Married To The Ruthless Billionaire

CHAPTER 6: The Stranger In The Bar And The One-Year Contract

The Rooftop Bar in Allen Avenue was not for poor people.

The cheapest drink was 15,000 naira. The people inside were all Lekki and Ikoyi big boys, with Rolex watches and girls with Brazilian hair. The music was low, the air conditioner was very cold, and the lights were dim.

So when Amara walked in at 12:47 PM wearing a full white mermaid wedding gown, with her makeup smudged, her veil crooked, and her eyes red from crying, everybody stared like she was a ghost.

Two girls at the entrance whispered, "Is this a prank? Is she shooting a movie?"

A man in a suit laughed, "Maybe her husband ran away!"

Amara didn't care. She felt numb. Her feet hurt from her white heels. Her heart hurt more.

She walked straight to the bar counter and slammed her small white handbag on it.

"Give me the strongest drink you have. The most expensive one," she said to the bartender, her voice hoarse.

The bartender, a young guy named Femi, looked at her with pity. He had seen many heartbroken girls, but never one in a wedding dress.

"Madam, are you sure? You look... you look like you should be in church now, not bar."

"I WAS supposed to be in church," Amara snapped, tears coming again. "My wedding was today. My fiance called me 30 minutes ago and said he can't marry me because he is in love with my stepsister. So please, just give me drink. I have 5,000 naira in my bag. Give me anything that will make me forget."

The whole bar was listening now. Some people brought out their phones to record. A bride drinking at noon? This was content.

Femi felt sorry for her. He poured her a small glass of red wine. "Take this first, madam. It's soft. On the house. Don't pay."

Amara took the wine and drank it in one gulp, like water. It burned her throat. She had never drunk alcohol before. She was a church girl, a SU fellowship leader in school. But today, she didn't care about church.

"More," she said. "Stronger."

Femi looked worried. "Madam, if you drink strong thing with empty stomach, you go fall."

"I want to fall! I want to fall and not wake up!" Amara shouted, and started crying again, loudly, not caring who was watching. Her shoulders shook in that expensive rented gown.

Upstairs in the VIP section, Alexander Kane lowered his whiskey glass.

He had come to The Rooftop to have a quiet drink and wait for his grandfather's driver. He hated noise. He hated drama. He was 32, CEO of Kane Group, worth over 80 billion naira, and he was known as the Ruthless Billionaire because he fired people without blinking and never smiled in business meetings.

But this girl in a wedding dress crying at his favorite bar... she was drama. And he was intrigued.

He watched her for 5 minutes. He watched how she refused to sit down, how she stood like a soldier even though her legs were shaking, how she tried to be strong even while crying. She reminded him of someone... his mother when his father died? No, his mother cried and then became wicked. This girl was different. She was broken but still standing.

He stood up, adjusted his black suit, and walked downstairs.

The crowd parted for him. Everyone knew Alexander Kane in Lagos. When he enters a bar, even the music lowers.

He walked to the bar counter and stood beside Amara. He was tall, 6'3", with broad shoulders, sharp jawline, and cold grey eyes that looked like they had never cried in his life.

"Give her what she wants," he said to Femi, his voice deep and commanding. "And put it on my tab."

Amara turned and looked at him. Through her tears, she saw a very handsome man in a very expensive suit. He looked like those men in Forbes magazine.

"Who are you?" she asked, sniffing.

"Someone who is paying for your drink. So you don't have to use your last 5,000 naira," Alexander said.

Amara looked at him properly. He was fine. Too fine. But his eyes were cold.

"I don't need your pity," she said, wiping her nose with the back of her hand, ruining her makeup more. "I don't need a man to pay for my drink. All men are scammers. My fiance was a scammer. My father is a scammer."

Alexander almost smiled. Almost. "I am not pitying you. I am investing. I hate seeing expensive wedding gowns wasted on the floor of a bar. That gown is at least 300k rented. Sit down before you tear it."

How did he know it was rented? How did he know the price?

Amara was too drunk from one glass of wine - she never drank before - and too tired to argue. She sat on the bar stool, but the stool was too high and her gown was too tight, so she almost fell.

Alexander quickly held her waist to steady her. His hand was strong and warm.

"Careful, Mrs. Runaway Bride," he said.

"I'm not a runaway bride. He ran away, not me. He left me," Amara said, and fresh tears poured. "Four years, he left me for my sister. My own sister! On our wedding day!"

Alexander called Femi. "Water. And tissue."

Femi brought water and tissue. Alexander gave it to Amara.

"Drink water. Clean your face. You look like a panda," he said bluntly.

Amara took the tissue and cleaned her face, but it made it worse. Alexander sighed, took the tissue from her hand, and gently wiped her cheeks himself. His hands were surprisingly gentle for a ruthless billionaire.

The whole bar gasped. Alexander Kane touching a woman? This was news. Someone was recording video upstairs.

"Why are you being nice to me?" Amara asked, looking into his cold grey eyes. "Do you want something from me? Men only become nice when they want something."

Alexander looked at her, this strange girl in a wedding dress who had no filter.

"Yes, I want something," he said honestly. "I need a wife."

Amara choked on her water. "What?!"

Alexander sat on the stool beside her and ordered another whiskey for himself.

"My grandfather is dying. Stage 4 cancer. He has 6 months left, maybe less. His last wish is to see me married and settled before he dies. My mother wants me to marry her best friend's daughter, Bianca Williams, who is a gold digger and a snake. I don't want that. I need a wife for one year. Contract marriage. After my grandfather dies, we divorce, and I pay you 50 million naira."

Amara stared at him like he was mad. "Are you drunk? Did you just propose contract marriage to a girl you just met 5 minutes ago in a bar, who is wearing a wedding dress for another man?"

"Yes," Alexander said calmly, sipping his whiskey. "Because you are perfect."

"Perfect? I am literally crying in a bar at noon! How am I perfect?"

"Exactly. You were jilted today. You hate men right now. You won't fall in love with me. That's Rule 1 for a contract marriage. You need money, I can see it. Your gown is rented, your bag is old, but you have pride. You didn't want me to pay. You need money for something urgent. Maybe your sick mother? I heard you mention your mother on the phone outside before you entered. That's perfect. You need money, I need a wife. We help each other. One year. No love. Just business."

Amara was too shocked to speak. 50 million naira. For one year.

Her mother's kidney transplant was 15 million. Her father's debt was 10 million. She could even start a business with the rest. She could leave her father's house.

"Are you... are you serious? Are you Alexander Kane? The one on TV? Kane Group?" she asked, her voice small.

"Yes. I am Alexander Kane. Google me if you want. But my offer expires in 10 minutes. I have a meeting by 2 PM."

Amara quickly brought out her phone, her hands still shaking, and Googled "Alexander Kane." His picture appeared. Same cold grey eyes. Same sharp jaw. Net worth: $52 million. CEO of Kane Group, real estate, oil and gas, tech.

It was him. It was really him.

"Why me? You can get any girl in Lagos. Why a random girl in a wedding dress?"

Alexander looked at her, and for the first time, his cold eyes softened a little.

"Because you are real. In my world, everyone is fake. Girls smile at me because of my money, not because they like me. My best friend betrayed me last month and slept with my fiancee. My mother tries to control my life. Everyone wants something from me. But you... you walked into a bar in a wedding dress and told a bartender to give you the most expensive drink because you were jilted. You didn't know who I am. You didn't try to impress me. You were just... broken and honest. My grandfather likes honest people. He will like you."

Amara looked down at her wedding dress. This morning she was supposed to marry Daniel, a mid-level manager earning 400k per month. Now, a billionaire was proposing contract marriage for 50 million.

Life was crazy.

"What are the rules?" she asked quietly.

Alexander brought out a small black notebook from his suit pocket. He always carried it.

"Rule 1: No falling in love. This is business. After one year, we divorce, no strings attached.

Rule 2: You live in my mansion in Banana Island. You act as my wife in public, at events, in front of my grandfather and my mother.

Rule 3: No touching without permission. No sleeping together. Separate rooms.

Rule 4: No telling anyone it's a contract. Not your family, not your friends. To the world, we are in love.

Rule 5: You obey my mother in public, but you report everything she does to me in private. My mother is dangerous.

Rule 6: After one year, you get 50 million naira, plus 10 million for your mother's treatment upfront today. Right now, if you agree."

Amara's heart stopped. 10 million upfront for her mother's treatment? Today?

"My mother... she needs dialysis... 15 million for transplant..." she whispered.

"I know. I heard you on the phone. I will pay 15 million, not 10. I will pay the hospital directly today. My assistant will handle it. And you will get 50 million after one year. Total 65 million for one year of acting as my wife."

Amara started crying again, but this time, not from sadness. From relief.

65 million. Her mother would live.

"And what if... what if your mother hates me? What if she tries to hurt me?" Amara asked, remembering stories about rich mothers-in-law.

Alexander's eyes turned cold again. "My mother, Mrs. Victoria Kane, is a wicked woman. I won't lie to you. She will try to frustrate you. She will try to make you leave. She already hates you because you are not Bianca. But I will protect you. In my house, I protect what is mine. For one year, you are mine. No one will touch you."

For one year, you are mine.

Amara felt a strange shiver down her spine. No man had ever said that to her with such possession, such protection.

She looked at her wedding dress, at the bar, at this stranger who was offering her a lifeline on the worst day of her life.

Daniel left her for her sister. Her father told her to stay in her room and not disgrace the family. Her stepmother hated her. She had nothing.

But this man was offering her everything. For one year.

She wiped her tears, straightened her crooked veil, and looked Alexander Kane dead in his cold grey eyes.