THE CEO'S CONTRACT BRIDE

The air in Kingsley Towers smelled like money. Cold AC. Leather chairs. Perfume that cost more than my rent. And fear. My fear. I clutched the manila envelope to my chest like it could protect me. Inside was the last notice from the bank. FINAL DEMAND: ₦280,000,000. Due in 7 days. Okafor Textiles Ltd. My father’s company. My mother’s dying wish. Gone in 7 days if I didn’t do something drastic. The elevator dinged. 87th Floor. "Kingsley Group. Headquarters of the richest man in Nigeria." The receptionist didn’t even look up from her iPad. "Do you have an appointment?" "I... I was told to come." My voice shook. "Mr. Damien Kingsley is expecting me." That was a lie. But the lawyer who called me at 2AM said, "Be at his office 9AM sharp. Bring a pen. And don’t wear desperation." Too late. The double doors opened by themselves. And there he was. DAMIEN KINGSLEY. 30. Tall. Black suit that fit like it was painted on. Jawline sharp enough to cut glass. Eyes black, cold, and bored. The Forbes cover. The man who bought 3 banks before breakfast. The man my father lost everything to in a bad deal 6 months ago. He didn’t look up from his laptop. "Sit." I sat. The chair was too big. I felt 12 years old. "You’re late." He finally looked at me. "3 minutes." "My bus—" "I don’t care." He slid a folder across the glass table. 40 pages. Thick. "Read. Sign. Leave." I opened it. My hands were sweating. CONTRACT OF MARRIAGE PARTY A: DAMIEN KINGSLEY PARTY B: ADANNA OKAFOR TERM: 12 MONTHS PAYMENT: ₦300,000,000 PAID DIRECTLY TO OKAFOR TEXTILES LTD UPON SIGNING My breath caught. "What... what is this?" "A transaction." He leaned back. "My board says I need to be ‘family oriented’ to get the government port contract. I need a wife. A respectable, quiet, no-scandal wife for 1 year." He looked at me like I was inventory. "You need money. I need a wife. Don’t make it complicated." "Marriage?" I laughed, but it came out broken. "Mr. Kingsley, I barely know you." "You know my name. That’s enough." He tapped the paper. "Clause 4: No dating others. Clause 7: Separate bedrooms. Clause 11: No falling in love. Break any rule, contract is void and you pay me back double." ₦300 million. Enough to save 200 workers. Enough to keep Mama’s name on the factory gate. "Why me?" I whispered. "Because you’re desperate and you won’t ask questions." His eyes softened for 0.5 seconds. Then gone. "And because my lawyer says your family name is still clean. No scandals. Perfect." I flipped to the last page. Signature line. Next to it, a black Montblanc pen. Outside, Lagos was loud. Honking. Life. Inside, it was silent except for the AC and my heartbeat. If I signed, I’d be Mrs. Kingsley. If I didn’t, 200 people would be jobless by Friday. "I have conditions too," I heard myself say. He raised one brow. That was the first reaction I got from him. "Go on." "1. The money is paid today. Not ‘upon signing’. Today." "2. You don’t touch me." "3. When the 12 months are over, you announce the divorce. You don’t ruin my name." Damien stared at me for a long time. Like he was calculating risk. Then he nodded once. "Deal." He pressed a button on his desk. "Efe. Transfer ₦300 million to Okafor Textiles. Now." My phone buzzed 10 seconds later. ALERT: CREDIT: ₦300,000,000.00 I nearly cried. My hand was shaking so bad I could barely hold the pen. "One more thing, Mrs. Kingsley." He stood. He was tall. Too tall. "The wedding is in 48 hours. Press will be there. Smile. Don’t talk. And remember clause 11." He walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. Lagos spread under him. His city. I signed. Adanna Okafor. The moment the ink dried, his assistant walked in with a garment bag. "Your dress. Fitting is in 1 hour. Car is downstairs." I stood up, legs weak. "Mr. Kingsley—" "Damien." He cut me off without turning around. "In public." "Damien. What if... what if I regret this?" He finally turned. And for the first time, he almost looked human. "Then we’ll both regret it, Anna." He knew my nickname. The doors closed behind me. --- 2 HOURS LATER | BRIDAL SUITE, EKO HOTEL The dress was white. ₦8 million. It didn’t feel like mine. My phone rang. Unknown number. "Hello?" "Is this Mrs. Kingsley?" A woman’s voice. Cold. "This is Mrs. Victoria Kingsley. Damien’s mother." My stomach dropped. "I just saw the news. You have 24 hours to back out of this marriage. Or I will destroy you, your company, and everyone you love." Click. The door opened. It was Damien. In a tux. He saw my face. "What happened?" I held up my phone. The news site was already live: BREAKING: BILLIONAIRE DAMIEN KINGSLEY TO MARRY UNKNOWN WOMAN IN 48HRS Damien cursed under his breath. The first emotion I’d seen. "Change of plans," he said, grabbing my hand. His hand was warm. Too warm. "We’re doing it tonight. Right now. Before my mother can stop us." "What? But—" "Clause 12," he said, pulling me to the door. "Emergency clause. We can move the date." The car was waiting. Black Rolls. Tinted. As we drove through Lagos traffic, his phone kept ringing. MOTHER. BOARD. LAWYER. He ignored all of them. But he didn’t let go of my hand. "Anna," he said quietly. "Yeah?" "When we get to the altar, don’t look scared. Look like you chose this." I nodded. Even though I didn’t. The car stopped. Not at a church. At Kingsley Towers again. The rooftop. String lights. 20 guests. A judge. And at the end of the aisle, standing alone... Damien. He looked different under the lights. Less CEO. More man. The judge started talking. I heard nothing. All I heard was my heart and clause 11 ringing in my head: No falling in love. "Do you, Damien Kingsley, take Adanna Okafor—" "I do." He said it fast. Too fast. "Do you, Adanna Okafor, take Damien Kingsley—" I looked at him. He wasn’t smiling. But his thumb brushed over my knuckles once. I swallowed. "I do." "You may kiss the bride." He didn’t. He just leaned in and whispered in my ear so only I could hear: "Welcome to hell, wife. The contract starts now." Flash. Cameras. Headline tomorrow: KINGSLEY MARRIES MYSTERY WOMAN IN SECRET CEREMONY As he pulled back, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at it. His whole body went still. He showed me the screen. Text from unknown number: CONGRATS ON THE WEDDING. NOW THE REAL GAME BEGINS. PS: CHECK WHO REALLY KILLED YOUR FATHER. My blood went cold. My father’s car accident... 6 months ago... was ruled an accident. Damien looked at me. For the first time, there was something other than cold in his eyes. Fear. "Get in the car," he said. "We have a problem." [END OF CHAPTER 1] TO BE CONTINUED... CLIFFHANGER: Who killed Anna’s father? And why is Damien scared?