CHAPTER2
658 Words
The Billionaire Groom
The wedding was held in a private hall in Ikoyi — sleek, silent, and suffocating.
No friends. No family. Just Amara in a simple white gown and a legally binding silence.
She hadn’t seen the groom. Not even once. His signature was on the contract, but his face… a blank space in her mind, filled only with suspicion and the ghost of her sister’s voice.
She waited, bouquet clenched like a weapon, until the doors opened.
And he walked in.
Elijah Hart.
Real.
Alive.
More dangerous than she remembered.
His suit was flawless. His jawline sharp, unshaven. But it was the eyes that pierced her — the same eyes her sister described in hushed tones: grey like storm clouds, cold like betrayal.
He didn’t smile. Didn’t blink.
Just looked at her, nodded once, and stood by her side.
“Ready?” the officiant asked.
Neither of them answered.
The silence was louder than any vow.
The ceremony was over in minutes.
She barely said “I do.” He barely looked at her.
In the car afterward, the driver kept his eyes forward as they sat like strangers in a back seat too wide for comfort.
“You knew who I was when you signed,” Elijah said finally, without turning his head.
Amara swallowed. “Yes.”
“Then we understand each other.”
She turned to him. “Do we?”
He looked at her — and that look alone could’ve cracked glass.
“I don’t care about your past. Don’t ask about mine. Follow the rules, and you’ll leave here rich and untouched. Step out of line—”
“And what?” she interrupted, chin lifting. “You’ll kill me like you killed her?”
His expression didn’t change.
But his hand curled into a fist.
“You don’t want to test me, Amara,” he said quietly.
“No,” she whispered, voice steady. “But I will.”
The mansion was colder than the car ride.
Glass, metal, stone. Every room pristine and lifeless.
“I’ll have the staff prepare your room,” Elijah said as they walked through the grand hallway.
“My room?” she echoed. “Not our room?”
He turned. “This is a business arrangement, Mrs. Hart. Let’s not pretend otherwise.”
She smiled — sweet, bitter, deadly.
“Oh, I’m not pretending. You’ll know when I start.”
He paused for a moment too long, watching her like she was a puzzle he hadn’t solved.
And maybe, for the first time, she saw it — doubt in his eyes.
Good.
She planned to fill him with it.
A woman named Miss Clara gave her a tour of the estate — with a typed list of rules.
Don’t go upstairs past 10 p.m.
Never enter Elijah’s office without permission
No press, no photos, no posts
Meals are taken separately
Bedroom doors remain locked — both ways
Amara nodded through them all.
Later that night, she lay awake in her massive guest room, staring at the ceiling.
The house was silent.
Too silent.
Until she heard a door creak down the hall.
Soft steps.
Then… Elijah’s voice. Low. Almost broken.
"...Leila..."
Amara sat up, breath frozen in her lungs.
He said her sister’s name.
He remembered.
The next morning, Amara searched the mansion like a quiet storm.
She walked past the library, the balcony, the black piano no one touched.
Then she opened the wrong door.
Or maybe the right one.
It was a small room, barely used — but inside was a drawer. Wooden. Locked.
She jimmied it open with a letter opener.
Inside:
A gold bracelet with the initials L.R. — Leila Reid. Her sister’s.
Her fingers shook.
Behind her, a voice cut through the silence. “That doesn’t belong to you.”
She turned. Elijah stood in the doorway. Watching. Quiet. Dangerous.
Amara straightened. “Neither do I.”
- Writer
