JENETA'S POV
The ride home was silent. Not the kind of silence that comforts. It was the kind that swallows you whole. The contract still burned in my mind and his voice reading every clause, every rule, every way I no longer belonged to myself.
When we reached the apartment, Nonso unlocked the door without a word. The faint smell of old curry and detergent lingered in the air. It used to feel like home. Now, it felt like a prison.
I stood by the doorway, the papers still clutched in my trembling hands. "Nonso…"
He didn't answer. He dropped his jacket on the couch and ran a hand through his hair, pacing.
"Nonso, please." My voice cracked, desperate. "We can't do this. You can't ask me to—"
He turned sharply, eyes flashing. "We already did."
I froze.
His voice rose, louder than I'd ever heard it. "We already signed the contract, Jeneta! You're his now! There's no going back!"
My knees buckled slightly, my back pressing against the wall as tears filled my eyes. "How could you say that? I'm your wife—"
He slammed his fist against the table. "Then act like it! Do this for us!"
I stared at him, unable to breathe. His words cut deeper than any slap could. For us? There was no "us" left in what he was asking me to do.
He looked at me, chest heaving, and for a moment the fury in his face faltered. His voice dropped low, tired. "If we back out now, we owe him twenty million dollars, Jeneta. Twenty." His lips trembled. "He'll ruin us. You don't understand who that man is."
I shook my head, stepping closer, gripping his arm. "Nonso. Please. Don't make me do this. Don't let him touch me."
He looked away, his jaw clenching. I could see it, the shame, the fear, the hunger for everything Jinhai promised. Then, suddenly, he went still. The fight drained out of him like someone had turned off a switch.
He reached for me, pulled me against his chest. His arms wrapped around me, but it didn't feel like safety anymore. It felt like surrender.
"We'll be fine, Jeneta," he whispered into my hair, his voice shaky, almost breaking. "Don't worry about this. When it's all over, we'll leave. We'll never see him again. We'll be happy. Just… for now, we can't."
I closed my eyes, the tears slipping free, soaking into his shirt.
"We need that money," he murmured.
And in that single sentence, I realised something devastating: Nonso believed this deal would save us. But it wouldn't. It would destroy us.
The next day, a message arrived. A simple, elegant envelope containing an invitation from Jinhai.
Along with it came a carefully folded outfit, wrapped in delicate tissue paper. A red spaghetti-strap dress and sleek black heels.
The note was clear, wear this to his mansion that evening. A car would be sent to pick us up.
The dress shimmered like liquid fire under the soft glow of the room's light as I held it up. It felt both alluring and intimidating.
That evening, as I slipped into the dress, its fabric hugged my figure with an unsettling precision. The heels clicked softly against the hardwood floor as I stood, adjusting the straps. The mirror reflected a woman I barely recognised.
"You look beautiful," Nonso's voice came from behind me, low and surprisingly tender. I turned, startled, to find him standing in the doorway, his eyes scanning me from head to toe with an intensity I wasn't used to.
"I've never seen you look so beautiful," he murmured, his voice almost reverent. "It's like this dress was tailored for you. How did he even know your size?"
I blinked, my heart skipping at the unexpected admiration in his gaze.
"I... I don't know," I admitted, confused and a little flustered.
His words felt foreign, like they didn't belong to the man I'd known for years. That glimmer of awe in his eyes, why had I never seen it before? Why did it feel so bittersweet now?
"Maybe we can buy more like this," I said lightly, hoping to steer the moment away from the strange tension building in the air. But he stepped closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming.
"After you secure this deal," he said, his fingers brushing my cheek, "I'll give you whatever you want." His lips pressed against my skin, a kiss that felt more possessive than affectionate. "I'm sure Mr Maynard will love this on you."
That kiss shattered the fleeting warmth in my chest, dragging me back to the cold reality of my life. The weight of what I was walking into settled heavily on my shoulders. Forcing a smile, I nodded, though inside I felt hollow.
Thirty minutes later, the car pulled up in front of Jinhai's mansion. The building loomed above us, its grand doors framed by ornate columns and soft, ambient lighting.
A figure stood on the balcony above, silhouetted against the night sky. A cigarette glowed faintly in his hand, the ember flaring as he took a drag. Even from a distance, his presence was palpable, commanding.
As we approached the entrance, Nonso leaned in close, his breath warm against my ear. "Don't say or do anything to provoke Mr Maynard," he whispered, his tone edged with tension. "We've had a conversation. It'll be fine. I trust you."
I swallowed hard, nodding, though my stomach churned with unease. The heavy doors opened, and we were guided to an upper floor. The room we entered was opulent but uncomfortably sterile, its lavish decor unable to mask the undercurrent of control that seemed to permeate the air.
Jinhai stood waiting, his posture relaxed yet calculated. The cigarette, an electric one, I now realised, rested between his fingers as he regarded us with a sharp, assessing gaze. He exuded an air of preparation, as if this entire evening had been orchestrated to the finest detail.
"Have a seat, Mr Agu," he said smoothly, his voice low and measured. "Jeneta, you come."
I froze, my feet rooted to the spot. Nonso's whispered command broke through my hesitation. "Go."
Each step toward Jinhai felt heavier than the last, my pulse quickening as I stopped in front of him. His eyes roamed over me, lingering deliberately, a faint smile curling his lips.
"Magnificent. Gorgeous," he said, his tone dripping with satisfaction. Two words, yet they hit like a hammer, leaving me breathless.
I wanted to deny them, to reject the way they made my heart race. "No," I thought bitterly. I am not. The defiance bubbled up before I could stop it.
"My husband made love to me this morning," I spat, the words were sharp. I wanted to provoke him, to shatter this illusion of control he seemed to wield so effortlessly.
But his response was as cruel as it was swift.
"Love?" he repeated, his tone mocking, the word rolling off his tongue like poison. He scoffed, his expression twisting into something almost disdainful. "You're still standing. Your legs are perfectly fine. Did you not orgasm?"