HIS GOLDEN LIE

The Billionaire’s Game

Chapter Two: The Billionaire’s Game

First-person POV (Amara)

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The car pulled up to Voss Tower like it belonged there — black, polished, silent.

I didn’t.

I stood outside the glass doors, clutching my old purse, wondering if this was a mistake. People in tailored suits walked past me like I was invisible. Their heels clicked against marble. Their eyes didn’t meet mine.

I took a shaky breath.

I had told Mama I was going for a job interview. She smiled, coughed twice, and whispered a blessing. If only she knew I was about to step into a world where people used money the way we used air.

I walked in.

The lobby was quiet. Cold. Too perfect. Even the air smelled expensive — like leather, power, and something artificial. A woman in red lipstick sat behind the desk, typing without looking up.

“Good morning,” I said softly.

She paused, glanced at my clothes, and raised a brow. “Name?”

“Amara.”

Her fingers tapped something into the computer.

Silence.

Then, “Take the private lift to the 30th floor.”

She pointed without smiling.

My heart pounded as I stepped into the elevator. The doors closed behind me like a coffin.

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The ride up was too fast. Too smooth. No music. Just silence and numbers lighting up.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror walls.

My hair was neatly packed. My dress was clean, but plain. My sandals were worn, but decent.

Still… I looked like a mistake in this place.

When the elevator opened, I found myself in a room made of glass and shadows.

It wasn’t an office. It felt like a sky palace.

Floor-to-ceiling windows showed the entire city, stretched far below like a tiny kingdom. Grey clouds rolled outside. Rain tapped gently on the glass.

And there he was.

Liam Voss.

Standing by the window. Back turned. Wearing another black suit. One hand in his pocket. The other holding a glass of dark wine — even though it was barely noon.

He didn’t turn.

“You came,” he said simply.

I swallowed hard. “You sent a car to my house. I thought… maybe you needed help.”

He turned slowly.

His face was sharper than I remembered. Grey eyes. Sharp cheekbones. Cold mouth. There was something untouchable about him — like touching him would burn you.

“I don’t need help,” he said. “I need a favor.”

I blinked. “A favor?”

He walked closer.

“I’m going to make you an offer,” he said. “You’ll either take it or walk away. But once you say yes, there’s no turning back.”

My hands tightened around my purse. “What kind of offer?”

“A marriage.”

My breath caught.

“What?” I whispered.

“A contract marriage. One year. You get paid monthly. You live here. You smile in public. You follow the rules.”

I stared at him. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

I laughed — a small, nervous sound. “Why would a billionaire ask a waitress to marry him?”

His eyes didn’t flinch. “Because I trust you.”

I blinked. “You don’t even know me.”

“But you saved me,” he said quietly. “And you didn’t take anything from me when you could have. No pictures. No name. No lies.”

He walked to a desk, opened a drawer, and slid a folder across the table.

Inside: a contract.

Marriage duration: 12 months.

Monthly payment: ₦1.5 million.

Conditions: Live at Voss Tower. No dating anyone else. Public appearances together. No real love required.

I stared at the paper like it would catch fire.

“I don’t understand,” I whispered. “What do you need me for?”

He looked away.

“That’s not your concern.”

A chill ran down my spine.

I could walk away. Say no. Go home. Pretend this never happened.

But the truth was... Mama’s pills were running out. Our landlord had been knocking daily. I was drowning, and this man was throwing me a rope — even if it came with chains.

“I can’t promise to be perfect,” I said quietly.

“I’m not asking you to be,” he replied. “I’m asking you to disappear into my shadow.”

I looked at him.

And I saw it — just for a second. A flicker of sadness behind those stormy eyes. Like something inside him was already dead.

---

I signed the contract with trembling hands.

When I was done, he took it, placed it in the drawer, and finally said, “Welcome to the game, Mrs. Voss.”

I swallowed.

I didn’t know what I had just agreed to.

But deep down, something told me — this wasn’t a game.

It was war.

And I had just entered with no armor.

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