The Price Of Saving Her
Beatrice's POV
The lawyer's office smelled like old paper and expensive wood polish. Beatrice sat on the edge of the leather chair, her back straight, her hands folded in her lap, her bag balanced on her knees like a shield.
Outside the window, Lagos moved and breathed and honked and shouted the way it always did, as if the whole city had no idea that someone inside this room was about to sell a piece of her life.
"Miss Ade." The lawyer, a short man with round glasses and no expression, slid a brown folder across the desk. "I will give you time to read through it."
She opened the folder. The first page had a heading in bold letters: PRIVATE MARRIAGE CONTRACT. Below it, her name was already printed in clean black type. Someone had done their research before she even arrived.
She read slowly. One year of no physical expectations beyond what the public eye required. Shared residence, attendance at company events and dinners. No personal interference in each other's private affairs outside what is listed in the contract. In exchange, the full cost of her mother's heart surgery, paid directly to Lagos State General Hospital. And three million dollars to be deposited into the account of her almost-dead engineering company within seven days of signing.
Her throat felt dry.
"The man I am marrying," she said, without looking up. "Who is he?"
"His name is Daniel Cole. He is the CEO of Cole Group Holdings." The lawyer's voice was flat, practiced. "He values his privacy. You will meet him on the wedding day."
She looked up then. "I am supposed to marry a man I have never seen."
"That is correct."
"And he has chosen me specifically."
"His team selected you, yes, based on some factors."
Beatrice looked back at the page. She thought about her mother lying on that hospital bed, getting smaller every week. She thought about the letter from the bank that arrived last Tuesday, formal and cold, telling her she had fourteen days before the business account was locked. She thought about how she had sat in her car after reading that letter and stared at the steering wheel for twenty minutes without crying, because she had run out of tears from that particular kind of pain.
"Is there an agreement that lets me leave if he is dangerous?" she asked.
The lawyer almost smiled." Of course, it is written on page nine. Emergency exit provision. Two witnesses and a signed declaration."
She turned to page nine and read it. It was a fact and very solid.
She picked up the pen.
Her hand did not shake, and her eyes were not teary. She was proud of that.
She signed her name in full, Beatrice Chioma Ade, slow and clear, the same way her father taught her to sign anything that mattered.
The lawyer collected the folder, straightened his glasses, stood, then shook hands with her and left. "The wedding has been scheduled for three weeks from Saturday. A stylist will contact you tomorrow to prepare you ahead. Congratulations, Miss Ade."
She does not say "thank you” to the lawyer because she does not understand what she should be thankful for. She just nodded and walked out.
In the elevator, alone, she pressed her forehead against the cool metal wall and breathed. Once…Twice.
Then she straightened up, fixed her bag on her shoulder, and walked out into the loud afternoon heat of Lagos.
She had three weeks to become whoever Daniel Cole needed her to be.
That night, she sat at her kitchen table with a cup of cold tea and a notebook. She opened to the first page and wrote one line at the top:
“Know everything but show nothing."
Then she closed the notebook, turned off the light, and went to check on her mother.
Mrs. Ade was sleeping, her breathing thin but steady. Beatrice sat beside her for a long time, watching her chest rise and fall. She wanted to say something, to warn her, to explain. However, her mother needed sleep more than she needed the truth right now.
Beatrice pulled the blanket up to her mother's chin and kissed her forehead the way her mother used to kiss hers when she was small.
"I will fix it," she whispered. "I will fix all of it."
She meant it.
She was already in bed and nearly asleep when her phone buzzed on the nightstand. A message from an unknown number, no name attached, just four words: "Are you sure, Beatrice?" She sat up in the dark. No one outside the lawyer's office was supposed to know she had signed. Absolutely no one
