BOUND IN SILK AND SIN

The hospital bill was folded beneath my coffee cup. I had looked at it so many times that morning the numbers had stopped looking real. ₦18,400,000. The figure sat there like a threat. Like a countdown. Like a sentence. I pressed my fingers against my temples and stared through the hospital window at the rain sliding down the glass. “Mom?” I turned immediately. Mia was awake. She looked impossibly small beneath the white hospital blanket, her dark hair spread across the pillow. A tiny stuffed rabbit rested against her chest—the same rabbit she'd carried everywhere since she was five. I forced a smile. “Hey, baby.” “Are you crying?” I quickly wiped beneath my eyes. “No.” Mia narrowed her eyes at me. “You always say no when you are.” Despite everything, I laughed softly. “You're getting too clever.” She smiled. For a few seconds, the room felt normal. Then the heart monitor beside her bed continued its quiet, rhythmic beeping. Reality returned. Mia needed treatment. Treatment I couldn't afford. I'd sold my car. Emptied my savings. Borrowed from people who had stopped answering my calls. I had even taken a second job cleaning offices at night. None of it was enough. The doctor had been kind when he explained it. Kindness somehow made it worse. “We need to begin as soon as possible,” he'd said. As soon as possible. Those three words had followed me for weeks. I looked at my daughter. She was watching the rain now. “Mom?” “Yes?” “When I get better, can we go home?” My throat tightened. “Of course.” “Promise?” I reached across the bed and took her hand. “Promise.” It was the easiest lie I'd ever told. Because I had no idea how I was going to keep it. Three hours later, I walked into the hospital lobby with the unpaid bill in my bag and exactly twelve thousand naira in my account. My phone vibrated. I already knew who it was. UNKNOWN NUMBER I stared at the screen. Then answered. “Hello?” A man's voice came through. “Miss Vale?” “Yes.” “You need to settle your daughter's account.” I stopped walking. “I know.” “Then you should come to the administrative office.” “I'll pay it.” There was a pause. “When?” I swallowed. “Soon.” “Soon isn't a date.” The call ended. I stood there beneath the harsh hospital lights, surrounded by people rushing in every direction. Nobody noticed that my entire world had just cracked open. Then someone behind me said my name. “Elena Vale?” I turned. A man stood near the entrance. Black suit. Black tie. Umbrella tucked beneath one arm. He didn't look like a doctor. He didn't look like a lawyer. He looked like trouble that had learned how to wear expensive clothes. “Who are you?” He stepped closer. “Someone who knows how much your daughter needs.” My stomach dropped. “How do you know about my daughter?” He didn't answer. Instead, he handed me a black envelope. My name was written across the front in silver lettering. I didn't take it. “What is this?” “An opportunity.” I almost laughed. “I don't need an opportunity.” His expression remained completely neutral. “You need eighteen million naira.” My blood went cold. Nobody outside the hospital knew the exact amount. Nobody. “How much do you want?” “Not money.” That frightened me more. “What, then?” He glanced toward the hospital corridor. “Twelve months.” I frowned. “I don't understand.” “You will.” He walked away. I looked down at the envelope in my hand. For several seconds, I considered throwing it into the nearest bin. Instead, I opened it. Inside was a single sheet of paper. At the top was a name. DAMIAN BLACKWOOD. Below it were three words. MARRIAGE. TWELVE MONTHS. And underneath that: YOUR DAUGHTER'S TREATMENT—FULLY PAID. My hands began to shake. That evening, I searched his name. I wish I hadn't. Damian Blackwood was everywhere. Business magazines. Newspapers. Photographs beside politicians and billionaires. The heir who had transformed his family's failing empire into one of the most powerful corporations in the country. The businessman who never gave interviews. The man whose enemies mysteriously disappeared from the business world. There were rumors. So many rumors. None of them could be proven. But every article seemed to agree on one thing. Damian Blackwood was not a man you crossed. I shut my laptop. “No.” The word came out quietly. “No.” I was not marrying a stranger. Especially not one like him. I had survived too much already. I wouldn't trade one nightmare for another. My phone rang. A private number. I almost ignored it. Almost. “Hello?” “Have you read the contract?” His voice. I sat upright. “Damian Blackwood?” “Yes.” “You sent someone to approach me at the hospital.” “I did.” “You investigated my daughter.” “I did.” “That's terrifying.” “I wasn't trying to frighten you.” “You succeeded.” Silence. Then he said, “Meet me tomorrow.” “No.” “You haven't heard my offer.” “I know enough.” “You know your daughter needs treatment.” My fingers tightened around the phone. “Don't use her against me.” “I wouldn't.” “Then leave us alone.” Another pause. His voice became quieter. “Miss Vale, I'm not asking you to marry me because I need a wife.” “Then why?” “Because I need a woman the public will believe I love.” I stared into the darkness of my apartment. “And you think that woman should be me?” “Yes.” “Why?” “I'll explain tomorrow.” “I said no.” “You'll change your mind.” My anger flared. “You're arrogant.” “I've been called worse.” “I don't know you.” “No.” His voice was calm. “But you will.” The call ended. I stared at the phone. For a long time, I didn't move. Then I looked at the photograph of Mia beside my bed. Her smile. Her little rabbit. The promise I'd made. My eyes burned. I hated him already. But hate was a luxury. And my daughter couldn't afford luxuries. The next morning, I walked into Blackwood Tower. Forty-seven floors of black glass and steel. The receptionist looked at me once before standing. “Miss Vale?” I nodded. “Mr. Blackwood is expecting you.” Of course he was. The elevator carried me to the top floor. When the doors opened, silence greeted me. No assistants. No waiting room. Just a long corridor leading toward enormous black double doors. I knocked. “Come in.” I pushed the door open. And there he was. Damian Blackwood stood beside a wall of windows overlooking the city. He turned. For one strange second, neither of us spoke. He was exactly like the photographs. Except photographs couldn't capture the weight of his presence. His eyes settled on me. Cold. Unreadable. Calculating. He gestured toward the chair opposite his desk. “Sit.” I remained standing. “I'll stand.” Something almost resembling amusement crossed his face. “Fine.” He slid a document across the desk. I didn't touch it. “What happens after twelve months?” “You leave.” “And my daughter?” “Her treatment is paid in full.” “No hidden conditions?” “There are conditions.” I stared at him. He leaned back. “You'll attend public events with me. You'll live in my residence. You'll behave as my wife.” “And privately?” His gaze remained on mine. “Privately, you will have your own room. Your own space. Your own life.” I looked down at the contract. Then back at him. “And when the twelve months end?” “You walk away.” I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. It sounded almost too good to be true. Damian watched me carefully. “You don't trust me.” “No.” “Good.” I frowned. He stood. “Trust is dangerous.” He walked around the desk and stopped a few feet away. “You don't need to trust me, Elena.” His voice was quiet. “You only need to decide how much your daughter's life is worth to you.” My eyes dropped to the contract. The pen beside it suddenly felt heavier than it should. I thought of the hospital. The machines. Mia asking if she could come home. My promise. I picked up the pen. Damian said nothing. I signed. And the moment the ink touched the paper, I felt something inside me change. I had come to his office believing I was selling twelve months of my life. I didn't know then that the contract had never been about twelve months. It was about what came after. And by the time I discovered that truth... It would already be too late.