My ex husband's baby

The Deal

The hospital hallway smelled like antiseptic, bleach, and fear.

Ava Cole sat on the plastic blue chair outside the pediatric oncology ward, her nurse scrubs wrinkled from 14 hours on shift. Her phone was pressed so hard to her ear her fingers were white.

“Mrs. Cole? This is Dr. Ade from LUTH. I’m calling about Leo.” The doctor’s voice was kind, but kind in that way that meant bad news. “His counts are low again. We need to admit him for another round of chemo tomorrow morning. The estimated bill for this cycle is 2.3 million naira.”

2.3 million.

The number echoed in Ava’s head. She looked down at her bank app. ₦47,320.

That was rent, food, and transport for the month. Not even 2% of what Leo needed.

“Doctor, can we… can we do payment plans?” Her voice cracked. “Three days. Please give me three days.”

“I’m sorry, Ava. Without the deposit by 10AM tomorrow, we can’t start treatment. His cancer is aggressive. We can’t wait.”

The call ended.

Ava put her head in her hands and sobbed. Quietly. The way single moms learn to cry so no one hears.

She was 26. Leo was 5. His dad ran off when the diagnosis came. Her parents were in the village. Her sister was a student.

She was alone.

The elevator at the end of the hall dinged.

Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Expensive shoes on tile.

Ava didn’t look up. She couldn’t.

“Ms. Cole.”

The voice was deep. Controlled. Like steel wrapped in velvet.

She knew that voice. Everyone in Lagos knew that voice.

Damian Black.

She wiped her face with her sleeve and looked up.

He was standing there in a black Tom Ford suit, no tie, top button undone. 6’3. Broad shoulders. Hair slightly messy like he’d been running his hands through it. His eyes were the color of a storm. Gray. Cold. Tired.

CEO of BlackCorp. Net worth: 400 billion naira. The man whose son had shared a room with Leo last year.

“Mr. Black,” she said, standing up too fast. Her legs were shaky. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see Leo,” he said. “And you.”

Ava frowned. “Me?”

He stepped closer. He smelled like cologne and coffee and something else. Power.

“I heard about his relapse,” Damian said. “And about the bill.”

Ava crossed her arms. Pride was all she had left. “I don’t need charity, Mr. Black. I’ll figure it out.”

“Will you?” He tilted his head. “With 47k in your account?”

Her face burned. How did he know?

Damian sighed. He looked exhausted. “Last year. When Leo was in room 204. You stayed with him for 6 hours when my flight was delayed. You read him dinosaur books. You sang ‘Wheels on the Bus’ until he fell asleep. The nurses told me.”

Ava remembered. Little Leo Black, 7 years old, crying for his dad. She’d sat and held his hand.

“So consider this a debt repaid,” Damian said.

Ava shook her head. “I did it because I’m a nurse. Not for money.”

“Good,” Damian said. “Because I’m not offering money. I’m offering a deal.”

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a manila envelope. Thick. Heavy. Legal.

Ava stared at it. “What kind of deal?”

“The kind that saves your son’s life,” Damian said simply.

They moved to the empty consultation room.

Damian shut the door. The sound was final.

He placed the envelope on the table between them but didn’t open it.

“12 months,” he said. “That’s how long I need you.”

Ava sat down. Her heart was pounding. “For what?”

“Three things,” Damian held up his fingers. “One: You become Leo’s full-time nanny. He trusts you. He asks for you. Two: You move into my penthouse. 24/7. Three: You become my fiancée. Publicly.”

Ava burst out laughing. Then stopped when she realized he was serious.

“You want me to pretend to be engaged to you?”

“Yes.” Damian’s jaw ticked. “My board thinks I’m unstable since my divorce. My ex-wife is filing for full custody of Leo. She’s claiming I’m never home, that I’m an unfit father. If I have a stable home, a fiancée, a ‘family unit’… the court can’t touch me.”

Ava stared at him. “And you picked me. Why?”

“Because Leo picked you,” Damian said, and for a second his mask slipped. He looked like a scared dad. “And because you’re not a gold digger. You told my HR to shove their 50k ‘thank you’ bonus last year. You said ‘I was just doing my job.’”

Ava remembered. She had.

Damian slid the envelope toward her. “Inside: 12-month contract. 500,000 naira monthly salary. Full health insurance for you and Leo. Housing, food, car, everything covered. And…”

He paused.

“2.3 million naira. Paid to LUTH today. For Leo’s treatment.”

Ava’s breath caught.

That was it. That was everything.

Her hands trembled as she opened the envelope. The first page: CONTRACT OF ENGAGEMENT.

Clause 4.2: *Party B agrees to cohabitate with Party A for 12 months and present as engaged partner in all public and private family functions.*

Clause 7.1: *No romantic involvement. Separate bedrooms. No physical intimacy outside of what is required for public appearances.*

Clause 9.8: *Early termination results in full repayment of all funds plus 50% penalty.*

Her eyes stung.

“This is insane,” she whispered. “I have a life. I have a job at the clinic—”

“You’ll resign,” Damian said. “This is full time. Leo needs you.”

“And what if I say no?”

Damian looked at her. Really looked at her. At her tired eyes, her chipped nails, her worn shoes.

“Then I pay the 2.3 million anyway,” he said quietly. “Because I owe you. But Leo will still need 24/7 care during chemo. And you’ll still be broke in 3 months. So it’s not really a choice, is it?”

The cruelty of the truth hit her harder than any slap.

Ava closed her eyes. She saw Leo’s bald head. His smile missing two teeth. The way he called her “Auntie Ava” when he was scared of needles.

“I need 24 hours,” she said.

“You have until 8AM,” Damian replied. “A car will be at your apartment. If you’re not there, I’ll assume it’s a no and I’ll find someone else.”

He stood up.

Ava stood too. She was a head shorter than him.

“Why me, Damian?” she asked. “You could hire any nanny. Any actress to be your fake fiancée.”

Damian stopped at the door. He didn’t turn around.

“Because when my son was dying, you were the only person who didn’t ask me for anything,” he said.

Then he was gone.

Ava sank back into the chair, the contract clutched to her chest.

2.3 million. A home. Safety.

And a lie she’d have to live for 365 days.

Her phone buzzed. Unknown number.

*8AM. Black Maybach. Victoria Island. Don’t be late. -D*

Ava cried. Then she texted her sister: *I got it. Leo’s treatment is covered.*