The Game
620 Words
The driver dropped Amara at the hospital at 11:23 PM.
Damien wasn’t with her.
She expected that.
The contract was clear: _In public, play the part. In private, stay out of my way._
She’d stayed out of his way all evening. He hadn’t spoken to her once after his grandfather’s request.
Then at 12:07 AM, her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
_“Roof. 15 mins. Don’t bring anyone.”_
Amara stared at the screen.
The roof of Adewale Tower. 40 floors up.
She should’ve ignored it.
She should’ve slept on the hospital chair beside her father’s bed.
She went.
The wind hit her like a slap the moment the rooftop door opened. Cold. Merciless. Lagos sprawled below, a sea of lights that didn’t care if she lived or died.
Damien was already there.
Jacket off. Tie loose. Leaning against the helipad railing like he owned the night.
He looked younger like this. Less like a CEO. More like a man with something to hide.
“You came,” he said. Not a question.
“You said not to bring anyone,” Amara replied. “I didn’t.”
A ghost of a smirk.
“Smart. Smart mouth, smart brain. That’s why I chose you.”
Amara crossed her arms, hugging herself against the cold.
“I didn’t realize this was a recruitment process.”
“It was.” He turned to face her fully. His eyes were serious now. No smirk.
“My grandfather wants a granddaughter to love. My mother wants a Lagos elite with the right name. The board wants stability before the merger. You solve all three problems.”
“And me?” Amara’s voice shook. “What do I get besides money and threats?”
Damien’s expression shifted. Not soft. But honest.
“Survival. For your father. For you.”
He paused.
“You think those 47 companies would have hired you if I hadn’t called them?”
Amara froze.
“What?”
“Every rejection letter had my name on it before it reached HR,” he said quietly. “I made sure you were desperate enough to say yes.”
The wind felt like ice in her lungs.
“You manipulated me.”
“I saved you,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”
Amara stepped closer, anger burning hotter than fear now.
“Don’t you dare decide what’s best for me. My father is dying, Damien. That doesn’t give you the right to play God.”
For half a second, something broke in his face.
Pain. Guilt. Raw and real.
Then it was gone, locked away again.
“Maybe not,” he said. “But I’m the only one who did.”
He pulled a keycard from his pocket and pressed it into her palm. Cold metal against burning skin.
“Penthouse. Top floor. It’s yours now. Security knows you. Come and go as you please. Just don’t talk to the press.”
Amara looked at the card. Then at him.
“Why are you telling me this now?”
Damien looked out over the city again. His voice was low.
“Because my grandfather won’t be around much longer. And when he’s gone…”
He met her eyes.
“…you’ll need to know who you married.”
He walked toward the stairwell without waiting for her answer.
“Get some sleep, Amara. Tomorrow, the real game starts.”
She stood there long after the door shut behind him.
The keycard burned in her hand.
She wasn’t just married to Damien Adewale.
She was trapped in a game he’d started playing years before she ever walked into his office.
And she had no idea what the rules were anymore.
[To Be Continued…]
- Writer
