The Tycoon Reluctant Bride

--- *Chapter 1: The rain was washing Lagos clean the day my world ended. Again. Two years ago, it was my parents in that car on Third Mainland Bridge. Today, it was a brown envelope from the bank. FINAL NOTICE. I dropped the letter on our dining table and stared at it. The house my parents built with 20 years of sweat was about to be taken. My phone rang. Unknown number. “Miss Amara Okoro?” The voice was dry, professional. “Yes.” “I’m calling from Adeleke & Co. Law. Your father, Mr. Chike Okoro, owed Mr. Damian Adeleke 87 million naira. The debt is due.” 87 million. I laughed. It came out broken. “There must be a mistake. My dad was a school teacher.” “He was also a silent partner in Adeleke Construction,” the lawyer said. “He took a loan to cover project losses. He lost the bet.” My chest tightened. “I don’t have 87 million. I don’t even have 87 thousand.” “Then I suggest you meet Mr. Adeleke,” he said. “Adeleke Towers, Victoria Island. 50th floor. Tomorrow, 9AM. Don’t be late, Miss Okoro.” The line went dead. That night I didn’t sleep. I packed one bag. If they came to take the house, at least I’d have my parents’ photos. --- The next morning I stood in front of Adeleke Towers. Glass. Steel. Money. I looked out of place in my only black dress and worn sandals. Security scanned me like I was a thief. “Miss Okoro for Mr. Adeleke,” I said. “50th floor,” he grunted. The elevator was silent. My reflection looked back at me. 22 years old. Orphan. Broke. Ding. The doors opened to a floor that looked like the sky. All glass. All white. And in the middle, behind a desk bigger than my bedroom, sat him. Damian Adeleke. He didn’t stand when I entered. 6'3. Black three-piece suit. Short hair. Clean shave. Eyes that were black and empty. “Miss Okoro,” his voice was deep, cold. “Sit.” I sat. My hands shook. “Your father was a fool,” he said without looking at papers. “He gambled with my money on a government contract. He lost. He died before he could pay.” “I’m sorry for your loss too,” I whispered. “But I didn’t sign anything.” “No,” he finally looked at me. His gaze went over my dress, my face, and dismissed me. “But you bear his name. And his debt.” He slid a folder across the glass table. I opened it. *MARRIAGE CONTRACT* *PARTY A: DAMIAN ADELEKE* *PARTY B: AMARA OKORO* *TERM: 12 MONTHS* My mouth went dry. “Excuse me?” “In exchange for clearing the 87 million debt,” he said, like he was discussing weather, “you will become my wife for one year. You will attend events. You will play the role of Mrs. Adeleke. You will not embarrass me. You will not speak to the press. In return, I pay the bank, and after 12 months, you are free.” I stared at him. “You want to marry me? A stranger?” “I want to protect my investment,” he corrected. “The media has been asking why I’m still single. A wife solves that. You solve my debt problem. It’s business.” “Love isn’t part of this?” I asked, stupidly. His jaw ticked. “Love is a liability, Miss Okoro. I don’t deal in liabilities.” The office was so quiet I could hear the rain hitting the glass. “I have 7 days before the bank takes my house,” I said. “The house my parents died in.” “Then we have a deal,” he said. “The wedding is Saturday. Courthouse. 10AM. My assistant will send you the dress and details. Be on time. Being late is disrespectful.” He stood. Meeting over. “Wait,” I stood too. “What if I say no?” He paused. For the first time, something flickered in his eyes. Pity? No. Annoyance. “Then in 7 days you’ll be on the street,” he said simply. “Choose.” I looked at the contract. 12 months. One year of my life for my parents’ home. My mom’s voice echoed in my head: _Amara, always protect our home._ I picked up the pen. My signature was shaky. “I agree,” I said. Damian nodded once. “Good. Don’t disappoint me, Mrs. Adeleke.” The title felt like chains. As I walked to the elevator, his assistant stopped me. “Mr. Adeleke has rules,” she said, handing me a paper. *RULES OF THE CONTRACT:* 1. *No intimacy. Separate rooms.* 2. *Appear together at 2 events per month.* 3. *Do not speak to media.* 4. *Do not ask about his private life.* 5. *Do not fall in love.* I folded the paper and put it in my bag. Outside, the rain had stopped. I had just sold myself to the devil in a 3-piece suit. And the worst part? Part of me was scared I might actually start to like him. --- *[End of Chapter 1]* *Author’s Note:* Thanks for reading! If you like Amara and Damian, please add to library and leave a comment ❤️ Next update: Chapter 2 drops tomorrow