The first time I saw my name on a contract, it had a price beside it. ₦50,000,000.
I stared at the number until the digits blurred, my heartbeat pounding so loudly in my ears that I could barely hear my own breathing.
"That's impossible," I whispered, my fingers curling tightly against the edge of the polished conference table. "There has to be a mistake."
Across from me sat a man in a black suit, his posture straight, his expression neutral. He looked like someone who delivered bad news for a living and never lost sleep over it.
"There is no mistake, Miss Anderson" he said calmly. "Your father borrowed forty million naira from a private lender three years ago. The interest accumulated."
I shook my head slowly, as if that alone could erase his words.
"My father is a mechanic," I said. "He barely earns enough to pay rent. He would never borrow that kind of money."
The man opened a folder and slid several documents toward me.
Signatures. Dates. Thumbprints.
All painfully real.
"He needed money for surgery," the man said flatly. "And for business expansion that failed."
My chest tightened.
Dad had been sick three years ago. He had lied to me about where the money came from. He always did that, carried burdens alone without involving people, thinking it made him strong.
"When was the last payment?" I asked with my voice hoarse.
"Ten months ago."
My hands trembled.
"What happens if we can't pay?" I asked, already terrified of the answer.
The man closed the file with a soft click.
"Your father goes to prison for fraud and default," he replied. "Immediately."
The room felt like it was closing in.
Prison.
My father, who couldn't even walk properly without his medication, would not survive prison.
"There is… another option," the man added after a brief pause.
Hope flickered weakly in my chest.
"What option?" I asked quickly.
He slid a second file across the table.
This one was thinner.
And somehow, far more dangerous.
"Mr. Lucas Thompson is willing to clear the debt."
The name landed like a slap in my face.
Lucas Thompson is the billionaire CEO whose companies dominated the economy.
The man, who newspapers called ruthless, heartless, untouchable, The man who is way above my calibre.
The man no one ever spoke about kindly.
"Why?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
The man met my eyes without flinching.
"Because he needs a wife."
The drive to Thompson Estate felt unreal.
I sat in the back of a luxury car I didn't belong in, my hands folded tightly in my lap, staring out the tinted window as the city lights passed by in a blur. Everything felt distant, like I was watching someone else's life unfold.
I wanted to scream, and cry out from my lungs.
I wanted to run, and disappear like I never existed.
But there was nowhere to go.
When the car finally stopped, my breath hitched and my throat ran dry.
The mansion rose before me like a fortress; tall iron gates, stone walls, lights glowing softly in the darkness. It was beautiful in a cold, intimidating way. Though, it looked gothic to me because I knew what I was into.
"This is Thompson Estate," the driver said.
I stepped out slowly, my legs feeling weak beneath me.
Inside, the house was silent.
No warmth. No laughter. No sign of life beyond the soft echo of footsteps on marble floors.
A maid led me into a large sitting room and gestured for me to wait.
He didn't come immediately.
Minutes stretched into an hour.
Just when my anxiety was at its peak, the door opened.
Lucas Thompson walked in.
He was tall, way taller than I expected. His presence filled the room effortlessly, demanding attention without a word. He wore a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing strong forearms, and dark trousers that fit him perfectly.
He didn't look at me at first.
He poured himself a drink.
"You know why you're here," he said calmly, his voice deep and emotionless.
"Yes," I replied quietly.
He finally turned.
My breath caught painfully in my throat.
Lucas Thompson was devastatingly handsome in a dangerous way; sharp jaw, piercing grey eyes, kissable lips, features carved with precision. He looked like a man who had never been told no.
He looked at me like I was nothing.
"So," he said slowly, walking closer, "you're the girl worth fifty million."
My face burned with humiliation and anger
"I didn't ask for this," I said quickly with a subtle angry voice. "I don't want your money. I just want my father safe."
Lucas stopped in front of me.
"You should be grateful," he said coolly. "I don't usually buy people."
The words stabbed deeper than I expected.
"This marriage," he continued, "is a transaction. You will live in my house. You will appear beside me when required. You will not speak to the media."
I nodded silently.
"You will not interfere in my personal life," he added. "And you will not fall in love."
"I wouldn't dare," I whispered.
Something unreadable flickered in his eyes.
"You will sleep alone," he said. "I have no interest in you."
That should have relieved me.
It didn't.
"And when this contract ends," Lucas continued, picking up a pen, "you leave with nothing. No money. No claims. No child."
My heart skipped at his words.
Child?
"I—"
"Sign," he ordered coldly. "Or your father goes to prison tonight."
My hands shook violently as I took the pen.
This wasn't marriage.
It was ownership.
I signed.
Lucas took the contract, glanced at it briefly, then said the words that shattered whatever hope I had left.
"Welcome to your new world, Mrs. Thompson."
The wedding was small.
Too small to be called a wedding at all.
No guests. No celebration. No joy.
I wore a simple white dress borrowed from a boutique that looked too expensive to touch. Lucas stood beside me, cold and distant, like a stranger forced into the same frame.
When the officiant pronounced us husband and wife, Lucas didn't look at me.
He didn't touch me.
He walked away first.
That night, I sat alone in a massive bedroom that felt colder than a prison cell.
The bed was large, the sheets soft, the chandelier glowing faintly above me, but none of it felt real.
A maid knocked gently.
"Mr. Thompson says you are not to leave this wing of the house without permission," she said politely.
I nodded.
When the door closed, I finally broke.
I curled into myself on the bed, silent tears soaking into the pillow.
I had traded my freedom for my father's life.
And the price was myself.
Hours later, my phone buzzed.
A message from the hospital.
Payment received. Surgery scheduled.
I pressed my hand over my mouth, sobbing quietly.
At least… at least he would live.
That had to be enough.
Somewhere down the hall, a door closed.
Lucas Thompson was home.
And I realized, with a terrifying certainty, that this marriage would not just break my heart.
It would destroy me.