Chapter 1: The Contract Marriage
The rain poured without mercy, turning the streets into mirrors of gray and light. Amara Lewis stood in front of the tall glass building that housed Cole Enterprises, her small umbrella trembling in the wind. She clutched the edge of her folder tightly, her knuckles pale from the cold and the fear that burned inside her chest.
This was it. The moment she had spent the entire night preparing for — the meeting that would decide her father's future, and perhaps, her own.
Inside the lobby, everything smelled of power: the faint scent of cologne, fresh paper, and polished marble floors. Men and women in black suits passed her like shadows, their shoes clicking in rhythm, their eyes cold and focused.
Amara took a deep breath and stepped into the elevator. The digital numbers climbed slowly, each one echoing in her chest. When the doors opened on the top floor, she was greeted by silence — the kind of silence that comes from money, authority, and fear.
Damian Cole's office was wide and bright, with windows stretching from floor to ceiling. He stood by the glass, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a cup of black coffee. The world outside reflected in his eyes — sharp, unreadable, and distant.
"Miss Lewis," he said without turning. His voice was calm, deep, and dangerously controlled. "You're late."
Amara bowed slightly, her voice catching. "There was traffic, sir. I apologize."
He turned then, and she saw him clearly for the first time — tall, dark-haired, with a face carved from stone and eyes that looked like they'd forgotten how to feel. He was handsome, yes, but in the way a blade is beautiful before it cuts.
Damian placed the coffee cup down and walked toward her. "Your father owes my company over twenty million naira. Do you have an idea how long he's been avoiding payment?"
Amara swallowed hard. "I know. But he's sick — his business collapsed after the market crash. He just needs more time."
Damian's lips curled, but it wasn't a smile. "Time is money, Miss Lewis. And I don't give either for free."
She tried to hold his gaze, but his coldness pressed against her like a wall. "Please," she whispered, "I'll do anything. Just… don't take the house. Don't destroy him."
There was a pause. Then Damian tilted his head slightly, studying her with the calm of a man calculating risk. "Anything?"
Her heart sank. The way he said it — quiet, almost bored — made the word sound like a trap.
"Yes," she said finally. "Anything."
He turned, walked to his desk, and opened a drawer. When he came back, he placed a thin folder on the table between them. The paper inside was crisp and white — a marriage contract.
Amara's eyes widened. "What is this?"
"My proposal," Damian said. "You'll become my wife for one year. In return, your father's debt will be cleared."
The world seemed to tilt around her. "You're joking."
"I don't joke," he said quietly. "I need a wife — for reasons that are none of your concern. You need a miracle. This contract gives us both what we want."
Amara stared at the document, her fingers trembling. "You can't be serious. You don't even know me."
"I don't need to." He leaned forward slightly, his eyes catching the light like steel. "I just need someone who understands the meaning of loyalty."
Something in his voice made her chest tighten — a shadow of pain buried deep inside his arrogance. Still, it didn't make sense. "Why me?" she asked softly.
"Because you're desperate enough to say yes," he replied.
The words hit her like a slap. She wanted to scream, to throw the folder back at him, to run — but she thought of her father, lying weak in a hospital bed, the sound of machines keeping him alive.
She picked up the pen. Her hand shook as she signed her name.
Damian watched her in silence, his face unreadable. When she finished, he took the folder, flipped through the pages, and then said, almost gently, "Welcome to your new life, Mrs. Cole."
The title stung. It didn't sound like a promise — it sounded like a sentence.
---
That night, Amara returned home to find her father asleep. She sat beside him, brushing a lock of gray hair from his forehead. "It's okay, Dad," she whispered. "Everything's going to be fine."
But as she said the words, her eyes filled with tears. Because deep inside, she knew nothing about this was fine.
She was bound to a man who had no heart — and yet, something about his brokenness pulled at her in ways she couldn't explain.
Outside, the rain continued to fall, soft and endless — like the start of a story she could no longer escape.