BOUND BY VOWS

CHAPTER FOUR: CURIOSITY, UNINVITED

The weeks that followed the meeting moved with a momentum Awa hadn't anticipated. There were no grand romantic gestures, no sudden declarations—just a series of carefully orchestrated steps that pulled her steadily toward a future she was still trying to reconcile with her present.

The engagement was announced quietly within their families first, then to a slightly wider circle of relatives and close business associates. Awa noticed how her mother's shoulders relaxed with each congratulatory phone call, how her father's conversations took on a satisfied tone. She was doing her duty. Finally.

At work, she said nothing.

Her colleagues at the investigative journalism firm where she'd carved out her reputation knew her as relentless, focused, married only to the truth. The idea of Awa—*their* Awa—getting married seemed incongruous with the woman who stayed late chasing leads and never backed down from confrontation.

So she kept it quiet. For now.

Taye, she learned through their increasingly frequent phone conversations, had taken a similar approach. His team at Whitmore Industries knew only what they needed to know. The official announcement would come later, timed strategically for maximum benefit and minimum disruption.

Everything was strategic now.

Their second meeting happened at a restaurant Taye chose—upscale but not ostentatious, private enough for conversation but public enough to avoid any awkwardness. Awa appreciated the thoughtfulness, even if she wouldn't admit it aloud.

"I thought we should discuss living arrangements," Taye said once they'd ordered, getting straight to business as usual.

Awa nodded, grateful he wasn't wasting time on small talk. "I assumed I'd be expected to move into your family home."

"You assumed correctly," he said. "But I want to be clear about what that means."

She waited, studying his expression.

"The main house is... traditional," Taye continued carefully. "My grandmother lives there. So does my younger sister when she's not at university. There are expectations about how things should be done. Routines. Protocols."

"Protocols," Awa repeated, her tone flat.

"I know how it sounds." Taye leaned forward slightly. "But I want you to understand the environment before you walk into it. My grandmother is... formidable. She has very specific ideas about family, about duty, about a wife's role."

"And you share these ideas?"

"No." His answer came quickly, firmly. "But I respect her. And I need you to understand that while I'll support your independence, there will be moments where we'll need to present a united front. For appearances."

Awa took a sip of water, processing. "So I'm expected to play a role."

"We both are," Taye corrected. "This arrangement benefits both our families, but it requires maintenance. Discretion. In public, we're a partnership. In private..." He paused. "In private, we figure out what works for us."

It was honest, at least. Awa could work with honest.

"I won't give up my work," she said again, needing to hear him confirm it.

"I know. And I meant what I said—I respect that." Taye's gaze held hers. "But I need to know you'll be discreet about certain things. My family has... complexities. Business matters that can't become public knowledge."

Something in his tone made Awa's journalist instincts prick up. "What kind of complexities?"

Taye hesitated, and in that hesitation, Awa saw the first c***k in his composed exterior.

"Nothing illegal," he said finally. "But... delicate. I'll explain more when the time is right. For now, I just need your word that what you learn about my family stays private."

Awa leaned back, conflicted. As a journalist, the request went against every principle she held. As his future wife—a role she still struggled to claim—she understood the necessity.

"I can't promise blanket confidentiality," she said carefully. "But I can promise discretion. If I learn something that affects my work or my conscience, we'll discuss it first. Fair?"

Taye considered this, then nodded slowly. "Fair."

The rest of dinner passed more easily. They discussed wedding timelines—small ceremony, both families agreed, nothing extravagant. They talked about their daily routines, trying to map out how two very different lives might coexist. Taye mentioned his early mornings and late nights at the office. Awa described her unpredictable schedule, the late-night calls from sources, the sudden trips when stories broke.

"This won't be a traditional marriage," Awa observed at one point.

"No," Taye agreed. "But maybe that works in our favor."

As they left the restaurant, Taye walked her to her car. The evening air was cool, the parking lot quiet except for distant traffic.

"Awa," he said as she reached for her door handle.

She turned.

"I know this isn't what you wanted," he said quietly. "It's not what I wanted either. But I think... I think we might actually manage this well. If we're honest with each other."

Awa found herself studying his face in the dim light, searching for insincerity and finding none.

"Honesty is all I know how to be," she replied.

Something shifted in Taye's expression—respect, perhaps, or recognition. "Then we'll be fine."

He waited until she was in her car before heading to his own. As Awa drove home, she replayed the conversation, examining it from every angle the way she would a source's testimony.

Taye was hiding something. That much was clear. But he wasn't lying—not exactly. He was withholding, which was different.

The journalist in her wanted to dig immediately, to uncover whatever "complexities" lurked in the Whitmore family business. But another part of her—the part that was slowly, reluctantly accepting this new reality—hesitated.

Trust had to start somewhere.

Even in a marriage that began without it.

---

The next morning, Awa arrived at her office to find her editor, Marcus, waiting by her desk with arms crossed and an expression she knew all too well.

"Where have you been?" he demanded.

"Good morning to you too," Awa said, dropping her bag and powering on her computer.

"You've been distracted for weeks. Missed two deadlines. And that corruption story you were so fired up about? You haven't touched it."

Awa's jaw tightened. He was right, and she hated it.

"I've had personal matters—"

"Since when do you have personal matters?" Marcus interrupted. "You *are* the story. Always have been. So what's changed?"

Awa met his gaze, weighing her options. Marcus had been her mentor, her advocate, the one who'd given her a chance when other newsrooms dismissed her as too young, too idealistic, too female.

She owed him honesty.

"I'm getting married," she said quietly.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Marcus stared at her as if she'd announced she was joining the circus. "You're... what?"

"It's an arrangement. Family obligation. It's complicated."

"Complicated." Marcus laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Awa, you're one of the best investigative journalists I've seen in years. You have a gift for seeing through bullshit and dragging truth into the light. And you're telling me you're throwing that away for an *arranged marriage*?"

"I'm not throwing anything away," Awa said sharply. "Nothing about my career is changing."

"Everything is changing!" Marcus leaned against her desk. "Who's the guy?"

Awa hesitated. "Taye Whitmore."

Marcus went very still. "Whitmore Industries? That Whitmore?"

"Yes."

"Jesus Christ, Awa." Marcus rubbed his face. "Do you have any idea what you're walking into? That family is connected to half the political players in this country. There are rumors—"

"I know," Awa cut him off, though she didn't. Not really.

"Do you?" Marcus challenged. "Because from where I'm standing, you're about to marry into exactly the kind of family we've spent years trying to expose."

His words landed like stones in her stomach.

"I can handle it," she said, but even to her own ears, it sounded unconvincing.

Marcus studied her for a long moment, then sighed. "I hope you're right. Because when this blows up—and it will blow up—I won't be able to protect you."

He walked away, leaving Awa alone with her computer and the uncomfortable weight of doubt settling on her shoulders.

For the first time since agreeing to this marriage, Awa wondered if she'd made a terrible mistake.

And for the first time, she pulled up a search bar and typed: *Whitmore Industries controversies*.

The results that loaded made her blood run cold.