My Father Sold Me To His Enemy

The slap echoed. "Amara Johnson, you are a thief! You stole my father's money!" The entire wedding hall turned. Amara stood in the middle, in a white wedding gown that was too big for her - a borrowed gown. Her father had just pushed her to the floor. Her father, Chief Johnson, pointed at her with shaking hands. "You think I will use 50 million to pay your mother's hospital bill? Never! Alexander Black has offered 50 million for you! You will marry him today! Now!" Amara's heart stopped. 50 million? Marry? Who is Alexander Black? Before she could talk, the church doors opened. Cold air entered. Everyone gasped. A man walked in. Tall, dark, handsome like a god but with eyes like ice. Black suit, black shoes, 6 bodyguards behind him. Alexander Black. The billionaire that Lagos girls pray to see. He didn't look at the crowd. He looked straight at Amara on the floor. "So this is the debt?" he said, his voice cold, deep, no emotion. Amara stood up, her gown dirty. She was angry, not scared. She may be poor, but she is not a thing. "I am not a debt! I am a human being! I am 21, I just finished my final year exam! You cannot buy me!" Alexander walked closer. He grabbed her chin, forced her to look at him. His eyes studied her face like he was seeing a ghost. "You have her eyes," he whispered, so low only she heard. "You have Lisa's eyes." "Who is Lisa?" Amara pushed his hand away. "I don't know Lisa! I don't know you! I will not marry you!" Chief Johnson shouted, "You will! If not, your mother will die in hospital and your brother will go to jail for my debt! Choose!" Amara started crying. Her mother was in hospital, her younger brother was only 16. Her father gambled away everything. Alexander brought out a contract. "Sign. You become my wife for 2 years. I pay your father's 50 million debt, I pay your mother's hospital bill. After 2 years, you are free with 100 million. If you refuse, your father goes to jail today." The whole church was silent. This was not a wedding. This was a sale. Amara looked at her father crying fake tears, at Alexander's cold face, at the dirty gown. She has always been vivid, stubborn, fearless - the girl who fought area boys in Ajegunle market, the girl who sold akara to pay school fees. She will not go down without fight. She grabbed the pen. "I will sign. But I have conditions. One - you will never touch me without my permission. Two - you will pay my school fees to do my Masters. Three - I am not Lisa. Don't ever call me Lisa again!" Alexander smiled for the first time. A small, dangerous smile. "You have fire. Good. Lisa didn't have fire. That's why she died." What? He signed. The priest, who Alexander had paid, said, "I now pronounce you husband and wife." Just like that. No kiss. No love. Just a business deal. Amara became Mrs. Alexander Black. The wife of a billionaire who thinks she is his dead wife. As they walked out, Alexander whispered in her ear, "Welcome to hell, Mrs Black. My first wife died in this same church. Let's see if you survive." Amara froze. His first wife died in this church? And now she married him in same church?