugged at her hair, carrying the faint scent of salt and hibiscus. The world felt suspended just the two of them on an island, no contracts, no boardrooms, no pretending.
Amara broke the moment with a nervous laugh, reaching for a prawn. "You know, if this whole billionaire thing doesn't work out, you'd make a great picnic planner."
His mouth curved again not quite a smile, but softer than usual. "I'll keep that in mind."
After they ate, Amara stretched out on the blanket, the sun warming her skin. She closed her eyes, letting the lull of waves relax her.
"You'll burn," Tade's voice murmured.
She cracked one eye open to find him holding the sunscreen.
"I'm fine."
"You're not. You'll regret it later."
She sat up reluctantly, handing him the bottle. "Fine. Do your worst."
He knelt behind her, squeezing lotion into his palm. His hands were warm, firm as they smoothed over her shoulders, then down her arms. Her breath caught at the contact, unexpected shivers racing through her. She stared hard at the horizon, willing herself not to react.
But his touch lingered a second longer than necessary, and when he pulled back, she exhaled shakily.
"There," he said simply, as though nothing had passed between them.
She turned, narrowing her eyes. "You enjoy doing that, don't you?"
"Keeping you alive? Yes."
"That's not what I meant."
He said nothing, just looked at her with that same unreadable expression. And suddenly, she wasn't sure if she wanted him to answer.
The sound of the boat's engine returning finally broke the spell. Amara stood quickly, brushing sand from her dress, forcing brightness into her voice. "Well. That was… nice."
"Nice," Tade echoed, standing beside her. His hand brushed hers as they both reached for the basket at once. Neither pulled away.
For one heartbeat, it was too easy to imagine that they weren't faking, that this was real, that he wasn't her contract husband but something else entirely.
Then he stepped back, letting go. His voice was neutral again. "Let's go."
Amara followed him to the boat, her chest tight with something she couldn't name.
The sun had long since dipped beneath the horizon by the time Amara returned to their villa. The air was softer now, the heat giving way to the velvet of night. Lanterns glowed along the pathways, their warm light dancing against the palm trees. She slipped off her sandals at the doorway, grateful for the cool marble beneath her tired feet.
She had barely tied her robe around her when a knock came at the door.
"Amara?" Tade's voice was firm but not sharp.
"Yes?"
"Dinner's outside. Don't make me drag you."
She rolled her eyes at his tone but felt her stomach tighten anyway. Drag you. Typical Tade. Always pushing, always in control. She tied her robe tighter and stepped out into the night.
The sight that met her made her pause.
A table for two had been set by the water's edge. Strings of fairy lights twinkled in the palms above, candles flickering in glass holders, their flames catching the faint sea breeze. A violinist stood a few feet away, drawing a soft melody that wrapped the night in something dangerously close to magic.
Her throat went dry.
"This is" She broke off, shaking her head. "You really know how to overdo things, don't you?"
"Some would call it effort," Tade replied evenly, pulling out her chair.
She hesitated only a moment before sitting. He took the seat across from her, his posture immaculate, as if he'd been born for these kinds of moments. Which, she supposed, he had.
The waiter approached quietly, serving delicate plates of seafood and vegetables, before disappearing again. Amara toyed with her fork, suddenly hyperaware of the silence between them.
"You don't have to do all this," she said at last, her voice low.
"All what?"
"The dinners, the violinist, the… fairy lights." She gestured vaguely. "No one's watching. There are no cameras here. It's just us."
For the first time that night, something flickered across his face almost a shadow. "Maybe it's not about who's watching."
She blinked. "Then what's it about?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, studying her. His gaze was steady, too steady, and she felt heat creep into her cheeks.
"You think I don't know you've been counting the days," he said quietly.
Her fork stilled. "What?"
"Since we signed the contract. Since this started. You keep track like a prisoner scratching marks on a wall."
Her chest tightened, anger sparking. "And what if I do? Can you blame me?"
"Maybe not," he admitted, his voice lower now, less guarded. "But you act like this entire thing is some kind of punishment. Like I dragged you into chains."
Amara laughed bitterly. "Didn't you?"
He didn't flinch. "You could have said no."
Her breath caught. For a moment she thought of her mother's medical bills, of the suffocating weight of debt, of the chance to build something for herself that she couldn't refuse. She thought of the cruel truth that saying no had never been an option.
"You don't understand," she whispered.
"Then explain it," he pressed, his tone soft but relentless.
She looked up, meeting his gaze. For once, it wasn't cold steel. It was searching. Waiting.
"I grew up fighting for scraps," she said slowly, words spilling before she could stop them. "I watched my mother break her back every day and still come home with nothing. I worked three jobs to keep food on the table, and when that wasn't enough, I begged. I swore I'd never be powerless again, but then you...." She broke off, biting her lip.
"Then I offered you a way out," Tade finished for her.
Her eyes burned. "You offered me chains with a velvet ribbon. Don't act like you did me a favor."
The silence stretched between them, taut and fragile.
When he finally spoke, his voice was different — softer, almost weary. "Do you think it's easy for me?"
She frowned, taken aback. "What are you talking about? You have everything. Power. Wealth. Control. You don't know what it's like to struggle."
"You think money solves everything," he echoed her earlier words, his tone edged with something she'd never heard from him before — bitterness. "But you don't know the first thing about being me."
"Then tell me," she shot back. "Make me understand."
He looked at her for a long moment, then down at his hands, fingers tightening around the glass. "Everything I have comes with a cost. Every decision is a weapon. Every person I trust is a potential knife at my back. I built this empire by myself, and do you know what that makes me? Alone."
The violinist's melody swelled behind them, soft but haunting. Amara's anger faltered, replaced with something she didn't want to name.
"Tade"
He cut her off, shaking his head. "Don't. You wanted honesty, there it is. You hate this contract, fine. But don't pretend you're the only one paying a price."
The silence that followed was unbearable. Amara stared at him, her chest rising and falling, the words she wanted to say lodged in her throat.
And then, against her better judgment, she whispered, "Why me?"
His gaze lifted sharply, locking onto hers.
"You could have chosen anyone. Any heiress, any polished socialite desperate for your name. Why me?"
The candles flickered, the sea murmured, and his answer was almost too quiet to hear.
"Because you're the only one who doesn't want me."
Her breath caught. Her fork slipped from her fingers, clattering softly against the plate.
For the first time since they'd met, Amara had no words.
The dinner ended in silence. Not the comfortable kind, but the heavy, choking kind that lingered long after the last candle flickered out. Amara excused herself first, retreating to the villa with shaky hands and an even shakier heartbeat.
She shut the door behind her, pressing her back against it, her breath uneven. His words echoed through her mind on a loop: Because you're the only one who doesn't want me.
It should have been flattering. Or insulting. She wasn't sure which. Instead, it lodged in her chest like a thorn she couldn't pull out.
She paced the room, angry at herself for feeling anything at all. She should hate him. She wanted to hate him. But tonight had peeled back a layer, and for the first time, she'd seen more than the arrogant billionaire. She'd seen loneliness.
And that terrified her more than anything.
Outside, the wind picked up.
By the time Tade returned from the shore, the night sky had shifted. Clouds gathered in thick, rolling masses, blotting out the stars. The soft sea breeze had sharpened into something colder, more urgent.
A storm was coming.
He stepped inside the villa, loosening his tie, his expression unreadable. Amara was sitting on the couch, hugging a pillow to her chest like armor.
"Storm," he said simply, nodding toward the balcony.
She followed his gaze. The horizon flashed with lightning, illuminating the dark water for a split second before plunging it back into blackness. Thunder rumbled a moment later, low and distant but growing.
She swallowed. "Is it… dangerous?"
"Not if we stay inside." His tone was calm, matter-of-fact.
The first raindrops spattered against the glass doors, fat and heavy. Within minutes, the downpour began — sheets of water slamming against the villa, the palm trees bending under the force of the wind.
Amara flinched at a particularly loud crack of thunder.
Tade glanced at her, his voice softer. "Scared?"
She tightened her grip on the pillow. "No."
"Liar."
She glared at him, but her cheeks warmed. "Fine. Maybe a little."
He crossed the room, not too close, but close enough that she felt the steadiness of his presence. "Storms end," he said simply.
She let out a shaky laugh. "You always talk in riddles, you know that?"
"Maybe," he admitted. "But you understand me anyway."
Her breath caught. She wanted to deny it, to push back, but another crash of thunder silenced her. The villa shuddered as the storm raged, water lashing against the glass.
For a long moment, they just stood there — two people bound by a contract, trapped by a storm, yet tethered to each other in a way neither of them fully understood.
Amara broke the silence first, her voice barely audible over the rain. "I don't know what to do with you."
Tade's gaze didn't waver. "Then don't do anything. Just… stay."
The words were simple, but something in them cracked her wide open.
Stay.
Her throat tightened, her chest ached, and before she could stop herself, she whispered, "I hate this."
"What?"
"The way you make me feel things I shouldn't."
His jaw clenched, as if her confession was both a victory and a wound. Lightning lit up the room, throwing sharp shadows across his face, and for a moment, she saw the battle there his control against his desire.
The storm outside raged on, but the real storm was inside the villa, between them.
Neither moved. Neither spoke. The tension stretched until it was unbearable, until every crack of thunder felt like an echo of their unspoken words.
And yet, no line was crossed. Not tonight.
Amara finally turned away, clutching the pillow tighter, forcing distance between them. "I'm going to bed," she said, her voice unsteady.
Tade nodded once, his expression carefully blank. "Goodnight, Amara."
She slipped into the bedroom, shutting the door behind her, leaning against it just as she had earlier. Only this time, the storm outside was nothing compared to the storm inside her.