The Billionaire's Hidden Wife

My name is Emma Blackwood, and today I got married. But nobody clapped for me. No music. No white flowers. No father walking me down the aisle. Just a cold office on the 13th floor of Blackwood Tower in Lagos, and a man who looked at me like I was a business deal. I stood there in the only white gown I could afford. I bought it from Yaba market for eight thousand naira. It was simple, too big on my waist, but I had managed it with a pin at the back. Alexander Blackwood sat behind his desk. God, this man. Even when he is cruel, he is handsome. Sharp suit, sharp jaw, eyes that never smile. "Emma," he said, without even looking up from his papers. "Sit." I sat. My hands were shaking. On the table was a document. CONTRACT MARRIAGE AGREEMENT. Bold letters. He finally looked at me. "Let me make this very clear, because I don't like repeating myself. You will be my wife for one year. Only on paper. In public, you don't exist. You don't speak to me at events. You don't tell anyone. Especially not my fiancée, Sophia." His fiancée. Of course he has a fiancée. A real one. Beautiful, rich, i********: famous. "Then why me?" My voice was small. I hated how weak I sounded. He leaned forward. "Because my grandfather's will says I must be married before I turn thirty to inherit the company. I turn thirty in three days. Sophia refused to marry me now, she wants a big wedding next year. I don't have time. You need money." He knew. Of course he knew. *PAIN* My mother is in LUTH, in a coma for three weeks. The doctor said we need five million naira for the surgery or she will die in six months. I have been cleaning offices, selling zobo on the roadside in traffic, begging my uncle who chased me out. Nothing worked. Last night I slept on the floor in the hospital corridor because I could not pay for a room. I watched my mother breathe through a machine and I felt my whole life collapsing. That is my pain. I am not marrying for love. I am marrying to keep my mother alive. If I don't sign this paper, my mother will die and I will be an orphan in this Lagos. Alexander pushed the paper to me. "Five million, immediately after you sign. Plus one million monthly allowance. A house in Ikoyi where you will stay. After one year, we divorce quietly. You go your way, I go mine. And you sign an NDA. No interviews, no storytelling." Five million. My mother's life. I picked up the pen. My hand was sweating. "What if... what if I fall in love with you?" The question escaped before I could stop it. For the first time, he smiled. But it was not a kind smile. It was mocking. "You won't." I signed: Emma Blackwood. The ink bled a little because my hand shook. He signed under: Alexander J. Blackwood. Clean, bold, powerful. "Good," he said and stood up. He brought out a small box from his drawer. Inside was a thin gold ring. Not diamond. Not big. Simple. He didn't put it on my finger. He just dropped it on the table in front of me. "Wear it at home when my grandfather's lawyer visits. Otherwise, don't." Tears burned my eyes. I put the ring on. It was slightly tight. "My driver will take you to the house. Be ready by 7pm. My grandfather wants to have dinner with his new granddaughter-in-law." That was it. My wedding day was over in ten minutes. The driver took me to Ikoyi. The house was... Jesus. It was not a house, it was a mansion. Three bedrooms, all white, too clean, too quiet. The fridge was full but I had no appetite. At exactly 7pm, Alexander came. He had changed his suit. He looked at me from head to toe. "You are wearing that?" He frowned. It was the same white gown. It was all I had. "Come," he said, irritated. He walked out. We arrived at his grandfather's house. It was old money everywhere. Pa Blackwood was in a wheelchair, but his eyes were sharp. He was over 80 but he smiled when he saw me. "So you are Emma?" He took my hand. His hands were warm. "My grandson finally did something right. I told him, this Lagos girls with all that makeup. You... you have real eyes." I forced a smile. "Thank you, sir." Alexander stood behind, hands in his pocket, watching me like a bodyguard. *SWEET LOVE* During dinner, Pa Blackwood kept asking me questions. Where I schooled, my family. I answered carefully. I told him about my mother being sick, but I didn't tell him about the contract. He kept putting meat in my plate. He said, "Eat, you are too thin. My grandson does not know how to take care of a woman." I laughed for the first time that day. Alexander looked at me when I laughed. Our eyes met for two seconds. His cold eyes softened just a little. He quickly looked away, but I saw it. When we were leaving, Pa Blackwood pulled me close and whispered, "He watches you when you are not looking. That boy likes you, he just doesn't know how to love. Be patient with him." My heart stopped. Was that sweet love already starting? This cruel man watching me when I don't look? Why would he watch a poor girl like me unless something small was already beating inside his cold chest? In the car going back, I couldn't hold it anymore. "Have you been watching me?" Alexander didn't answer. He just looked out the window. But his jaw tightened and his ears turned slightly red. When we got to Ikoyi, he said, "Don't wait up. I won't be sleeping here." He left me alone in that big mansion, on my wedding night, with a ring that felt too tight and a contract that felt too heavy. I sat on the cold floor and cried. Not because he left. But because, for a second when his grandfather said he watches me, I felt hope. And hope is a dangerous thing for a girl like me. Tomorrow the maid will come. The lawyer will come. And the whole of Lagos will still think Alexander Blackwood is single and available. Nobody knows he has a hidden wife. *CLIFFHANGER* At 2am, I could not sleep. The mansion was too quiet and too big for a girl like me who grew up in a small house with my mother. I went to the kitchen to drink water. The main door opened. Alexander came back. His shirt was not the same shirt he wore when he left. It had lipstick on the collar. Bright red lipstick. And he smelled like a woman's perfume. Not mine. He saw me in the kitchen and froze. "Why are you still awake?" he asked coldly. I held my water glass tightly. My new husband came back from another woman's bed on our wedding night. I said with shaking voice, "Who is Sophia? Did you go to meet her?" He walked closer, looked at my cheap gown, my bare feet, my tight ring, and said, "Rule number one of our contract, Emma. Don't ask questions that don't concern you. And never, ever act like my real wife." He left me there, but on the kitchen table, his phone lit up. A message popped up. I saw it clearly. From Sophia: "Can't wait to tell everyone you are still mine, baby. That village girl can never replace me." My hands started shaking again. If Sophia already knows about me, who told her?