A billionaire hires a poor woman to marry his reckless son for one year. Secrets, power clashes, and danger turn the contract into a risky game of love.
Chapter 1
The walls of the Udo Mansion shook as Chief Adeyemi Udo’s thunderous voice filled the grand dining hall. His fingers crushed the edge of the mahogany table until his knuckles blanched with fury. Across from him stood his only son, Kenechukwu, eyes red-rimmed, curls disordered, designer shirt smeared with the ugly leftovers of another reckless night.
“I’m getting you a wife,” Chief Adeyemi barked, the words cracking like a whip.
Kenechukwu scoffed, dragging a hand through his hair. “You can’t be serious, Dad. Marriage? What am I, some village boy who can’t decide for himself?”
His father’s patience had been burned to ash. For years he had tried to carve discipline into his son—tried to shape him into an heir worthy of the Udo Tech Empire, a billion-dollar conglomerate built from decades of sacrifice. Instead, Kenechukwu had plunged into nightclubs, senseless fights, and empty affairs. The final blow had come last night, when he stumbled home with hands wet with blood, the consequence of another brawl over a woman.
“I’m dead serious,” Chief Adeyemi said, disappointment dragging his voice lower. “I sent you to the States for a PhD in cybersecurity. I expected responsibility. But every day you prove I made the biggest mistake of my life.”
Kenechukwu’s jaw tightened. The mention of expectations twisted into the old ache he never admitted—his mother’s death, the hollow that never filled no matter how much alcohol he swallowed or how many bodies warmed his bed.
Chief Adeyemi exhaled, voice softening. “I’m tired, Kene. I built this for you, and you don’t care. I won’t let you destroy yourself.”
Kenechukwu laughed bitterly. “So you’ll force me to marry some girl chasing my money?”
“She won’t be just any girl,” his father said, locking eyes with him. “She’ll be someone who can handle you. And whether you like it or not, you’re getting married.”
Kenechukwu stepped back, shaking his head. “No. I refuse.”
“You don’t have a choice,” Chief Adeyemi replied calmly.
“And if I do?”
“Then you lose everything.”
Chapter 2
Kenechukwu’s stomach turned as the threat settled in the air. His father didn’t bluff—he executed. Chief Adeyemi eased into his chair with the cold composure that had closed billion-naira deals and crushed competitors without raising his voice.
“Oh, I can,” he said, almost bored. “You forget who I am.”
Kenechukwu swallowed hard, heat crawling up his neck. He could already picture it: some polished socialite, smiling too wide, hungry for the Udo name, eager to chain him in a loveless arrangement. Women chased him daily, throwing themselves like offerings, hoping his wallet would become their future.
“Who is she?” he asked finally, irritation masking the twist of fear.
Chief Adeyemi’s mouth curved into a thin smirk. “I haven’t chosen yet. But I will. And believe me—she won’t be someone you can easily push away.”
Kenechukwu’s fists clenched. “And if I still refuse?”
The smirk vanished. “Then you lose the company. The inheritance. Every luxury you treat like air. You’ll be on your own.”
The words slammed into him. His chest tightened, anger and panic tangling together. He wanted to curse, to storm out, to shatter something just to prove he still had control. But he knew control had already slipped from his hands. His father held the strings, and for once, Kenechukwu was the one caught.
He turned away, needing a drink, a distraction—anything to drown the nightmare forming around him. Yet deep down, he felt it: the trap was closing, and he was walking straight into it.
That afternoon, sunlight flooded Chief Adeyemi’s office, stretching long shadows over an expensive desk stacked with documents he couldn’t focus on. For the first time in years, the great man looked defeated. He had clawed his way from nothing into Lagos’ richest circle, sacrificing youth, friendships, and peace just to build a legacy.
And now that legacy was rotting in front of him.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, remembering the blood on Kenechukwu’s shirt, the disgrace, the endless worry. He was tired—bone tired.
A gentle knock broke the silence.
“Sir?” came a warm, hesitant voice.
Chief Adeyemi looked up to see Madam Bose, his longtime secretary, stepping in carefully—one of the last people he trusted.
Chapter 3
Madam Bose studied him closely, her sharp eyes soft with concern. “You look more troubled than usual, sir,” she said, stepping further inside. “Keeping things bottled up won’t help.”
Chief Adeyemi released a weary chuckle and leaned back. “I’m tired, Bose. Tired of worrying about a son who refuses to see what’s at stake.”
“Kenechukwu again,” she murmured, unsurprised.
“Who else?” he replied bitterly. “I gave him everything—education, wealth, opportunity. Yet he’s drowning himself in recklessness.”
She poured tea from her flask and slid the cup toward him. “Drink. At least think clearly.”
Before he could respond, the door opened again.
A young woman stepped in with quiet confidence, carrying a neatly packed lunchbox. Amara Bose, Madam Bose’s twenty-five-year-old daughter, filled the room with effortless elegance. Her deep brown skin glowed beneath the lights, dark curls pinned into a sleek bun. She wore a tailored navy suit that spoke of discipline, not vanity.
“Good afternoon, sir,” Amara greeted calmly.
Adeyemi straightened. Amara had always impressed him—brilliant, driven, and respected in legal circles despite her age. She had built her career alone, refusing favors or shortcuts.
“I thought you’d skipped breakfast,” she added, placing the lunchbox on his desk.
He smiled faintly. “You know me too well.”
She handed another box to her mother. “Your favorite.”
Madam Bose beamed, hugging her. “You’re a blessing.”
As Adeyemi watched them, something shifted. His son didn’t need a submissive bride or a gold-digger. He needed a woman immune to charm, unafraid of power—someone who would challenge him without fear.
The realization struck hard.
Amara.
The thought felt dangerous, desperate—and perfect.
A slow, deliberate smile crept across Chief Adeyemi’s face as hope stirred for the first time in years. If anyone could stand against Kenechukwu’s storm and survive it, it was Amara without breaking inside.
Chapter 4
That night, Chief Adeyemi paced his bedroom, the crystal chandelier casting a warm glow over walls lined with quiet luxury. None of it brought him comfort. His bare feet sank into the Persian rug as his thoughts circled the same dangerous idea again and again.
Amara.
Was it fair to even consider it?
Madam Bose was more than his secretary. She was his confidant, his anchor for over two decades. Asking her to let her daughter step into his son’s chaos felt selfish, almost cruel. Yet desperation gnawed at him. Kenechukwu was slipping fast, and soon there might be nothing left to save.
He poured a glass of whiskey and drained it in one swallow. It didn’t steady his nerves.
His son’s recklessness—clubbing, drinking, violence—was a ticking bomb. If it exploded, it would take the Udo legacy with it. Adeyemi pressed a hand to his chest, breathing deeply. He had given Kene everything. Every privilege. Every chance. Still, the boy was spiraling.
By dawn, the decision was made.
At exactly 6:30 a.m., Adeyemi sat in his office, suit crisp, resolve firmer than it had been in years. When Madam Bose entered with her usual tea and files, he wasted no time.
“Bose, I need to talk to you,” he said.
She paused, sensing the weight in his tone, and sat. “What is it, sir?”
He inhaled slowly. “Is Amara seeing anyone?”
She blinked, startled. “That’s unexpected,” she said carefully. “No. The man she loved died two years ago. Since then, she hasn’t allowed anyone close.”
Adeyemi nodded. The knowledge tightened his chest.
“Bose,” he began, choosing each word with care, “I need your help more than I ever have.”
Her expression grew serious. “About Kenechukwu.”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I’ve tried everything. Nothing works.”
She studied him. “And where do I fit in?”
His throat tightened. Then he said it.
“I want Amara to marry my son.”
Silence swallowed the room.
Chapter 5
Madam Bose stared at Chief Adeyemi as though she had misheard him. Her face went rigid, shock freezing her features. “Excuse me?” she said slowly.
Adeyemi raised a hand, already anticipating the resistance. “Please, Bose. Hear me out.”
“You’re asking me to offer my daughter as a solution to your son’s recklessness,” she said, her voice tight. “Amara is not a tool.”
“I know,” he replied heavily. “And I wouldn’t be asking if I had another way.”
He leaned forward, exhaustion etched into every line of his face. “Kenechukwu doesn’t need a woman who fears him or worships his money. He needs someone strong. Someone who won’t bend. Amara has her own life, her own career, her own mind. That’s exactly why she’s the only one who can stand up to him.”
Madam Bose shook her head slowly. “Sir, do you even hear yourself?”
“It would only be for one year,” Adeyemi said quickly. “A contract marriage. If it fails, Amara walks away freely. I’ll ensure her career benefits, connections, opportunities—anything she wants.”
Her eyes narrowed. “And if she refuses?”
“Then I won’t force her,” he admitted. “But I need her to at least consider it.”
The room fell quiet as Madam Bose weighed his words. She knew her daughter—fiercely independent, impossible to control. But she also knew Kenechukwu’s decline. Everyone had watched it in silence.
Finally, she exhaled. “I’ll talk to her,” she said. “But I promise nothing.”
Relief washed over Adeyemi. “That’s all I ask.”
As she rose to leave, he sat back, hope stirring cautiously in his chest. The plan was dangerous, fragile—but it was the first light he’d seen in years.
Whether Amara would accept it was another battle entirely.
Chapter 6
That evening, the lights of Victoria Island shimmered outside Amara’s bedroom window, the city alive while she sat cross-legged on her bed, scrolling through legal documents on her tablet. Her day had been long, draining, and all she wanted was quiet. Then came a soft knock.
She looked up, frowning. Her mother never knocked unless something was wrong. “Come in,” Amara called.
The door opened slowly, and Madam Bose stepped inside, closing it behind her. Something in her posture—hesitant, uncertain—immediately put Amara on edge. She set her tablet aside.
“Mom,” she said carefully, “what’s going on?”
Madam Bose sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing invisible creases from the sheets. “I need to talk to you about something important.”
Amara narrowed her eyes. “You’re making me nervous.”
Her mother inhaled deeply. “It’s about Chief Adeyemi.”
Amara leaned back, crossing her arms. “What about him?”
“He’s not in trouble financially,” Madam Bose said slowly. “But emotionally. You know how much he loves his son. Kenechukwu is spiraling, Amara. Reckless, self-destructive. Adeyemi is terrified he’ll lose him.”
Amara tilted her head, already sensing danger. “And why are you telling me this?”
Madam Bose clasped her hands together. “Because he believes you’re the only person who can handle him.”
Amara blinked, then let out a sharp laugh. “Handle him how? Are you saying he wants me to date his son?”
Her mother sighed. “Not exactly.”
Amara straightened, her tone suddenly calm and lethal. “Then explain. Now.”
Madam Bose swallowed. “He wants you to marry Kenechukwu.”
The words landed like a slap.
“What?” Amara exploded, jumping to her feet. “You’re joking.”
“I wish I were.”
Amara paced, disbelief boiling into irritation. “So your boss wants me to sacrifice myself to fix his spoiled billionaire son?”
“Please listen,” Madam Bose pleaded.
Amara stopped, arms folded, fury simmering beneath control. “I’m listening. But this better make sense.”
Her mother met her eyes, nervous but sincere. “It would only be for one year.”
Amara’s lips curved slowly—not in fear, but intrigue.
This wasn’t just madness.
It was a challenge.
Chapter 7
Madam Bose straightened, sensing the shift in her daughter’s expression. “It wouldn’t be permanent,” she said carefully. “A one-year contract. If it fails, you walk away freely.”
Amara’s gaze sharpened. “And why does Chief Adeyemi think I’m suitable for this madness?”
“Because you’re not like the women Kenechukwu surrounds himself with,” her mother replied. “You don’t chase money. Don’t bend for charm. And you don’t tolerate nonsense. He believes you’re strong enough to stand your ground and force him to face himself.”
Silence stretched between them. Amara’s mind raced. She felt insulted—she was a respected lawyer, not a rehabilitation program for a reckless heir. Yet beneath the irritation, something else stirred.
Curiosity.
A slow, knowing smirk crept onto her lips. “So he thinks I can tame him.”
Madam Bose hesitated. “I think he believes you won’t let him destroy himself.”
Amara exhaled, walking back to the bed and sitting slowly. A year wasn’t forever. She had no romantic attachments, no obligations tying her down. And she had never backed away from a challenge—especially one everyone else feared.
“This would be on my terms,” she said firmly. “No one controls me. Not Chief Adeyemi. Not his son.”
Her mother nodded quickly. “Of course.”
Amara’s smirk deepened, dark with calculation. “And Kenechukwu has no idea about any of this, does he?”
“No,” Madam Bose admitted.
“Good,” Amara said softly. “I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise.”
Later that week, the private lounge of an exclusive Lagos restaurant was reserved for three people. Chief Adeyemi sat across from Madam Bose, barely containing his relief as Amara entered with her usual confidence and composure.
“You have no idea what this means to me,” he said, emotion thick in his voice.
Amara leaned back in her chair, unimpressed. “I haven’t agreed to anything permanent. Let’s be clear.”
Adeyemi smiled faintly. “Exactly as I expected.”
His joy was restrained but genuine. For the first time in years, hope felt possible.
And Amara? She was already planning her strategy.
Chapter 8
Chief Adeyemi’s expression sobered as he leaned forward. “You should know what you’re walking into,” he said. “Kenechukwu is difficult. Arrogant. Impulsive. He listens to no one—not even me.”
Amara’s lips curved faintly. “I enjoy difficult things.”
Madam Bose smiled despite herself.
“He lives for nightlife,” Adeyemi continued. “Clubs, fast cars, alcohol. He thrives on recklessness. But beneath it all, he’s still a boy who lost his mother and never recovered.”
“A waste of potential,” Madam Bose murmured.
Adeyemi nodded. “Brilliant, but entitled. The world has always bent for him.”
Amara rested her chin on her hand. “Any weaknesses?”
A rare smirk crossed Adeyemi’s face. “He hates losing.”
Amara chuckled softly. “Then I’ve already won.”
They discussed logistics for hours. Adeyemi insisted on a small wedding—only family and close associates. Amara agreed easily. She wanted no spectacle, no attention.
“A week should be enough to prepare,” Madam Bose said. “I’ll handle the arrangements.”
“After the wedding,” Adeyemi added, “you’ll both move into a private estate in Lekki. Minimal staff. I don’t want enablers around him.”
Amara raised a brow. “And meals?”
“The chef—”
“I’ll cook,” she interrupted smoothly.
Both adults stared at her.
“I enjoy cooking,” Amara said simply. “And I won’t sit idle while others manage my household. If I’m doing this, I’m all in.”
Adeyemi broke into a wide smile. “You are remarkable.”
“I know,” Amara replied, unapologetic.
By the time they left the restaurant, the agreement was sealed. One week. A contract marriage. One reckless heir to confront.
As Amara slid into her car, anticipation hummed through her veins. She didn’t know what awaited her on the other side of this decision.
But one thing was certain.
Kenechukwu Udo had no idea what was coming.
Chapter 9
Kenechukwu adjusted the cuffs of his white tuxedo, irritation tightening his jaw. He still couldn’t believe his father had forced his hand this way. Marriage was supposed to change him? Ridiculous. He was Kenechukwu Udo—a man who answered to no one, a man who did whatever he pleased. And yet here he stood, trapped at the altar, waiting for a woman he had never met.
Chief Adeyemi sat proudly in the front row, his expression unreadable. Kenechukwu knew better. This was victory in his father’s eyes, the happiest he had looked in years. The realization only fueled his resentment.
Soft murmurs rippled through the small gathering as guests turned toward the aisle. Kenechukwu kept his gaze forward, refusing to show curiosity. This was a contract, nothing more. A performance.
Then he looked up.
For a heartbeat, the world stilled.
Amara moved down the aisle with effortless grace, her satin gown hugging her curves as it shimmered beneath the golden lights. She was breathtaking—tall, striking, unapologetically elegant. Her deep brown skin glowed, her cheekbones sharp beneath bold red lipstick. Her curls were swept into a classic updo, loose tendrils framing a face that demanded attention.
Kenechukwu’s chest tightened unexpectedly.
She didn’t look nervous. Didn’t fidget or lower her eyes. She carried herself with control, with power. Not submission.
Who the hell was she?
He forced his expression back into indifference as she reached his side. This was just a game. He wouldn’t be impressed.
The ceremony blurred past him. Amara’s voice remained steady as she spoke her vows, her gaze unwavering. When it was his turn, he repeated the words mechanically, detached from their meaning.
“You may now kiss the bride,” the officiant announced.
Kenechukwu hesitated, then cupped her chin and brushed his lips against hers. Brief. Controlled.
But even in that second, something sparked.
Amara smirked against his mouth.
Kenechukwu pulled away, irritated.
She had won the first round.
Chapter 10
The reception that followed was exactly as Chief Adeyemi intended—small, private, and restrained. Kenechukwu barely touched his food, his mind tangled in irritation and disbelief. He felt trapped, like a man sentenced without trial. Across the room, Amara moved with calm assurance, greeting relatives, laughing softly, and speaking with quiet confidence. She looked completely at ease, and that unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
When it ended, Amara hugged her mother tightly, whispering a goodbye. Madam Bose held her a moment longer, eyes bright with emotion. “Be strong,” she murmured.
“I always am,” Amara replied.
Chief Adeyemi stepped forward, pride shining openly now. “You’re doing a good thing,” he told her. “And you have my full support.”
She nodded, offering him a firm handshake. Kenechukwu watched from a distance, a strange tension tightening his chest. This was real now. This was his life.
Inside the car, silence stretched as the door shut. The city lights blurred past the window. Finally, Amara spoke without looking at him. “So,” she said calmly, “are you always this charming, or is today special?”
Kenechukwu turned slightly, a slow smirk forming. “If I wanted to charm you, you’d know it.”
She chuckled under her breath. “Interesting.”
At the estate, Amara chose the couch that night without hesitation. Kenechukwu observed her from an armchair the next morning, amusement flickering in his eyes as she stirred awake.
“Good morning, wife,” he drawled.
She startled, then shot him a cold nod and escaped upstairs.
Later, the scent of peppers and spices filled the kitchen. Amara cooked with practiced ease, music humming softly in her ears. Kenechukwu watched from the doorway, surprised by the confidence in her movements.
When he tasted the food, he froze. Memories surfaced—his mother’s laughter, her cooking.
“This is… good,” he admitted quietly.
Amara smirked. “I know.”
For the first time since the wedding, something inside him softened.
Chapter 11
The weeks that followed settled into a strange, silent rhythm. Inside the sleek walls of the Lekki estate, Amara and Kenechukwu lived like carefully avoiding strangers. There were no arguments, no forced conversations, no attempts at closeness. Just routine.
Amara left early each morning in tailored suits, her days consumed by courtrooms, case files, and strategy meetings. She was relentless, focused, building her legal empire brick by brick. Often, she returned late, exhausted but composed, barely sparing Kenechukwu a glance.
That indifference gnawed at him.
Kenechukwu had spent years with women who demanded his attention, who called endlessly, questioned his movements, fought for space in his life. Amara did none of that. She never asked where he went. Never flinched when he came home at dawn. Never complained.
So he pushed harder.
Nightclubs. Alcohol. Women. He stayed out later than usual, slamming doors when he returned, stumbling deliberately, hoping for a reaction. Any reaction. But Amara only glanced up briefly from her laptop, eyes unreadable, before returning to her work.
Then one night, he crossed a line.
He staggered into the living room, drunk beyond control. The room spun violently, and before he could stop himself, he vomited all over the couch. The stench filled the air.
He braced for anger. For shouting. For disgust.
Instead, Amara sighed.
Without a word, she pulled him up, guided him to the bathroom, and turned on the shower. Her movements were efficient, impersonal, almost clinical as she cleaned him like a child who had made a mess.
That hurt more than any insult.
The next morning, Kenechukwu woke with a splitting headache. On the nightstand sat a cup of hot tea and a note.
Drink this. Breakfast is in the oven. I have work. Don’t burn the house down.
He stared at the handwriting for a long time.
For the first time in years, he felt something unfamiliar.
And he hated it.
Chapter 12
Kenechukwu dragged himself out of bed later that morning, his body heavy with shame. The tea had dulled the headache, but it couldn’t erase the memory of the night before. He moved downstairs slowly, the house quiet except for distant traffic. Amara was already gone.
In the kitchen, he opened the oven and found the neatly wrapped plate she’d promised. Jollof rice, fried plantain, grilled chicken. The sight tightened his chest. Even in a contract marriage, she still showed up.
He heated the food and ate in silence, each bite reminding him of everything he’d become—and everything he wasn’t proud of. His gaze drifted to the television, idly playing a news segment.
Then he froze.
Amara stood on the screen, dressed in a sharp navy suit, commanding a crowded courtroom. Her voice was calm but lethal, slicing through arguments with precision. Judges listened. Opposing counsel faltered. When the verdict came down in her favor, she didn’t celebrate. She simply nodded, composed, victorious.
Kenechukwu leaned back slowly.
Pride warmed his chest before he could stop it.
That night, when Amara returned home, her heels clicked sharply against the floor. She didn’t sit. She stood in front of him, arms crossed, eyes burning.
“Never come home like that again,” she said evenly. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”
The words cut deep.
She stepped closer. “You think you’re punishing me? You’re not. You’re only destroying yourself.”
Kenechukwu stormed out, fury boiling—but her words followed him.
An hour later, a small velvet box sat on her bedside table. Inside lay a simple gold necklace. Beside it, a note.
You’re a badass lawyer.
Amara stared at it, conflicted. Was he hurt? Had she gone too far?
From the bathroom came the sound of running water.
For the first time since the wedding, she wondered if something between them was changing—and whether she was ready for it.
Chapter 13
Kenechukwu drove through the empty Lagos streets like a man possessed, hands crushing the steering wheel as anger surged through his veins. The city lights blurred past, tires screeching against asphalt as he sped recklessly, desperate to outrun the humiliation burning in his chest.
How dare she speak to him like that.
Her words replayed over and over, each one striking deeper than the last. You’re embarrassing yourself. Take responsibility. You’re a grown man. No woman had ever challenged him so directly, ever dared to strip him of his arrogance and lay his flaws bare. And the worst part was the truth buried inside her words.
He pressed harder on the accelerator.
Faster. Louder. Anything to drown the shame clawing at his throat.
Then it happened.
Blinding headlights. A deafening crash. Metal screamed. Glass shattered.
Darkness swallowed everything.
Amara’s phone rang while she was reviewing a case, the unfamiliar number making her frown. She answered without thinking.
“Is this Mrs. Amara Udo?” a strained voice asked.
Her heart lurched. “Yes.”
“Your husband has been in an accident. He’s unconscious and has been rushed to St. Nicholas Hospital.”
The room tilted.
“No,” she whispered, already reaching for her keys. Memories flooded back—hospital corridors, lifeless bodies, grief she’d sworn never to relive.
The drive was a blur. When she reached the hospital, she ran through the doors, breath ragged, fear tightening her chest.
“He’s in room 302,” a nurse said gently.
Amara burst inside and froze.
Kenechukwu lay still, wrapped in bandages, machines humming softly beside him. Tears streamed down her face as she gripped his hand.
“This is my fault,” she whispered. “I was just trying to help.”
She stayed.
For hours.
Refusing to leave.
Because suddenly, losing him felt unbearable.
Chapter 14
Morning light filtered softly into the hospital room, painting pale gold streaks across white walls. Amara’s head rested against the edge of the bed, fingers still intertwined with Kenechukwu’s. Exhaustion weighed heavily on her, but she hadn’t moved all night.
Then she felt it.
A faint shift. A low groan.
Her head snapped up, heart slamming wildly as Kenechukwu’s eyelids fluttered open. Relief crashed over her so hard her knees nearly buckled.
“Jed,” she whispered, voice trembling.
His gaze was unfocused at first, confusion clouding his dark eyes. “Amara?” he croaked weakly.
She didn’t wait. Emotion overtook reason as she leaned over him, wrapping her arms around his chest, holding him as though he might disappear again. “You idiot,” she murmured against his gown. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”
Kenechukwu stiffened, startled by the closeness, but slowly his arms lifted, resting awkwardly against her back. Her warmth settled something restless inside him—something he hadn’t felt in years.
The weeks that followed blurred together in hospital corridors and quiet nights. His right leg was fractured, leaving him confined to the bed. Amara never left. She handled medications, meals, paperwork, and work calls without complaint. She slept in the chair beside him, fueled by coffee and stubborn devotion.
But guilt shadowed her every move.
Kenechukwu saw it in her eyes, the way she blamed herself. It tore at him.
Late one night, he broke.
“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “For everything.”
Tears filled his eyes. “For being reckless. For hurting you.”
Amara snapped to her feet, anger flashing. “What if you had died?” she whispered fiercely. “Do you think your choices only affect you?”
Her voice shook as pain spilled free. “I’ve lost people, Jed. Don’t ever make me face that again.”
Silence followed, heavy and raw.
And for the first time, Kenechukwu truly understood how deeply he had hurt the one person who never walked away.
Chapter 15
Amara turned toward the window, breathing through the ache in her chest before sitting again. Her voice, when it came, was steady but stripped bare. She told him about losing her father at twelve, about watching strength vanish overnight, about learning that grief does not pause the world. She spoke of her fiancé, taken by a car accident months before their wedding, of hospital lights and helplessness, of the vow she made to never watch someone slip away if she could fight for them.
Kenechukwu listened, throat tight, pieces clicking into place. He saw the armor beneath her calm, the discipline forged by loss. When she finished, he swallowed and spoke of his mother, of sitting beside a hospital bed at sixteen, begging for time that never came. He admitted how the pain hollowed him, how recklessness felt easier than feeling anything at all.
Amara met his eyes. She spoke of his father’s love, of sleepless nights and quiet fear. She told him that self-destruction punished more than himself. The words landed hard, cracking years of resentment.
Something shifted.
Discharge day arrived, and the house felt unfamiliar. Amara moved carefully, helping him settle, then paused with a suitcase at her side. She confessed the guilt that chased her, the belief that pushing him had caused the crash. She said she would leave so he could heal without her shadow.
Kenechukwu stood, steady despite the pain, and stopped her. He refused the lie of blame. Asked her to stay, not as a contract, not as a duty, but as a choice. He admitted the pretending had ended somewhere between care and courage.
Amara’s defenses fell. A tear slipped. She agreed.
The days that followed were different. He chose discipline. She chose hope. The deal became partnership. The marriage became real.
Chapter 16
Life after that choice unfolded quietly, almost gently. The house no longer felt like a temporary shelter built on obligation. It felt lived in. Kenechukwu began waking early, not because he was forced to, but because he wanted to. He reduced the drinking, stopped chasing chaos, and slowly stepped into the world he had avoided for years. Meetings replaced nightclubs. Responsibility replaced escape. His father watched from a distance, saying little, but the pride in his eyes spoke loudly.
Amara changed too. She stopped holding herself apart, stopped treating the marriage like a task to be completed. Then she allowed laughter to linger. She allowed rest. For the first time in years, she wasn’t running from loss or chasing control. She was simply present.
One evening, weeks later, Amara sat on the couch scrolling through case files, glasses perched on her nose. Kenechukwu walked in, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly disheveled, looking like a man who had actually worked for his future. She glanced up, amused.
“Who are you,” she teased, “and what did you do with the reckless heir I married?”
He laughed, sitting beside her. “He grew up.”
She studied him, warmth spreading through her chest. “You’re really trying.”
“For you,” he said softly. “For us.”
Silence followed, comfortable and full. Slowly, he reached for her hand. This time, she didn’t hesitate. Their fingers intertwined naturally, effortlessly.
“You know,” he murmured, “this started as a deal.”
Amara smirked. “A very bad one.”
He leaned closer, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Now it’s real.”
She closed her eyes, smiling.
The contract had expired in spirit long before it ever could on paper. What remained was something neither had expected—messy, imperfect, deeply earned love.
And this time, neither of them was running.
Chapter 17
Months later, the Udo estate hosted a quiet dinner beneath soft garden lights. Chief Adeyemi watched from the head of the table as Kenechukwu spoke confidently about a new cybersecurity division, his plans precise, his posture steady. Pride swelled silently. This was the son he had prayed for, not reshaped by force, but steadied by love.
Amara listened, offering thoughtful questions, challenging assumptions without diminishing him. They moved as a unit now, balanced and intentional. When laughter rose, it was easy, unforced. When silence came, it was comfortable.
After dinner, Adeyemi pulled Amara aside. “Thank you,” he said simply. No contracts. No bargains. Just gratitude. She nodded, understanding the weight behind the word.
Later that night, Kenechukwu found Amara on the balcony, city lights glittering below. He joined her, resting his forearms on the rail. “We’re past the year,” he said quietly.
“We are,” she replied.
“No clauses. No deadlines.”
She turned to him, eyes warm. “What are you asking?”
He smiled, nervous for the first time since she’d known him. “Stay. Not because you promised. Because you choose to.”
Amara reached for his hand. “I already did.”
He exhaled, relief softening his features. “Then let’s keep choosing each other.”
They stood together, listening to the city breathe. The past still existed, but it no longer owned them. Ahead was work, patience, and joy earned honestly.
Inside, the house glowed. Not with luxury, but with belonging. And in that quiet certainty, their beginning finally felt complete.
Tomorrow would bring challenges, disagreements, and growth, but they welcomed it. Love, they had learned, was not rescue or perfection. It was choice, repeated daily, with courage. Hand in hand, they stepped forward, no longer bound by contracts, but by trust, effort, and hope. Together, they built a future worth protecting, steady, honest, shared.
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