The Billionaire's Fake Wife

Chapter 4: 12 Hours

Ada didn’t sleep.

Not really.

She lay on the far edge of that king-size bed, the white sheets stiff and cold against her skin, staring at the dark ceiling of Kene’s penthouse. The air conditioner hummed softly. Outside, Lagos was quiet for once, the usual honking and generator sounds muffled forty floors up.

Beside her, Kene’s breathing was steady, even. Controlled.

Like everything else about him.

_What happens if she breaks Rule 3?*

The question echoed in her head like a drumbeat.

*Rule 3: Don’t fall in love.*

Ada closed her eyes. She shouldn’t be thinking about this. In 12 hours, her mother would be wheeled into surgery at Lagos University Teaching Hospital. In 12 hours, she would either walk out with a living mother or a death certificate.

She had no business thinking about a billionaire’s rules when her mother’s life was on the line.

But the man lying three feet away from her had ₦50 million in his bank account.

And he had made her sign a contract that said she couldn’t fall for him.

The irony wasn’t lost on her.

---

At 4:00 AM, Ada finally slipped out of bed.

She didn’t want to wake him. Didn’t want to explain why she was restless. Didn’t want him to see the fear in her eyes.

The penthouse was silent. Marble floors, glass walls, art pieces that probably cost more than her university tuition. Everything was cold. Everything was perfect.

Everything was empty.

Ada wrapped Kene’s black silk robe around herself and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. Below, the city lights stretched like a sea of stars. From up here, Lagos looked beautiful. Peaceful.

From up here, you couldn’t see the slums. Couldn’t see the hospitals with no power. Couldn’t see mothers dying because they couldn’t afford surgery.

A soft voice came from behind her.

“Can’t sleep?”

Ada jumped. Kene was standing in the doorway, wearing only black boxers and a white undershirt. His hair was messy from sleep, and for the first time, he didn’t look like a billionaire CEO. He just looked like a man.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” Ada said quickly, pulling the robe tighter around her. “You need rest before tomorrow.”

Kene walked to the window and stood beside her, not too close, not too far. “So do you.”

“I have my mother’s surgery in 12 hours. I don’t think I’ll be sleeping anytime soon.”

The words hung in the air between them. Heavy. Real.

Kene didn’t respond immediately. He just stared out at the city, his jaw tight.

Then he said, “The surgeon is Dr. Emeka Okoro. Best cardiac surgeon in West Africa.”

Ada turned to him, surprised. “How do you know his name?”

“I made a call this afternoon.” Kene finally looked at her. “He’s the best. Your mother will be fine.”

Ada’s throat felt tight. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I did.” Kene’s voice was flat. “It’s part of the contract. I provide for you. You play the part of my wife.”

Ada laughed bitterly. “Right. The contract.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Kene said, “Ada.”

“Yes?”

“Rule 3.” He said it quietly, like he was testing the words. “Don’t fall in love.”

Ada’s heart skipped. “I haven’t.”

“Liar.”

The word hit her harder than a slap.

Ada stepped back, her hands clenching the robe. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Kene’s eyes were dark in the dim light. “I see the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching. I see it in the way your breathing changes when I’m near. Don’t lie to me, Ada. Don’t lie to yourself.”

Ada’s face burned. “That’s not—”

“That’s exactly what it is.” Kene stepped closer, and Ada could smell his cologne again. Clean. Expensive. Addictive. “And it’s dangerous. For both of us.”

“So what do you want me to do?” Ada’s voice cracked. “Pretend I don’t feel anything? Pretend this contract doesn’t feel real?”

“I want you to remember why we’re doing this.” Kene’s voice was low, almost pleading now. “I want you to remember that in 12 months, we walk away. No feelings. No attachments. No heartbreak.”

Ada swallowed hard. “And if I can’t?”

Kene’s expression hardened again, the mask sliding back into place. “Then you’ll get hurt. And I won’t be responsible for that.”

The words were cold. Deliberate.

But Ada saw the flicker of something else in his eyes. Something that looked a lot like fear.

---

At 6:00 AM, Kene’s phone rang.

He answered it on the first ring, his voice sharp and awake. “Yes?”

Ada watched him from the kitchen island as he listened. His expression changed - from calm to concerned to angry in less than 10 seconds.

“No. I don’t care what time it is. Get the best room. I’ll be there in 20 minutes.” He hung up and turned to Ada.

“It’s your mother.”

Ada’s blood ran cold. “What happened?”

“There were complications overnight. Her blood pressure dropped. They need you there now.” Kene was already pulling on a shirt. “My driver is waiting downstairs.”

Ada grabbed her bag and her phone, her hands shaking so badly she could barely zip it. “Why are you coming?”

“Because you’re my wife.” Kene’s voice left no room for argument. “And because I said I would provide for you.”

The hospital was chaos when they arrived.

Nurses rushing. Machines beeping. The smell of antiseptic and fear.

Madam Ngozi was already there, standing outside the ICU with her arms crossed. When she saw Kene and Ada walk in together at 6:30 AM, her eyebrows rose.

“You’re here,” she said to Kene.

Then her eyes shifted to Ada. “And you. You look like hell.”

“Thanks, ma,” Ada muttered, too worried to care about manners.

Dr. Okoro came out 10 minutes later, his surgical scrubs still on. He was a tall man in his 50s with kind eyes and tired shoulders.

“Mrs. Okeke?” he asked, looking at Ada.

“Yes. That’s me.” Ada stepped forward. “How is my mother?”

Dr. Okoro’s expression was neutral. “The surgery went well. Better than expected, actually. We caught the blockage early.”

Ada’s knees almost gave out.

Kene’s hand shot out and steadied her before she could fall.

“You can see her in an hour,” Dr. Okoro continued. “She’s stable. But she needs rest. And you need rest too, young lady. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

Ada nodded, tears threatening to fall. “Thank you, Doctor. Thank you so much.”

As Dr. Okoro walked away, Madam Ngozi turned to Kene. “You arranged this, didn’t you?”

Kene didn’t deny it. “She’s my wife’s mother.”

Madam Ngozi studied Ada for a long moment. Then she sighed. “Stubborn. Just like my son.”

---

Two hours later, Ada sat by her mother’s bedside, holding her hand. Mrs. Okeke was asleep, her face pale but peaceful, the oxygen mask still on but her breathing steady.

Kene stood at the foot of the bed, watching them both.

Madam Ngozi had left 30 minutes ago after making sure everything was paid for.

“Ada,” Kene said softly.

Ada looked up. “Yes?”

“Your mother will be okay.” Kene’s voice was gentle now. Almost soft. “Dr. Okoro said the recovery will take 6 weeks. But she’ll be okay.”

Ada nodded, unable to speak. The relief was overwhelming. For the first time in months, she could breathe.

Kene walked around the bed and sat in the chair next to her. “You should go home and sleep. I’ll stay here.”

“I can’t leave her.”

“You won’t be leaving her.” Kene reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered for just a second too long. “I’ll be here. I promise.”

Ada stared at him.

In the harsh hospital lighting, he didn’t look like a billionaire. He didn’t look like a cold, calculating CEO.

He just looked like a man who was tired. A man who cared.

“Why are you being nice to me?” Ada asked quietly. “You don’t have to be.”

Kene’s lips twitched. Not a smile. But close.

“Because you’re my wife, Ada. And because…” He paused. “Because I don’t want you to be alone right now.”

Ada’s heart pounded.

*Rule 3.*

She should pull away. She should remind him of the contract. She should protect herself.

Instead, she reached out and covered his hand with hers.

“Thank you, Kene.”

Kene didn’t pull away.

He just held her hand tighter.

---

At 10:00 AM, Ada finally fell asleep in the hospital chair, her head resting against Kene’s shoulder.

Kene didn’t move. Didn’t let go of her hand.

Madam Ngozi walked in quietly and saw them like that.

She didn’t say anything. She just smiled - a real smile this time - and closed the door behind her.