Episode 4:The fine print
1864 Words
I didn’t sleep.
How could I?
My phone sat face-down on the nightstand like a bomb. Every buzz made my heart jump. The last text was still burned into my brain: “You should have read the fine print, Adele. Welcome to the contract.”
Rule 1: Don’t ask questions.
Rule 2: Don’t get attached.
Rule 3: Don’t fall for the billionaire.
Rule 4: Don’t trust anyone.
And now there was a Rule 5 I didn’t know yet.
At 5am I gave up and went to the kitchen. The penthouse was dark except for the city lights bleeding through the glass. Lagos never slept. Neither did I anymore.
The fridge was full of food I didn’t buy. Chef’s meals, labeled with dates. Water bottles that cost more than my lunch used to. Everything here screamed money I didn’t have and a life that wasn’t mine.
I made coffee. Black. My hands were still shaking.
“Can’t sleep?”
I spun around. Damian.
He was in gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt. No tie. No suit. He looked... human. Younger. The ice was gone from his face, replaced with something tired.
“I didn’t know you were up,” I said quickly.
“I don’t sleep much.” He walked to the coffee machine and poured himself a cup. No sugar. No milk. “Nightmares.”
The word felt wrong coming from him. Damian Carter didn’t have nightmares. He caused them.
We stood in silence for a minute. Two strangers sharing a kitchen at 5am because of a contract.
“About last night,” he started. “In the car.”
I braced myself. Here came the lecture. The cold dismissal.
“I was out of line,” he said instead. “It is my problem now. You’re under my name. That makes you my responsibility.”
I blinked. “Did you just... apologize?”
His jaw tightened. “Don’t get used to it.”
He walked past me, paused at the door. “Breakfast at 7. We have lawyers at 9. About the threats.”
Then he was gone.
---
The lawyers were not what I expected.
Three men in suits sat in Damian’s office. Files. Tablets. Serious faces.
And one woman. She didn’t look like a lawyer. She looked like she could kill someone and file the paperwork after.
“Miss Morgan,” she said, standing. “I’m Zara Okoye. Head of Carter Group Legal and Security.”
Zara shook my hand. Her grip was firm. Her eyes did a full scan of me in 2 seconds.
“We’ve traced the number,” she said without preamble. “Burner phone. Bought with cash in Oshodi 2 weeks ago. The pictures of your sister were taken from a distance. Long lens.”
My stomach dropped. “So someone’s been watching her?”
“Yes,” Zara said. “For at least 10 days.”
Damian was standing by the window again. Always the window. “And?”
“And we don’t know who yet,” Zara admitted. “But we will. In the meantime, your sister is being moved to a private facility. Carter Group security. 24/7.”
I stood up so fast my chair scraped. “You can’t just move her without asking me!”
“I can,” Damian said quietly. “Section 8, Clause C. ‘In cases of threat to Party B or affiliates, Party A reserves the right to take protective measures.’”
The fine print.
I sank back down. “Is she okay?”
“She’s safe,” Zara said. “That’s what matters.”
Safe. The word felt like a lie.
After the meeting, I followed Damian to his office. I had to.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked.
He didn’t look up from his laptop. “Doing what?”
“Protecting my sister. You said it wasn’t your problem.”
He finally looked at me. “Because you signed the contract. And I don’t like loose ends.”
“Is that all I am to you? A loose end?”
For a second, something flickered in his eyes. Frustration. Maybe guilt. Then it was gone.
“You wanted ₦50 million, Miss Adele. You got it. Don’t confuse business with charity.”
I left before I said something I’d regret.
---
The private hospital was in Ikoyi. White walls. Armed guards.
My sister, Tolu, was asleep when I got there. An IV in her arm. Monitors beeping. She looked smaller. Pale.
A guard stood outside her door. “Mr. Carter’s orders,” he said when he saw me. “No one in or out without clearance.”
I sat by her bed and held her hand. It was cold.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry this is happening because of me.”
Her eyes fluttered open. “Ade?” Her voice was weak.
“Hey. It’s me.”
“Did you... did you do it? The thing with the rich man?”
I nodded, tears falling. “I signed. We’ll get you treatment. The best treatment.”
She squeezed my hand. Faintly. “Don’t let them hurt you, okay? Money isn’t worth you.”
Too late, I wanted to say. But I just smiled. “I’m fine. I promise.”
When I left, Zara was waiting in the hallway.
“Walk with me,” she said.
We went to a private room. She pulled out the contract. My contract.
“Did you read page 12?” she asked.
“No.”
“Section 11. ‘Party B waives all rights to privacy regarding communications, location, and personal data for the duration of the contract.’”
My blood went cold. “What?”
“It means we monitor your phone. Your emails. Your location.” She said it like she was reading the weather. “For your protection.”
“You’re spying on me.”
“We’re protecting our investment,” she corrected. “Mr. Carter doesn’t make ₦50 million deals without insurance.”
I wanted to scream. Instead I nodded. “Anything else in the fine print I should know about?”
Zara’s expression softened, just a little. “Yeah. Page 15. ‘In the event of breach of contract by Party B, all payments are void and Party B may be liable for damages up to 3x the contract value.’”
₦150 million.
I’d have to pay them if I walked away.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you look scared,” Zara said simply. “And scared people make mistakes. Don’t.”
---
That night the threats didn’t stop.
New number. New text.
“Nice hospital. Shame if something happened to it. Last chance, Adele.”
Attached: a photo of the hospital. From outside. Taken today.
I ran to Damian’s office. Bursting in without knocking.
He was on a call. He held up a finger. Wait.
I couldn’t wait. I threw the phone on his desk. “They’re at the hospital! They sent this!”
He ended the call immediately. Picked up my phone. Read the text. His face went completely blank. The dangerous kind of blank.
“Zara,” he said into the intercom. “Code Black. Now.”
Within 2 minutes the penthouse was full of people. Security. Zara. Men with earpieces.
Damian was on the phone, voice low and deadly. “I don’t care how. Find them. Tonight.”
He hung up and looked at me. Really looked at me.
“Pack a bag,” he said. “You’re not staying here.”
“Where am I going?”
“My private house. Lekki. More security. No one knows about it.”
“What about Tolu?”
“She’s already being moved. Again.”
I felt like I was going to throw up. “This is because of you. Whoever this is, they want you, not me.”
Damian didn’t deny it. “Probably.”
“Then why me? Why not marry someone from your world? Someone with security and bodyguards?”
He walked to me. Stopped a foot away. Close enough that I could smell his cologne again.
“Because people from my world ask questions,” he said quietly. “And you were desperate enough not to.”
The truth. Ugly and honest.
“Get your things,” he said, turning away. “Car leaves in 10.”
---
The house in Lekki was nothing like the penthouse. Smaller. Warmer. Still glass walls, but with curtains. Still security, but they tried to be invisible.
I was given a room. Big bed. My own bathroom.
At 2am, there was a knock.
Damian. Still in his suit pants, but no shirt. Just a white undershirt.
“Can I come in?”
I nodded.
He sat on the edge of the bed. Far from me. Hands clasped.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Again. Two apologies in one day. The world was ending.
“For what?”
“For dragging you into this. For lying. For treating you like a contract instead of a person.”
I stared at him. “Why now?”
“Because when I saw that picture of the hospital...” He exhaled. “I have a sister too. She died 5 years ago. Car accident. I couldn’t protect her.”
The ice cracked. Just a little.
“I’m not good at this, Adele,” he said. Using my first name. “The caring part. But I’ll keep you and your sister safe. That I can do.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Because of the fine print,” he said. A small, sad smile. “Page 17. ‘Party A agrees to provide for all medical, legal, and security needs of Party B and designated affiliates for the duration of the contract.’”
I didn’t remember that part.
“I added it,” he admitted. “After you signed. Before you read it.”
So he did have a heart. Buried under billions and bad decisions.
“Don’t fall for me, remember?” I whispered.
His smile faded. “Rule 3.”
“Yeah.”
We sat in silence. The city was quiet outside.
“My lawyer will send you an addendum tomorrow,” he said, standing. “More money. For the trouble. And a clause that lets you out if you want. After 6 months.”
“Why?”
“Because contracts shouldn’t be cages,” he said. “Even if we pretended they were.”
He left. Closed the door softly.
I laid back and stared at the ceiling.
Rule 1: Don’t ask questions.
Rule 2: Don’t get attached.
Rule 3: Don’t fall for the billionaire.
Rule 4: Don’t trust anyone.
Rule 5: The fine print might save you.
And Rule 6, the one I was starting to feel in my chest:
Don’t fall for the man who’s trying to be better.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
“You think he’ll protect you? He can’t even protect himself. See you soon, Mrs. Carter.”
I turned the phone off.
The contract was getting more dangerous.
And so was he.
- Writer
