The rain had been falling for nearly two hours when Amara Williams realized she was completely lost. She stood beneath the narrow roof of a closed restaurant, clutching her handbag against her chest while water rushed along the streets of Lagos. Her phone screen was cracked, her battery was at four percent, and the last bus she could afford had already disappeared into the darkness. "Perfect," she whispered. It had been the worst day of her life. Her employer had fired her that afternoon. Her landlord had given her three days to pay her overdue rent. And to make matters worse, the hospital had called earlier to remind her about her mother's medical bill. Amara closed her eyes. She couldn't afford to break down. Not tonight. She stepped into the rain and began walking. A few minutes later, a black luxury car suddenly stopped beside her. Amara froze. The passenger window slowly lowered. "Get in." She stared at the man behind the wheel. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. His face was sharp and handsome, but his expression was cold enough to make her take a step backward. "Excuse me?" "I said, get in." Amara looked around nervously. "I don't know you." His eyes remained fixed on her. "My name is Damian Blackwood." The name meant something. Everyone knew Damian Blackwood. At twenty-nine, he was one of the youngest and wealthiest businessmen in the country. His company owned hotels, real estate, restaurants and several technology investments. And now he was sitting in front of her as if appearing out of nowhere. "What do you want from me?" Amara asked. "Five minutes of your time." "I don't have five minutes." "You're walking home in the rain." "I'll survive." For the first time, something resembling amusement appeared in his eyes. "You're stubborn." "And you're strange." A faint smile touched his lips. "Get in, Amara." Her heart stopped. "How do you know my name?" Damian opened the passenger door. "Get in, and I'll explain." Every sensible thought in Amara's mind told her to walk away. But then thunder shook the sky. She sighed and entered the car. The interior smelled of expensive leather and a faint, unfamiliar cologne. Damian pulled away from the roadside. For several seconds, neither of them spoke. Finally, Amara turned toward him. "Now explain." "I've been looking for you." Her eyebrows knitted together. "Why?" "Because I need your help." "With what?" He stopped at a red light and looked directly at her. "I need a wife." Amara blinked. Then she laughed. She couldn't help it. "You're serious?" "Very." "You stopped a complete stranger in the rain to ask her to marry you?" "Not exactly." Damian reached into the compartment beside him and pulled out a black folder. He placed it on her lap. "Read it." Amara stared at the folder but didn't open it. "What is this?" "A marriage contract." Her laughter disappeared. "You're insane." "My grandmother controls a significant portion of my family's trust. According to her will, I must be legally married before my thirtieth birthday or I lose control of several assets." "And you think I'll marry you?" "I think you will if you understand the offer." Amara slowly opened the folder. The amount written on the first page made her breath catch. ₦50,000,000. Her eyes widened. "This is a joke." "No." "You're offering me fifty million naira to marry you?" "For six months." She stared at him. Six months. Fifty million naira. It could pay her mother's hospital bills. Her rent. Her debts. It could completely change her life. But something about Damian Blackwood made her uncomfortable. "Why me?" His expression suddenly became unreadable. "That," he said quietly, "is complicated." Amara closed the folder. "I can't." Damian didn't react. "Think about it." "I already have." He pulled over in front of a modest apartment building. Amara looked outside. "You knew where I lived?" "I told you. I've been looking for you." She turned back toward him. "Why?" Damian's jaw tightened. For a moment, the cold billionaire disappeared, and she saw something else in his eyes. Fear. Then his phone rang. He glanced at the screen. His expression changed instantly. "Hello?" He listened silently. "She's with me." Amara's heart began pounding. Damian ended the call and looked at her. "Your life is in danger." The color drained from her face. "What?" "Someone has been watching you." Amara shook her head. "That doesn't make sense." "I wish it didn't." He handed her the folder again. "This isn't only about my inheritance anymore." She stared at him. "What are you saying?" Damian leaned closer. "The people looking for me have discovered that you are the one person they can use to hurt me." Amara's fingers tightened around the folder. She suddenly understood. The marriage proposal wasn't the beginning of her problems. It was only the beginning of the biggest secret of her life. And she had just stepped directly into it.

Amara stared at Damian as though he had just told her the world was ending. "Someone is watching me?" Damian nodded. "Who?" "I don't know yet." "Then how can you be sure?" "I don't make statements I'm not sure about." His calm voice somehow frightened her more than if he had shouted. Amara looked down at the black folder resting on her lap. The marriage contract suddenly felt different. A few minutes ago, fifty million naira had looked like a miracle. Now it looked like a trap. "I want to go home," she whispered. Damian looked toward her apartment building. "You can." Amara reached for the door handle. "But before you leave, understand something. The contract isn't an obligation. You can walk away." She paused. "Then why did you bring me here?" "Because I need you to understand what you're agreeing to." He took the folder from her and opened it. "You would live in my house for six months. We would appear publicly as husband and wife. There would be no interference in your personal life, and I would take care of your mother's medical expenses." Amara's eyes widened. "You know about my mother?" "Yes." "How much do you know about me?" "Enough." She didn't like that answer. "What happens after six months?" "We divorce." "And that's it?" "That is the agreement." Amara studied his face. "You don't love me." Damian gave a quiet laugh. "No." The bluntness stung, even though she didn't know why. "Good," she said. "Because I don't love you either." Something flickered across his face. "Then we understand each other." Amara reached for the contract. "Give me until tomorrow." Damian nodded. "Midday." She frowned. "Why so soon?" "Because I have a family meeting tomorrow night." "And?" "They expect me to announce my fiancée." Amara stared at him. "You haven't even asked me properly." Damian raised an eyebrow. "Would you like me to?" She almost smiled. "No." "Good." He opened the door for her. Amara stepped out, then turned around. "One more question." Damian waited. "Why did you choose me?" For the first time that night, he didn't answer immediately. His eyes became distant. "Because you are the only woman who can do this without wanting my money." Amara looked at the folder. "You're wrong about that." Damian smiled faintly. "Maybe." She walked toward her apartment. After taking a few steps, she heard him call her name. "Amara." She turned. "If you accept, your life will never be the same." She looked at the billionaire sitting inside the black car. "Neither will yours." Then she disappeared into the building. The next morning, Amara woke up before sunrise. She barely slept. The contract was lying on the small table beside her bed. Fifty million naira. Six months. A fake marriage. It sounded ridiculous. But then she remembered the hospital. Her mother's weak voice. The unpaid bills. The landlord's warning. Amara picked up the contract. Her hands trembled. She had spent her entire life surviving without anyone's help. Maybe this was her chance to change everything. Her phone suddenly rang. It was the hospital. "Hello?" "Is this Amara Williams?" "Yes." "We need to discuss your mother's outstanding payment." Amara closed her eyes. "I know." "We can only continue her treatment once the required deposit is made." Her throat tightened. "How much?" The amount was more than she had in her account. After ending the call, Amara stared at the contract for several seconds. Then she picked up a pen. Her heart pounded as she signed her name. AMARA WILLIAMS. The moment the ink touched the paper, her phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number appeared. You should not have accepted his offer. Amara froze. Another message arrived. You have no idea who Damian Blackwood really is. Her fingers went cold. Then a final message appeared. Leave him before it's too late. Amara slowly looked toward the window. Across the street, a black car was parked. Someone was sitting inside. Watching her. Her phone slipped from her hand. And for the first time, Amara wondered if marrying Damian Blackwood had just been the biggest mistake of her life.

Amara barely slept. The anonymous messages kept replaying in her mind. You should not have accepted his offer. You have no idea who Damian Blackwood really is. Leave him before it's too late. By seven the next morning, she had made her decision. She was going to Damian's mansion. If she was going to become his wife, even temporarily, she needed answers. Amara dressed simply in a cream blouse and black trousers, then placed the signed contract inside her handbag. Before leaving, she called the hospital and made arrangements to pay part of her mother's bill with the money Damian had promised. Her hands shook as she pressed the call button. She hated needing someone else's help. But she hated even more watching her mother suffer because she couldn't afford treatment. An hour later, a black Mercedes stopped outside her apartment. Damian's driver stepped out. "Miss Williams?" "Yes." "Mr. Blackwood sent me." Amara nodded and entered the car. The journey to Damian's mansion was quiet. When they finally arrived, Amara stared through the window in disbelief. The mansion was enormous. Tall black gates opened automatically, revealing a long driveway surrounded by perfectly trimmed gardens. The house itself looked more like a five-star hotel than someone's home. Amara stepped out of the car. Damian was waiting at the entrance. He wore a dark suit, his sleeves perfectly fitted around his arms. "You came." "You expected me to." "I wasn't certain." Amara walked toward him. "I signed the contract." Damian's eyes dropped briefly to her handbag. "Good." "Don't sound so happy." "I've been waiting for your answer." "You could have waited longer." A faint smile appeared on his face. "You're still stubborn." "And you're still arrogant." "Come inside." Amara followed him. The interior was even more impressive than the outside. Crystal lights hung from the ceiling. Expensive paintings decorated the walls, and polished marble floors reflected every step. But despite the luxury, the house felt strangely cold. "How many people live here?" Amara asked. "Me." "Only you?" "Yes." She looked at him. "That must be lonely." Damian's expression hardened. "I prefer it." Before she could respond, a woman in an elegant black dress appeared from the hallway. She looked at Amara, then at Damian. Her eyes widened. "Is this her?" Damian nodded. "This is Amara." The woman smiled politely, but there was something sharp behind her eyes. "I see." Amara glanced at Damian. "Who is she?" "My sister, Victoria." Victoria stepped closer. "So you're the woman Damian is marrying." Amara forced a smile. "Apparently." Victoria laughed softly. "You don't look like his usual type." Damian's voice immediately became cold. "Victoria." "What? I'm only curious." Amara remained silent. Victoria studied her from head to toe before walking away. Damian sighed. "Don't take anything she says personally." "I wasn't planning to." "Good." He led Amara into his study. A thick file sat on the desk. "The rules are inside." Amara opened it. Rule One: No emotional attachment. She raised an eyebrow. "That's unnecessary." "It's important." She continued. Rule Two: We maintain separate bedrooms. "Fine." Rule Three: No interfering in each other's private affairs. "Fine." Rule Four: Public appearances are mandatory when required. Amara nodded. Then she reached the final page. There was one more rule. Her expression changed. "What's this?" Damian didn't answer. She read it aloud. Rule Five: Neither party may reveal the true nature of the marriage to anyone. Amara looked up. "So everyone has to believe we're actually in love?" "Yes." "And if someone finds out?" "You lose the money." Amara stared at him. "That wasn't in the original agreement." "It is now." "You can't change the contract after I signed it." "I can if you agree." She pushed the file toward him. "Then I don't agree." Damian leaned back in his chair. For several seconds, they stared at each other. Then he smiled. "That's exactly why I chose you." Amara frowned. "What does that mean?" Before he could answer, his phone rang. He looked at the screen. His expression immediately changed. "Excuse me." He stepped outside. Amara watched him through the glass doors. His voice was low. "Yes." A pause. "No. She knows nothing." Amara's heart skipped. She knows nothing? About what? Damian continued speaking. "Keep her safe until the wedding." Amara stood completely still. Wedding? She had agreed to a six-month arrangement. But suddenly it felt like there was something much bigger behind the contract. Damian ended the call and returned to the room. Amara immediately turned toward him. "Who was that?" "No one important." "You were talking about me." Damian's expression became unreadable. "You heard wrong." "I know what I heard." He walked toward her. "Amara, there are things you don't need to know yet." She stepped backward. "I hate secrets." "You'll learn to live with them." "No." She shook her head. "If we're getting married, I deserve the truth." Damian stared at her for a long moment. Then he quietly said, "Maybe you do." Before he could say anything else, the front doors opened. A group of people entered the mansion. Damian's family had arrived. And judging by the looks on their faces, none of them were happy to see her.