His Contract Bride

The eviction notice was taped to the door like a death sentence. Amara stared at it, the thin paper fluttering in the dusty afternoon wind of Ugbowo, Benin City. Her bag of garri that she had managed to buy on credit felt heavier than ever. FINAL NOTICE. 48 HOURS TO VACATE. Her mother's cough from inside the small bungalow made her heart squeeze. Mama? She pushed the door open. Her mother, Edith, was on the worn sofa, her face pale, a wrapper tied loosely around her waist. The hospital drugs were on the stool — half empty. They needed 300,000 naira for her treatment. Amara had zero naira in her account. Zero job. Her NYSC year had ended two months ago and no company in Lagos or Benin wanted to hire her. Amara, is that you? Edith tried to sit up. Did you get the job at the school? Amara forced a smile and hid the notice behind her back. They said they will call me, Mama. It was a lie. They told her they hired someone else. Her phone rang. Unknown number. Hello? Is this Miss Amara Okafor? Yes. Please come to Protea Hotel, GRA, tomorrow by 9 am. Mr. Jason Cole would like to meet you regarding a personal assistant position. Come with your CV. Don't be late. The line cut before she could ask who gave them her number. Jason Cole. Everyone in Nigeria who read business news knew that name. The 31-year-old heir to Cole Industries. Cold. Arrogant. A billionaire who never smiled in magazines. He had just returned from London after his father fell ill. Why would he want to meet HER? The Protea Hotel lobby was too cold, too clean, too rich for someone wearing her only good dress that she had ironed three times. A tall man in a black suit walked up to her. Miss Amara? She stood up quickly. Yes. Follow me. Mr. Cole doesn't like to wait. The penthouse suite smelled like money and cologne. And there he was. Jason Cole stood by the window, looking out at Benin City like he owned it. Tall, broad shoulders, in a white shirt with sleeves folded to his elbows. His face was even more handsome than in the photos, but his eyes... his eyes were winter. He turned. His gaze swept over her from head to toe, not in a flirty way, but like he was assessing an item. Amara Okafor. 23. Second class upper in Business Administration from UNIBEN. No job. Mother is sick. House rent three months overdue. Correct? Amara's mouth went dry. How do you... I make it my business to know who I hire. He walked to the table and picked up a file. I need a wife. She choked on air. Sir? A fake wife. A contract wife. He said it like he was ordering coffee. My father is dying. His last wish is to see me married and stable before he hands over the company to me. The board will not give me control if they think I am a reckless playboy. I need a woman to play my wife for 12 months. No love, no s*x, no complications. Amara's heart was pounding so loud she could hear it. And you think I will... You are perfect, he cut in. You are not from my circle. You are not a socialite who will sell the story to blogs. You are desperate enough not to ask too many questions, and you need money. He slid a paper across the glass table toward her. Her eyes widened as she read the figure. Fifty million naira for 12 months. Plus your mother's medical bills paid. Plus your house debt cleared. Plus an apartment in Lagos. Fifty million naira. She could save her mother. Save their house. Start a life. All you have to do, he continued, his voice low and cold, is sign this contract. Live with me in Lagos, act like you love me in front of my father and the board, and after 12 months, we divorce. You get your money. I get my company. Everyone wins. Amara swallowed. And if I say no? Then you walk out that door, and in 48 hours your mother is back in that general hospital bed with no drugs, and you are on the street. He checked his expensive watch. I don't have time. Yes or no, Miss Amara? She stared at the contract. At the eviction notice she had folded in her bag. At the man who held her entire future in his cold hands. Fifty million to be the bride of a man who despised her. She picked up the pen. Her hand was shaking. If I sign... you promise my mother's treatment starts today? Today. Amara closed her eyes and signed. Jason Cole's smile was not a smile at all. Welcome to my life, Mrs. Cole. sold herself to a billionaire. And the contract had only just begun to burn.