The Billionaire's Contract Wife

The hospital smelled like bleach and pure hopelessness. Amara hated that smell more than anything. She sat by the bed, holding her mother's hand. The hand was so thin, so cold. Her mother's breathing was shallow, like every breath was a battle she was losing. "How much?" Amara whispered to the doctor, without even looking at him. Her voice was shaking. The doctor sighed and removed his glasses. "One hundred and fifty thousand dollars for the surgery, Miss Johnson. And we need to do it within forty-eight hours,or she dies." Amara just nodded. Her throat was completely dry. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Where on earth would she get that kind of money from? She was just a waitress. She worked two jobs, morning and night. Her bank account balance that morning was three hundred and twelve dollars. That was all she had. Her mother coughed suddenly, her eyes opening small. "Amara... my child. Go home now. You look so tired." Amara quickly wiped her tears and forced a smile that broke her own heart. "I'm fine, Mama. Don't worry about me. Just try to rest, okay?" But inside, she was completely shattered. Her mother was the only family she had left in this world. Her father died five years ago from the same heart disease. It had always been just the two of them. And now she was going to watch her mother die too, just because she was poor. The thought was killing her. That same night, she was on her night shift, cleaning tables at The Knight Grand Hotel. It was the most expensive hotel in all of Lagos. A place where people like her were not supposed to enter unless it was to serve the rich. Then he walked in. Alexander Knight. Everybody knew that name. Billionaire. Cold. Heartless. Ruthless. The owner of half the city. He was tall, over six feet, wearing a black suit that probably cost more than her one year rent. His face was annoyingly handsome, but his eyes... his eyes had no warmth at all. They were grey and empty. He sat at her table. The table she was cleaning. "Black coffee. No sugar," he said without even looking at her. Like she was invisible. Amara rushed to bring it. Her hands were still shaking from crying in the bathroom earlier, and some of the hot coffee spilled on the small saucer. She was so embarrassed. He finally looked up at her. His grey eyes scanned her face slowly, from her tired eyes to her cheap, faded waitress uniform. "You're new here," he said. It was not a question. "Yes, sir," she whispered, looking down. He noticed her eyes. They were red and swollen. He noticed everything. "You've been crying. Problem?" he asked. Not because he cared at all. He was just bored, and she was a distraction. Amara didn't know why she answered him. Maybe because she was too tired to pretend. Maybe because she had nobody else to tell her pain. "My mother... she needs a heart surgery. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars. I have two days to find it, or she will die," she said, her voice breaking. There was silence. He stared at her for a very long moment, saying nothing. Then he took a very slow sip of his black coffee. "I can give you the money," he said casually. Amara's heart stopped beating for a second. She thought she did not hear well. "What? Excuse me?" "I said I can give you the money. All of it. Tonight. Right now if you want," he repeated, like he was talking about buying a bottle of water. She thought it was a cruel joke. A very wicked joke that rich men like to play on poor girls. "Why... why would you do that for me? You don't even know me," she asked, confused and scared. Alexander leaned back in his chair. He brought out a thick, heavy gold pen and a folded document from his inside suit pocket and dropped it on the table in front of her. The paper had a big seal on it. "Because I need a wife," he said. Amara blinked. She was sure she was dreaming now. "A... a what?" "A wife. For one year. My grandfather is dying in London. His last wish is to see me married and settled before he dies. If I don't get married before the end of this month, his will says I will lose my entire inheritance to my cousin, Daniel. I will lose everything. My company, my hotels, my houses... everything I worked for." He slid the thick paper towards her with one finger. "It's a contract marriage. You marry me. You move into my mansion. You act like my very loving and obedient wife in front of my family and the public and the press. For exactly one year. After one year is over, we divorce quietly. No fight. You walk away with the one hundred and fifty thousand for your mother's surgery, plus an extra five hundred thousand dollars for your own trouble. You will be a free and rich woman. What do you say?" Amara's hands became very cold. This was insane. Completely crazy. Marry a total stranger? A man that everybody in the city said had no heart, no soul? "This is crazy. You are crazy," she whispered, pushing the paper away. "This is business, Miss Johnson. Pure business," he corrected her coldly. "Clause one: You will obey all my rules in my house without question. Clause two: No falling in love with me. This marriage is not real, so don't get any stupid ideas. Clause three: No other men while you are Mrs. Knight. Do you understand me? In my world, my wife obeys me. She doesn't ask questions." The way he said it, so arrogant, so controlling, sent a cold shiver down her spine. He was not asking her. He was commanding her. If she said no, her mother would die tomorrow. If she said yes, she would sell her body and soul to a man who felt nothing at all. She looked at the contract again. Then she closed her eyes and saw her mother's face in that hospital bed, fighting to breathe. What choice did she really have? None. With tears in her eyes, she picked up the heavy gold pen. Her fingers were trembling so badly she could barely hold the pen well. "What if I break your rules?" she asked, her voice so small. His eyes showed a dark, dangerous heat that made her heart beat fast. He leaned forward, so close she could smell his expensive, strong cologne. "Then you will regret ever meeting me, Amara. I promise you that." For one second, she wanted to get up and run away from there. But she didn't. She couldn't. She signed at the bottom. Amara Johnson. In very shaky, ugly handwriting. Alexander smiled. It was not a kind smile at all. It was a possessive smile. Like a man who had just bought a very expensive and beautiful new toy. He stood up, took the contract, and looked at her one last time. "Welcome to my world, Mrs. Knight. My driver is outside. Go and say goodbye to your mother. You move into my house tonight."