The Billionaire's Hidden Wife

My name is Emma Blackwood, and today I got married. But nobody clapped for me. No music. No white flowers. No father walking me down the aisle. Just a cold office on the 13th floor of Blackwood Tower in Lagos, and a man who looked at me like I was a business deal. I stood there in the only white gown I could afford. I bought it from Yaba market for eight thousand naira. It was simple, too big on my waist, but I had managed it with a pin at the back. Alexander Blackwood sat behind his desk. God, this man. Even when he is cruel, he is handsome. Sharp suit, sharp jaw, eyes that never smile. "Emma," he said, without even looking up from his papers. "Sit." I sat. My hands were shaking. On the table was a document. CONTRACT MARRIAGE AGREEMENT. Bold letters. He finally looked at me. "Let me make this very clear, because I don't like repeating myself. You will be my wife for one year. Only on paper. In public, you don't exist. You don't speak to me at events. You don't tell anyone. Especially not my fiancée, Sophia." His fiancée. Of course he has a fiancée. A real one. Beautiful, rich, i********: famous. "Then why me?" My voice was small. I hated how weak I sounded. He leaned forward. "Because my grandfather's will says I must be married before I turn thirty to inherit the company. I turn thirty in three days. Sophia refused to marry me now, she wants a big wedding next year. I don't have time. You need money." He knew. Of course he knew. My mother is in LUTH in a coma. The doctor said we need five million naira for the surgery or she will die in six months. I have been cleaning offices, selling zobo, begging. Nothing. "Five million," he said, pushing the paper to me. "Immediately after you sign. Plus one million monthly allowance. A house in Ikoyi where you will stay. After one year, we divorce quietly. You go your way, I go mine. And you sign an NDA. No interviews, no story telling." Five million. My mother's life. I picked up the pen. My hand was sweating. "What if... what if I fall in love with you?" The question escaped before I could stop it. For the first time, he smiled. But it was not a kind smile. It was mocking. "You won't." I signed: Emma Blackwood. The ink bled a little because my hand shook. He signed under: Alexander J. Blackwood. Clean, bold, powerful. "Good," he said and stood up. He brought out a small box from his drawer. Inside was a thin gold ring. Not diamond. Not big. Simple. He didn't put it on my finger. He just dropped it on the table in front of me. "Wear it at home when my grandfather's lawyer visits. Otherwise, don't." Tears burned my eyes. I put the ring on. It was slightly tight. "My driver will take you to the house. Be ready by 7pm. My grandfather wants to have dinner with his new granddaughter-in-law." That was it. My wedding day was over in ten minutes. The driver took me to Ikoyi. The house was... Jesus. It was not a house, it was a mansion. Three bedrooms, all white, too clean, too quiet. The fridge was full but I had no appetite. At exactly 7pm, Alexander came. He had changed his suit. He looked at me from head to toe. "You are wearing that?" He frowned. It was the same white gown. It was all I had. "Come," he said, irritated. He walked out. We arrived at his grandfather's house. It was old money everywhere. Pa Blackwood was in a wheelchair, but his eyes were sharp. He was over 80 but he smiled when he saw me. "So you are Emma?" He took my hand. His hands were warm. "My grandson finally did something right. I told him, this Lagos girls with all that makeup. You... you have real eyes." I forced a smile. "Thank you, sir." Alexander stood behind, hands in his pocket, watching me like a bodyguard. During dinner, Pa Blackwood kept asking me questions. Where I schooled, my family. I answered carefully. I told him about my mother being sick, but I didn't tell him about the contract. When we were leaving, Pa Blackwood pulled me close and whispered, "He watches you when you are not looking. That boy likes you, he just doesn't know how to love. Be patient with him." My heart stopped. What did he mean? In the car going back, I couldn't hold it anymore. "Have you been watching me?" Alexander didn't answer. He just looked out the window. But his jaw tightened. When we got to Ikoyi, he said, "Don't wait up. I won't be sleeping here." He left me alone in that big mansion, on my wedding night, with a ring that felt too tight and a contract that felt too heavy. He left me alone in that big mansion, on my wedding night, with a ring that felt too tight and a contract that felt too heavy. I sat on the cold floor and cried. Not because he left. But because, for a second when his grandfather said he watches me, I felt hope. And hope is a dangerous thing for a girl like me. Tomorrow the maid will come. The lawyer will come. And the whole of Lagos will still think Alexander Blackwood is single and available. Nobody knows he has a hidden wife. Nobody knows he has a hidden wife. "Nobody knows it's me." But that night, I could not sleep. The mansion was too quiet and too big for a girl like me who grew up in a small house with my mother. I sat on the cold floor of my bedroom holding my bag, and I counted the price of my mother's life. My freedom for one year. I looked at the cheap silver ring he gave me. It was tight on my finger and very heavy, just like this new life I entered. Tomorrow morning, the whole world will still think Alexander Blackwood is single and available. But only I know the truth. I am Emma Blackwood, his hidden wife.