The CEO'S SUBSTITUTE WIFE

THE CEO'S SUBSTITUTE WIFE- Chapter 7: The Bed Clause

The closet was small. Too small.

Kago's chest was against Amahle's back. his hand was still on hers.

Dawn light slipped through thr crack in thr door.

Neither of them moved.

"You lied," Amahle whispered.

Kago's voice was rough from no sleep. "About what?"

"You said you'd stop keeping secrets."

Kago exhaled. He let go of her hand. Opened the closet door.

They stepped out.

Kago went to the nightstand. Picked up the contract Amahle signed 8 hours ago.

He flipped to page 8. Tapped it with his finger.

"Read clause 4.3," he said.

Amahle frowned. She took the papers.

For the duration of the contract, for all public, media, and shareholder appearances, the parties shall cohabitate as a married couple. Separate accommodations will be considered breach of contract and grounds for termination.

Her eyes went wide.

"Separate accommodations," Kago translated. "Meaning one bed, Mrs. Mokoena. One room."

Amahle dropped the contract like it burned her.

"No."

Kago's face was empty again. CEO mask back on.

"Then the press will say we're fake. Themba will tell the board you're just a prisoner. My wife's murder case gets reopened with 'unstable husband ' in the headlines. You want that?"

Amahle crossed her arms. "I want my own room."

"You had one. Lindiwe's room. Now it's ours."

Ours.

The word hit her like a slap.

Before she could answer, her phone buzzed. Unknown number.

Good morning, sister-in-law. Breakfast at 8. Don't be late.- T

Themba. He had her number.

Kago saw her screen. His jaw clenched.

"He's moving fast."

The elevator dinged again.

Themba walked in. No files this time. A woman on his arm.

Late 20s. Red dress. Lawyer sharp.

"Kago," Themba said. "You remember Zanele Khumalo? Naledi's old defense lawyer? She quit last week. Now she's mine.

Zanele smiled at Amahle. Too sweet. "Mrs. Mokoena. I'm so sorry about your sister. Themba told me everything."

Amahle didn't smile back.

Themba pulled Zanele closer. "We're engaged, actually. I thought we'd celebrate. Family breakfast."

Family.

Kago didn't blink. "We don't do family breakfasts."

"Then we'll make a new traditions," Themba said. He looked at Amahle. "Useless you're scared to sit at the same table as me."

Amahle took a step forward.

Kago's hand shot out. Caught her wrist.

He didn't look at her. He looked at Themba.

Then he pulled Amahle to his side.

His arm went around her waist. Possessive. Final.

"My wife doesn't answer to you," Kago said.

His voice was quiet. That mafe it worse.

Themba's smile faltered for half a second.

Zanele's eyes flicked to Kago's hand on Amahle's waist. Then to Amahle's face.

"Of course," Themba said. "My mistake."

Themba recovered. He laughed. "Touchy. I like it. See you at the shareholder gala tonight, 8 PM. Both of you. Black tie."

He turned. Zanele followed.

At the elevator, Themba paused.

"Oh, Kago? Check your company transfers. Account 7B-2219 got a deposit this morning. R10M. From K. Mokoena Holdings."

The elevator doors closed.

Silence.

Amahle pulled out of Kago's grip.

"Your company is funding him."

Kago was already at his laptop. Typing.

"It's not me," he said. "Someone's using my name. My signature."

Amahle stared at him.

Lindiwe's note. Account 7B-2219. It's not mine.

Kago's voice was flat. "Rule 6. We sleep in the same bed starting tonight. For the cameras."

Amahle laughed. No humor in it.

"You want me to share a bed with a man who might be paying the man who killed his wife?"

Kago finally looked at her.

For the first time, he didn't look cold.

He looked tired. Angry. Trapped.

"I want you alive, Amahle," he said. "Themba thinks he can breaks us. He can't. Not if we're together."

He walked to the king bed. Pulled back the covers.

One bed.

Amahle's phone buzzed again.

Naledi: They moved me to solitary. They said it's for my safety. Amahle, I'm scared.

Amahle's knees went weak.

Lago saw the message over her shoulder.

He didn't touch her.

He just said, "Then we end this before the gala. Tonight."

Outside, Sandton was waking up.

Inside, the war had a deadline: 8 PM.

And one bed.