The Billionaire's Fake Wife

Chapter 10: After the Shot

The gunshot shattered the silence like glass under a boot.

For half a second, nobody moved. Nobody breathed.

Then chaos exploded.

Ada’s body reacted before her brain could catch up. She jerked back, and Kene’s arm shot around her waist, pulling her behind the hood of the black SUV. His body became a shield, broad and solid, shielding her from whatever was coming next.

“Get down!” His voice was sharp, cold, nothing like the quiet plea he’d used seconds ago.

Screams erupted. Auntie Funmi dropped to her knees, hands clasped, muttering prayers in Yoruba so fast Ada couldn’t catch the words. Madam Ngozi was shouting Ada’s name, her voice breaking. Victor’s men scattered—some drawing weapons from under their jackets, others running for the exit, their loyalty evaporating with the first sign of danger.

Kene’s eyes swept the garage, calculating, detached. The man who’d just asked Ada to stay for real was gone. In his place was someone else. Someone dangerous.

“Where did it come from?” he snapped at one of his men.

“North entrance, sir! Roof access!”

Ada’s heart hammered against her ribs so hard she thought it might crack. Her hand was still in Kene’s. She couldn’t feel her legs. All she could see was his profile—jaw clenched, eyes narrowed, focused entirely on the threat.

“Stay behind me,” he said, low enough that only she could hear. “Don’t let go.”

She nodded, unable to speak.

Two more shots rang out, echoing off the concrete walls. Dust rained down from the ceiling. One of Victor’s men yelled and went down. The garage smelled of gunpowder and burnt rubber.

Kene shifted, keeping Ada behind him as he peered around the car. “Oscar. Emeka. Get them out of here.” He nodded toward Auntie Funmi and Madam Ngozi. “Now.”

“Not without you,” Oscar said.

“I’m not leaving her.” Kene’s voice left no room for argument.

Ada’s throat felt dry. “Kene—”

“Stay down,” he said, and then he was moving.

He shoved her gently toward Auntie Funmi, who grabbed her with trembling hands, and then he was gone, sprinting toward the north entrance with two of his men flanking him. His jacket flapped behind him like a dark flag.

Ada wanted to follow. Every instinct screamed at her to run after him, to make sure he was okay. But Auntie Funmi’s grip was iron.

“Don’t be foolish, Ada,” the older woman hissed. “If he says stay, you stay!”

The minutes that followed felt like hours. Gunfire echoed again, closer this time, then stopped. Silence rushed back in, heavier than before.

Ada’s knees shook. Her heart was still screaming _YES. YES. YES._ to Kene’s question, but now it was mixed with a new scream: _DON’T LET HIM DIE. PLEASE DON’T LET HIM DIE._

When Kene returned, it was sudden. He stepped through the side door, breathing hard, his white shirt torn at the shoulder. There was blood on his sleeve. Not his, she hoped. Not his.

“He got away,” he said to Oscar. His voice was flat. Angry. “But we have a car plate. We’ll find him.”

Auntie Funmi burst into tears and ran to hug Ada. Madam Ngozi collapsed onto a chair, fanning herself with trembling hands.

Kene’s eyes found Ada immediately. He crossed the garage in three strides and knelt in front of her, ignoring the blood on his sleeve, ignoring everyone else.

“Are you hurt?” he asked. His hands hovered over her arms, checking for injuries but not touching. Not yet.

Ada shook her head. She couldn’t speak.

“Look at me,” he said softly.

She did.

Relief flickered across his face, fast and gone. “Good.”

Victor was nowhere to be seen. His car was gone. His men were either arrested by Kene’s security or had fled. The police were on their way, called by one of the neighbors.

“Get them home,” Kene told Oscar. “Sweep the house. I want every room checked before Mrs. Okeke and Ada step inside.”

Mrs. Okeke. Not Madam Ngozi. The shift didn’t go unnoticed.

They left the garage in a convoy. Kene insisted Ada ride with him. She sat in the passenger seat, staring at her hands in her lap, still feeling the ghost of his grip.

The drive back to the Ikoyi house was silent. Kene spoke into his phone twice—short, clipped orders in Igbo and English. Ada didn’t ask questions. She didn’t trust her voice.

When they arrived, the house was lit up like a stadium. More guards than usual. The gate opened before they even stopped.

Inside, it was worse. Madam Ngozi broke down the moment they stepped into the foyer, sobbing into her wrapper. “It’s my fault! I brought him here! I brought danger to my sister’s child!”

Auntie Funmi was trying to calm her, but her own face was pale.

Kene let them have their moment for thirty seconds, then stepped forward. “Enough. Nobody is hurt. That’s what matters. Auntie Funmi, take Ada upstairs. Hot water. Food. Now.”

Auntie Funmi nodded and pulled Ada toward the stairs.

Ada glanced back. Kene was already on the phone again, his face hard. He didn’t watch her go.

Upstairs, Auntie Funmi ran a bath and forced Ada to sit on the edge of the tub while she made tea.

“Are you okay, _omoge_?” Auntie Funmi asked, her voice shaking.

Ada nodded. Then she shook her head. “I don’t know.”

Auntie Funmi sat beside her and took her hand. “That man loves you.”

Ada flinched. “He doesn’t even know me.”

“He knows enough to put his body in front of a bullet for you.” Auntie Funmi’s eyes were wet. “I’ve known Kene since he was a boy. I’ve never seen him look at a woman the way he looked at you in that garage.”

Ada didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

Downstairs, Kene was in his office, tearing through CCTV footage and listening to reports. The shooter had escaped, but they had a face. A name would come soon.

Victor had vanished.

When Ada finally came downstairs an hour later, wearing a dry wrapper and with her hair still damp, the house was quieter. Madam Ngozi had been given sedatives and was asleep in the guest room.

Kene was waiting in the sitting room. Alone.

He stood when she entered.

“We need to talk,” he said.

Ada swallowed. “Okay.”

He gestured to the sofa. She sat. He didn’t sit. He paced instead, hands in his pockets, jaw tight.

“I shouldn’t have asked you then,” he said finally. “Not like that. Not with him in the same room. That was reckless.”

“So it was a mistake?” Ada asked before she could stop herself.

Kene stopped pacing and looked at her. Really looked at her.

“No,” he said quietly. “Asking you was never a mistake, Ada. The timing was.”

Ada’s chest tightened.

“I have enemies,” he continued. “People who want me gone. People who will use anyone close to me to get to me. I thought I could keep you separate from that. I was wrong.”

“Why are you telling me this now?” she whispered.

“Because you deserve to know what you’re walking into,” he said. “If you say no now, I’ll understand. I won’t ask again. But I won’t stop protecting you either. Not while you’re in my house. Not while your name is tied to mine.”

Ada stared at his sleeve. The blood had dried to a brown stain.

“Does it hurt?” she asked.

He glanced down, confused for a second, then understood. “Not mine.”

Silence fell between them again, but it wasn’t the same silence as before. It was heavier. Honest.

“Go to bed, Ada,” Kene said finally. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

She stood, but she didn’t move toward the door.

“Kene,” she said.

He looked up.

“What if I say yes?”

His breath caught. For a second, his mask slipped completely, and she saw it—hope, fear, something raw she’d never seen in him before.

“Then we do this right,” he said. “No contracts. No lies. But we do it with our eyes open.”

Ada nodded. She didn’t say yes. She didn’t say no.

She went to her room.

Her phone buzzed the moment she locked the door.

Unknown number.

_“You chose the wrong man, Ada Okeke. He’ll get you killed.”_

Her blood ran cold.

She was about to call Kene when she heard footsteps outside her door.

She opened it.

Kene stood in the hallway, staring at her phone in her hand.

Like he’d heard it buzz from down the hall.

Like he’d been waiting.

“Who was it?” he asked.

Ada didn’t answer.

But she showed him the message.