The Tycoon Reluctant Bride

The real Wedding

Chapter 16

The headline was everywhere by morning.

*"BILLIONAIRE CEO DECLARES LOVE FOR CONTRACT WIFE. NO DIVORCE PLANNED."*

#RealNotContract was trending worldwide.

#TeamAmara was #1 for 48 hours straight.

And my DMs? A mess. Half hate. Half "we ship you".

I didn’t sleep.

Damian hadn’t let go of my hand since the hotel. Not in the car. Not in the elevator. Not even when we got home.

Now it was 3am and we were sitting on the floor of his office. In the dark.

Just us. And two cups of cold coffee.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

I laughed. It sounded hysterical. "You just told the entire world you love me. On camera. After I signed a contract. Are YOU okay?"

Damian turned to me. "I’ve never been more okay."

"Damian—"

"Amara, listen." He took both my hands. "I know how this started. I know it was business. I know your family needed money and I needed a wife."

I nodded. Tears were burning.

"But somewhere between Rule #1 and Room 808, it stopped being about the contract." His thumb brushed my knuckles. "It became about you. The way you drink coffee. The way you bite your lip when you’re nervous. The way you looked at me in that boardroom like you weren’t scared of me."

I couldn’t breathe. "What are you saying?"

"I’m saying I don’t want 6 months." He swallowed. "I don’t want a contract. I want forever."

The words hung in the air.

"But the world thinks I’m a gold-digger," I whispered. "My uncle thinks I’m a w***e. Your board thinks I ruined your company."

"Let them think it." Damian stood up and pulled me up with him. "We’ll show them. The real way."

"How?"

He smiled. That rare, real smile that made my knees weak.

"Marry me. For real this time."

I blinked. "What?"

"A real wedding. Not a courthouse. Not a contract." He was serious. Dead serious. "White dress. Flowers. Vows. The whole thing. In Lagos. Next month."

"Damian, we can’t—"

"Why not?" He stepped closer. "Because of the contract? The contract is void. I had lawyers tear it up this morning."

He pulled a shredded paper from his pocket. Our agreement. In pieces.

"Because of Zara?" He shook his head. "She left the country last night."

"Because of me?" My voice broke. "I’m nobody, Damian. I’m just Amara."

"No." He cupped my face. "You’re the woman who walked into a billionaire’s office and didn’t flinch. You’re the woman who chose to stand next to me at that press conference even though you were terrified. You’re the woman I’m in love with."

I was crying now. Full on sobbing.

"Say something," he whispered.

"Yes," I choked out. "Yes to everything."

Damian exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for months. Then he kissed me.

Not like a contract.

Not like business.

Like a promise.

*One Month Later. Adeleke Estate, Lagos.*

White flowers everywhere. String lights. 300 guests.

And me. In a white dress that cost more than my old house.

My aunt was crying in the front row.

The board was in the back, looking uncomfortable.

And at the end of the aisle, in a black tux, was Damian.

He looked at me like I was the only person in the world.

The priest started talking. I heard none of it.

Until: "Do you take this man—"

"I do," I said. Loud. Clear.

"Do you take this woman—"

"I do," Damian said. Without hesitation.

"You may kiss the bride."

And he did.

Camera flashes went off. People cheered.

But all I could hear was his voice in my ear:

"Mrs. Adeleke. For real this time."

Rule #1: Keep it professional. - *Broken*

Rule #4: No personal attachment. - *Broken*

Rule #7: No falling in love. - *Broken*

And I’ve never been happier.