THE WIFE HE CHOSE TO RUIN

THE WIFE HE CHOSE TO RUIN CHAPTER ONE The Boy Who Offered Me a Ring The first time Callum Voss asked me to marry him, I slapped him. The second time, I cried. But the third time, I finally understood that the boy standing in front of me had never been asking for my love. He was asking for the privilege of breaking me. Unfortunately, by then, I had already fallen in love with him. And that was the beginning of my ruin. --- “Get out of my way, Voss.” I tightened my grip on the books pressed against my chest and tried to walk past him. Callum didn't move. Of course, he didn't. Callum Voss had never moved for anyone in his life. Not for professors, not for the university's disciplinary committee, and certainly not for a girl whose entire future depended on maintaining a scholarship. He stood in the middle of the corridor outside Lecture Hall B, one hand tucked into the pocket of his black trousers, his expensive watch catching the afternoon sunlight. Behind him, three of his friends watched us with the kind of amusement people reserved for a show they had paid to see. “Good afternoon to you too, Elara,” he said. I hated the way he said my name. Slowly. Deliberately. As if he owned every syllable. “Move.” “Is that how you speak to the person who saved you a seat?” “You saved me a seat?” He gestured toward a bench behind him. There was a large red sign on it. RESERVED FOR THE UNIVERSITY'S BIGGEST NIGHTMARE. Someone had drawn a little crown above the words. I stared at it. Then I stared at him. “You're twenty-two years old,” I said. “Don't you have anything better to do?” Callum smiled. It was a beautiful smile, the kind that made girls whisper his name across the cafeteria and made lecturers forgive him for arriving late to class. I was not one of those girls. “Apparently not,” he replied. “You keep giving me reasons to entertain myself.” I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “If you think embarrassing me will make me withdraw my complaint against your student council, you're wasting your time.” His smile disappeared. There. For one glorious second, I had reached him. Three days earlier, I had discovered that the student council had diverted money intended for the university's student welfare fund. I had reported the missing funds to the faculty administration after several students, including me, were told there was no money available for emergency assistance. Callum was the student council president. Callum was also the son of one of the university's most influential donors. And apparently, Callum Voss did not appreciate being challenged by a girl who bought secondhand textbooks. “You should be careful about accusations you can't prove,” he said. “I have the documents.” His jaw tightened. “And you think that makes you untouchable?” “No. I think it makes you nervous.” His friends stopped laughing. Callum took one step toward me. I refused to step back, even though my heart had begun beating so hard that I could feel it in my throat. “You really believe you're brave, don't you, Elara?” “I believe you're standing in my way.” For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then he leaned closer. “Enjoy your little victory while you can.” He moved aside. I walked past him without looking back, refusing to let him see how badly my hands were shaking. I had won that round. At least, that was what I thought. By six o'clock that evening, my entire life had fallen apart. --- My phone rang while I was sitting outside the university library. It was my mother. I answered immediately. “Mum? What's wrong?” For several seconds, all I heard was her breathing. Then she whispered, “Elara, you need to come home.” I sat upright. “Is it Dad? Has something happened to him?” “No, sweetheart. It's the house.” My stomach tightened. “What about the house?” “They've given us until Friday.” I stared at the students walking across the courtyard, their laughter drifting toward me from a distance. “Until Friday for what?” “To pay the outstanding debt. If we don't, they'll take possession of the property.” I couldn't speak. Our house wasn't beautiful. The paint was peeling, the roof leaked during heavy rain, and the kitchen window had been cracked for two years. But it was the only home my mother had ever known. It was where my father had carried me on his shoulders when I was little. Where my younger brother, Micah, had learned to walk. Where my mother still kept the old wooden chair my grandmother had given her. It was everything we had. “How much?” I finally asked. My mother gave me the amount. The phone nearly slipped from my hand. It was more money than I could earn in several years. “Mum, how did this happen?” “Your father's business partner—” She stopped. I closed my eyes. My father had trusted the wrong person, signed papers he barely understood, and watched his small construction business collapse beneath debts he could never repay. I had spent the last two years studying, working part-time at a campus café, and sending whatever money I could spare home. I had thought we were slowly recovering. I had been wrong. “I'll figure something out,” I promised. “Elara, you don't have to—” “I'll figure it out, Mum.” I ended the call before she could hear me cry. For ten minutes, I sat on that bench, staring at my hands. Then I wiped my face, opened my banking application, and looked at the balance. ₦18,450. I laughed. It was a small, broken sound that frightened even me. How was I supposed to save my family with that? I could work double shifts. I could sell my textbooks. I could ask for an extension on my tuition. None of it would be enough. For the first time since entering university, I wondered whether all my hard work had been nothing more than an elaborate way of delaying failure. “Elara.” I looked up. Callum Voss stood in front of me. My first instinct was to leave. My second was to ask him how much he had heard. My third was to pretend I hadn't been crying. I chose the third. “What do you want?” He looked at my face, then at the phone in my hand. “You've been crying.” “Congratulations on your observation skills.” “Your mother?” I froze. “How do you know about my mother?” He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he sat beside me. I moved away so quickly that my bag fell to the ground. “Don't sit next to me.” “Fine.” He remained seated. I wanted to throw something at him. “Voss, I'm not in the mood for your games.” “Good. Neither am I.” There was something different about his voice. No mockery. No amusement. Just an unsettling seriousness that made me turn toward him despite myself. He took a small black box from his pocket and placed it on the bench between us. I stared at it. Then at him. “What is that?” “An offer.” I almost laughed. “Keep it.” “You haven't heard it yet.” “I don't need to. Whatever you're selling, I'm not interested.” “Your family's debt is due on Friday.” The world seemed to stop. I stood so abruptly that my books slid from my lap. “How do you know that?” “Sit down, Elara.” “Answer me!” Several students turned to look at us. Callum didn't raise his voice. “My father knows the people handling the debt.” I stared at him, trying to understand what he was saying. “You're involved in this?” “No.” “Then why are you here?” He looked at the black box. “Because I can make the problem disappear.” Hope was a dangerous thing. It arrived before reason could stop it, lighting up a small, desperate corner of my heart. “How?” Callum finally turned to face me. “Marry me.” For a second, I genuinely believed I had misheard him. Then I laughed. I laughed so hard that tears gathered in my eyes again. “You're insane.” “Possibly.” “You hate me.” “I'm aware.” “You've spent the entire semester making my life miserable!” “And yet,” he said quietly, “I'm the one offering you a way out.” I stared at him. There was no ring inside the box. Just a folded document and a silver band resting against dark velvet. It looked real enough to make my stomach turn. “Why me?” I whispered. That was the question that mattered. Callum Voss could have chosen anyone. Girls competed for his attention. Families would have celebrated the opportunity to connect themselves to his name. Why would he want a marriage with me? His expression changed. For one fleeting moment, I saw something in his eyes that looked almost like pain. Then it vanished. “Because you need money,” he said. “And I need a wife.” “For how long?” “One year.” “And what happens after that?” “We divorce.” I looked down at the ring. My pride screamed at me to walk away. My common sense told me there was no such thing as a generous offer from a man like Callum Voss. But then I remembered my mother's trembling voice. Friday. The house. My brother's school fees. Everything we stood to lose. “What do you get out of this?” I asked. Callum's gaze held mine. “Something I've wanted for a very long time.” “What?” He stood and picked up the black box. “You'll find out after the wedding.” I should have walked away then. I should have remembered every cruel word he had ever said to me, every time he had humiliated me in front of our classmates, every reason I had promised myself I would never let him near my heart. Instead, I looked at the silver ring. And I asked the question that would haunt me for the rest of my life. “When do we get married?” Callum's expression didn't change. “Saturday.” My breath caught. “That gives me three days.” “You have until midnight to decide.” He placed a folded piece of paper beside me. The name of a lawyer was written at the top. Then he walked away. I remained on the bench long after he disappeared around the corner, staring at the document he had left behind. At the bottom of the first page, beneath the terms of our proposed marriage, was a sentence that made my skin go cold. The wife shall have no claim to the husband's affection, personal life, or future decisions. I read it once. Twice. Then I turned the page. There was another clause. Upon completion of the marriage term, the husband shall be entitled to terminate the arrangement without further obligation, provided all agreed financial settlements have been fulfilled. I should have stopped reading. But I kept going until I reached the final page. There, beneath the terms and conditions, was a handwritten note.