MARRIED TO THE CEO I HATED

CHAPTER ONE:The 500k Wine The chandelier above me cost more than my rent for 3 years. I knew that because I had spent the last 6 hours polishing every single crystal on it. "Move faster, Zara!" My supervisor hissed. "The CEO of Hartwell Group is coming tonight. If you mess up, you’re fired." I nodded and adjusted my cheap black waitress uniform. My shoes had holes. My stomach was empty. But I smiled anyway. Tonight was different. Tonight the rich people of Onitsha were celebrating the engagement of Damian Hartwell. Damian Hartwell. 28 years old. Billionaire. Cold as ice. And the man who bought my father’s company 5 years ago after he died. I wasn’t supposed to be here. But rent was due in 2 days and my little brother needed medicine. The ballroom doors opened and everyone gasped. He walked in like he owned the world. Because he did. Black suit. Black watch. Black eyes that looked through people. Damian Hartwell. My hands started shaking as I carried a tray of wine glasses. One wrong move and— "Watch it!" Too late. I turned too fast. Red wine splashed all over his white shirt. All over his 2 million naira suit. The music stopped. 50 people stared at me. My heart dropped to my feet. "I’m so sorry sir, I—" Damian looked down at his ruined shirt. Then at me. His expression didn’t change. But his voice was ice. "Do you know how much this suit costs?" "500k," someone whispered from the crowd. 500,000 naira. More money than I’d seen in my life. "Clean it," he said. I grabbed a napkin with trembling hands. "I’m sorry, let me—" He caught my wrist. His grip was firm. "Don’t touch me." Humiliation burned my face. People were laughing. Recording on their phones. "500k," Damian said loud enough for everyone to hear. "You’ll pay for it." "I don’t have that kind of money," I whispered. Tears stung my eyes. "Please, I’ll work it off. Anything." He studied me for 3 seconds that felt like 3 hours. Then he smiled. But it wasn’t kind. "Fine. You work for me. 6 months. Live-in maid. We’re even when the debt is paid." My blood went cold. Live in his house? The man who stole my father’s legacy? "I—" "You have 2 choices," he cut me off. "Pay 500k now, or pack your things and come to my mansion tomorrow 8am." The crowd waited. My brother’s medicine. The rent. I had no choice. I lifted my chin and met his eyes. "I’ll be there at 8am, Mr. Hartwell." His smirk told me he thought I’d break in a week. He didn’t know who he was dealing with. Because the last name on my birth certificate was Hartwell too. And this was just the beginning of his revenge. *[To be continued...]* CHAPTER two:the contract The next morning, I stood in front of the biggest gate I had ever seen. 8am sharp. Hartwell Mansion. The iron gates were taller than my 2-room apartment in Onitsha. Guards in black suits stood at both sides. My old backpack felt even smaller in my hands. My phone buzzed. Landlord: _"Rent today or pack out."_ Another message. Hospital: _"Your brother's drugs: 45,000 naira."_ I had no choice. "Name?" The guard asked, not even looking at me. "Zara Hartwell. Mr. Hartwell is expecting me." His eyes flicked up. Then down to my worn slippers. He smirked and pressed a button. The gates opened. The mansion inside was worse. Marble floors. Crystal stairs. A chandelier bigger than my room. And waiting at the bottom of those stairs was him. Damian Hartwell. He wore a black suit again. Like he owned a factory that only made black suits. His hair was perfect. His face was blank. But his eyes... his eyes looked right through me. "You're late," he said. It was 7:58am. "I'm not." "You're 2 minutes early. That means you're desperate." I bit my tongue. "About the 500k debt—" "Follow me." He turned and walked away. I had no choice but to follow. The kitchen was the size of a football field. A woman in her 40s stood there, arms folded. Housekeeper, probably. "This is Mrs. Bello," Damian said. "She will tell you your duties. You will clean. Cook. Laundry. And you will not speak unless spoken to. You will not go to the second floor. You will not touch my things. You will not be seen by my guests." He said it like I was furniture. "Understood?" "Yes, Mr. Hartwell." "Six months. After that, the debt is cleared." He pulled out a paper from his pocket. "Sign this." It was a contract. *LIVE-IN SERVICE AGREEMENT* _Party A: Damian Hartwell_ _Party B: Zara Hartwell_ _Party B agrees to work for Party A for 6 months..._ My hands shook as I held the pen. Six months in the house of the man who destroyed my father. "Sign it," he said quietly. "Or pay 500k now." I signed. Zara Hartwell. He took the paper and smiled. That same cold smile from last night. "Good. Mrs. Bello will show you to the maid's room. Work starts now." He walked away without looking back. --- Mrs. Bello gave me a uniform. Black dress, white apron. It smelled like bleach. "Your room is behind the kitchen," she said. "No visitors. No phone after 10pm. And stay away from Mr. Hartwell." "Yes ma." The maid's room was tiny. One bed. One cupboard. No window. But it was a roof. And my brother would get his medicine. I started work immediately. Floors. Dishes. Laundry. By 3pm, my back hurt and my feet were bleeding in my old slippers. That was when I saw it. I was dusting the living room when I walked past his office. The door was open. On the wall, in a black frame, was a photo. A company event. 5 years ago. My dad stood in the middle, smiling. Young. Alive. And next to him, shaking his hand... Damian Hartwell. My chest went tight. Before my father died, he said one thing: _"They stole it from us, Zara. Don't let them win."_ I didn't hear Damian come in. "What are you doing here?" His voice was sharp. I turned too fast. "I—I was just cleaning—" His eyes went to the photo. Then to me. "Get out." "Mr. Hartwell, I—" "I said GET OUT!" I ran. Back to the kitchen. Back to scrubbing floors with shaking hands. At 9pm, Mrs. Bello told me to take dinner to his office. I knocked. No answer. I opened the door. Damian sat behind a huge desk. Laptop open. Tie loose. He looked tired. Human. He didn't look up. "Leave it." I set the tray down. As I turned to leave, I saw papers on his desk. *HARTWELL INDUSTRIES - ACQUISITION FILE* *Former Owner: Michael Hartwell* My father's name. My heart stopped. "You—" Damian's head snapped up. His eyes were furious. "What did I tell you about my office?" "I didn't mean—" "OUT!" I dropped the tray. Plates shattered on the floor. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry—" "Clean it and get out of my sight." I got on my knees and started picking glass with my bare hands. Tears fell into the mess. A drop of blood hit the floor. I had cut myself. Suddenly, strong hands pulled me up. "Don't." Damian. He was holding my bleeding hand. His touch was warm. Nothing like his voice. He sighed and let go. Grabbed a first aid kit from his drawer. "Sit." I sat on the floor while the billionaire CEO bandaged my hand in silence. When he was done, he stood up. "You're clumsy. And you're a liability. But a deal is a deal." He walked to the door and opened it. "Tomorrow, 6am. Don't be late." I nodded and ran out. Back in my tiny room, I stared at the bandage on my hand. He had touched me gently. The man who stole everything from me. I pulled out my phone and opened my notes. *Plan:* 1. Find proof my dad owned the company 2. Take it back 3. Don't fall for Damian Hartwell I underlined number 3 three times. Because the way he looked at me tonight... I was in more danger than I thought. And this was only Day 1. *[To be continued]