THE BILLIONAIRE'S 30 DAY WIFE

Zara Amadi was used to waking up at 4 a.m. The smell of flour. The heat of the oven. The sound of Yaba stirring to life outside her window. That was her life. She owned a small bakery called Zara's Crumbs — one oven, two tables, and a faded sign her father had painted before he died. But this Tuesday, everything went wrong. At 6 a.m., the landlord came with a red paper. FINAL NOTICE. PAY 15 MILLION NAIRA IN 30 DAYS OR PROPERTY WILL BE SEIZED. Her mother's house. The only house they had. Her mother, Beatrice, was fifty-two, sold Ankara in the market, and had been coughing for three months because she refused to see a doctor and wasted money. At 7 a.m., Zara's only oven burned forty meat pies. Forty. Eighty thousand naira, gone. At 9 a.m., her best friend Tami called. "Zara, my cousin works at Knight Holdings in VI. They need a small baker for their staff party. Two hundred thousand for one day. Come now. Bring samples." Zara packed her best vanilla cakes with buttercream into a plastic tray, put on her only good pink gown, and climbed into a danfo heading for Victoria Island. The danfo broke down. By the time she reached Knight Holdings, it was 11:30. Her gown was damp with sweat. Her hands were shaking around the tray. The receptionist barely looked up. "Wait here. Oga is coming down." Oga came down. He was tall. Very tall. White shirt, black trousers, a watch that looked like it could buy her entire street. His face was calm and cold, the kind of face that had never begged for anything. And Zara, with her shaking hands, tripped on the marble floor. The tray didn't fall. The iced coffee in her other hand did. It flew in slow motion and landed square on his white shirt. Silence. The whole reception went quiet. Zara's mouth opened. "Oh my God. Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" The man looked down at his shirt. Brown coffee dripping down two million naira of fabric. Then he looked at her. "What is your name?" His voice was deep, with a faint British accent. "Zara. Zara Amadi. I have cake. Please don't cancel my interview. I need it." "Do you know how much this shirt costs?" And Zara, already angry at life, snapped. "Do you know how much my mother's house costs? Your security made me climb twelve floors! I ran all the way from Yaba!" Everyone gasped. The man smiled. Just a tiny smile that vanished as quickly as it came. "You're the baker?" "Yes. Zara's Crumbs." He took the tray from her, tasted one cake with his coffee-stained fingers, and closed his eyes for a second. "It's good," he said. "Really good." Zara blinked. No one had said that to her in months. "Thank you." "My name is Adrian Knight. I own this building. And I have a proposal for you." Zara frowned. "A proposal? Like... marriage?" "Exactly like marriage." She laughed, certain it was a joke. "You just met me and I stained your shirt. That's not a love story. That's a police case." "It isn't love," Adrian said. "It's business. My grandfather died. His will requires me to be married for thirty days to inherit the company. If I'm not married by Friday, my uncle takes everything. Fifty billion naira. Gone." Zara stared at him. "And you want me to...?" "Be my wife. Thirty days. You live in my penthouse, attend family events. On day thirty-one, we divorce. I'll pay you twenty million naira." Her heart stopped. Twenty million. Enough to save her mother's house. Fix the oven. Pay the hospital. And still have something left. "Why me?" she whispered. "You could have any fine girl on i********: with a big following." "Because you didn't try to clean my shirt to flirt. You tried to fight me. I need a wife who isn't a gold digger. I had one of those. Her name was Chloe. She taught me a lesson." Zara held her bag tighter. Inside was the red final notice. "Rules?" she asked. "No kissing. No touching. No falling in love. It's a contract." "And if I fall in love?" "You won't," he said. "I'm not lovable." Zara looked at him, the coffee-stained shirt, the tired eyes that didn't match his cold voice. "I need twenty-four hours," she said. "And I need to bring my oven." "You can bring your whole bakery." He handed her a black card. ADRIAN KNIGHT, CEO, KNIGHT HOLDINGS. "My driver will take you back to Yaba. Tomorrow at ten, my lawyer's office. If you don't come, I'll find someone else." Zara took the card. Her hand trembled. "I'll come," she said, before she could change her mind. She turned and left, a small coffee footprint trailing across his expensive floor. Back in the danfo heading home, her phone rang. Her mother. "Zara, the landlord came again." Zara closed her eyes and gripped the black card. "Mama... I think I just found fifteen million naira." On the thirty-second floor, Adrian looked at his ruined shirt and called his assistant. "Cancel my date with Chloe. And prepare a marriage contract. Her name is Zara Amadi. From Yaba.