Chapter three- The proposal
1413 Words
(Ariana’s POV)
For three nights, I was sleep-deprived.
I lay awake staring at the ceiling, hearing his words again and again in my head:
“I’ve decided to get married again.”
“I want you to consider it.”
When Jake Williams — the man who owned almost half of Lagos and the father of my father’s killer — said those words to me, I’d thought it was a cruel joke.
But he was serious.
And I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Me? Marry him? The man whose family took everything from me?
The thought was absurd.
But the more I thought about it, the less absurd it felt.
Because if I married him, I’d finally have a seat inside the empire that destroyed mine.
I would have his name, his power, and also his protection.
I could destroy the Williams family from within — not as a stranger, but as one of them.
That realization both excited and terrified me.
I could still hear my mother’s voice in my head, from the night of my father’s burial:
“Vengeance doesn’t bring peace, Ariana. It brings more graves.”
But my mother didn’t understand — peace wasn’t what I was after. Justice was.
********
By the fourth day, I made my decision.
I went to his office early, before anyone else arrived. His secretary looked surprised when she saw me.
“Do you have an appointment, Miss Osei?”
“No,” I said calmly. “But he told me to think about something.”
She hesitated, then nodded. “He’s in. You can go in.”
He sat behind his massive desk, wearing a gray suit that looked like it had been tailored for a healthier man.
His skin had gone paler, he was worse than the last time we met.
He looked up from his papers when I entered, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’ve decided.”
“Yes, sir,” I said quietly.
He set down his pen, waiting.
I took a slow breath, steadying my voice. “I’ll do it.”
He didn't speak immediately. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled — a tired, almost relieved smile.
“I thought you might,” he said softly.
I wasn’t sure what to feel. Accomplishment? Disgust? Maybe both.
He signaled for me to sit. “There’ll be a contract. Everything will be legal and clear. You’ll be my wife in name only — no expectations beyond what’s written. You’ll have my name, my protection, and my share of assets as outlined in my will.”
His tone was businesslike — emotionless, as if he were discussing a merger, not a marriage.
I nodded slowly. “And your family?”
A sigh crossed his face. “My ex-wife will hate it. My son will hate it more. That’s precisely why I’m doing it.
“They’ve spent years waiting for me to die. Let them choke on disappointment first,” he said with a slight pain in his voice.
The irony nearly made me laugh.
He wanted to hurt them and render them helpless. So did I. Maybe fate wasn’t cruel after all — maybe it was finally giving me a chance.
********
The wedding happened quietly, two weeks later. He didn't want to notify anybody until after it was done and I was under his protection.
It happened in his hospital bed, because Jake was too weak to leave. He had called his magistrate and some of his executive witnesses.
There were no flowers, nor priests. It was just a sheet of paper that both of us had to sign on, to bind us together.
The magistrate and executives congratulated us politely before leaving. I knew they didn't mean well, but it was done regardless. I stood beside him, staring at the man whose last name I now carried.
“Mrs. Williams,” he said dryly, as if testing the sound.
It didn’t feel real. It felt like stepping into another life I had stolen.
********
That evening, he invited me to stay in the mansion.
The house was huge— cold, beautiful, quiet. The kind of place that looked like it was forbidden laughter.
As I walked through the marble hallway, I felt like I’d entered a museum. Every painting, every antique, every spotless surface whispered wealth.
The maids were quiet. I could feel their eyes on me — judging, curious. Is she not too young for the boss? I knew they’d questioned themselves but I couldn't care less.
One of them, an older woman named Ruth, showed me to my room.
“This used to be Madam Camilla’s quarters,” she said cautiously. “It’s been empty for years.”
Camilla. His ex-wife. The woman who’d covered up my father’s death.
My skin prickled at the name.
“Thank you,” I said softly, forcing a polite smile.
When she left, I shut the door and leaned against it, exhaling shakily.
I was inside. Inside the house of my enemies. Inside the house of the man whose son had killed my father.
I should’ve felt victorious.
Instead, I felt… nothing.
********
Later that night, Jake called me to his study.
He was sitting by the window, sipping tea, a blanket over his legs. He looked older under the soft light — fragile, human.
“I know what people will say,” he started. “That I’ve lost my mind. That I married a girl young enough to be my daughter. I don’t care.”
His voice softened. “You remind me of someone I once knew — someone who didn’t care about wealth or power, only truth.”
I frowned slightly. “You hardly know me, sir.”
He smiled faintly. “Maybe not. But I know sincerity when I see it.”
If only he knew how wrong he was.
********
For weeks, I played my role perfectly.
The obedient wife in public. The quiet companion in private.
I accompanied him to doctors’ appointments, helped organize his medication, and answered calls when he was too weak to speak.
The tabloids began whispering — “Billionaire Marries Mysterious Assistant” — but he didn’t care. And neither did I.
Every signature I made, every photo taken of us together, was another nail in the Williams family’s coffin.
Until the night his son came home.
********
It was late. But still too early to be in bed.
I was in the library, sorting through old documents Jake had asked me to review. The doors swung open without warning, and a man’s voice filled the room — deep, familiar, with arrogance.
“Dad?”
I froze. That voice.
It couldn’t be—
He stepped into the light, pulling off his jacket. He looked drunk, his face slightly older than the one I remembered from that night — but it was him.
Joe Williams.
As soon as I saw him, the air left my lungs, and my body went cold.
He looked around, clearly surprised to see someone else there. His eyes landed on me — and he smiled, that same careless, boyish smile that made my blood boil.
“Who’s this?” he asked.
Before I could speak, Jake’s voice came from behind him.
“She’s my wife.”
The smile vanished.
Joe turned sharply, staring at his father. “You're what?”
“Did I stutter?” he asked angrily. “My wife. Ariana Williams.”
Joe’s eyes widened back to me, scanning, assessing. “You married her?” His tone was disbelief wrapped in disgust.
Jake sighed, exhausted. “I don’t owe you explanations, Joseph.”
But Joe’s eyes stayed on me. Sharp. “She’s young enough to be your daughter. Is this some kind of joke?”
I forced a calm smile, meeting his gaze evenly. “No joke, Mr. Williams. Just a contract.”
“You talk like you know me,” he said.
“Oh,” I whispered, “you have no idea how well I do.”
“Go to bed, you're drunk,” Jake said with a stern voice.
He frowned, but I smiled sweetly, walking past him. My heart was racing so fast I thought he’d hear it.
As I left the room, my hands trembled — not from fear, but from the memory of rain, of blood, of headlights.
He didn’t recognize me. Not yet.
But he would.
Oh, he would.
And when he did, he’d understand exactly what it feels like to lose everything.
- Writer
