THE WIFE IN HIS WILL

Chapter One The Woman in the Will The letter arrived on a Tuesday morning. Amara Vale almost threw it away. She had been standing beside the kitchen window, trying to decide whether the last ₦8,400 in her account should go toward groceries or the electricity bill, when she noticed the envelope lying beneath the front door. It wasn't like the other envelopes. No handwritten address. No advertisement. No familiar company logo. Just her name. AMARA VALE Printed in black letters. She picked it up. The envelope was thick. Expensive. The kind of paper people used when they had something important to say—or something they wanted you to be afraid of. Amara turned it over. There was a seal. A black circle containing two letters: B.B. She frowned. She didn't recognize them. “Who sends letters like this anymore?” Her mother didn't answer. Amara looked toward the hallway. “Mom?” Nothing. She opened the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of paper. She read the first line. Then read it again. Her stomach tightened. Dear Ms. Vale, You are formally requested to attend the reading of the Last Will and Testament of Mr. Victor Blackwood. Amara stopped breathing for a second. Victor Blackwood. Everyone knew that name. Blackwood Group. Hotels. Technology. Real estate. Investment companies. A fortune large enough to make newspaper headlines whenever someone tried to estimate it. But Amara had never met him. Not once. She read the letter again. There had to be a mistake. Maybe another Amara Vale. Maybe the lawyer had confused her with someone else. She grabbed her phone and searched the name. The first result was Victor Blackwood's obituary. BILLIONAIRE VICTOR BLACKWOOD DEAD AT 61. The article had been published three days earlier. Amara stared at the photograph. Silver hair. Sharp eyes. A face that seemed incapable of smiling. She had seen him on television. Everyone had. But she had never spoken to him. She hadn't worked for him. Her mother had never mentioned him. There was absolutely no reason for a lawyer to contact her about his will. Her mother's bedroom door opened. “Amara?” She turned. Celine stood in the hallway holding a cup of tea. Her eyes went immediately to the envelope. The cup stopped halfway to her mouth. For one strange moment, neither woman spoke. Then Celine whispered: “Where did you get that?” Amara's fingers tightened around the paper. “It was under the door.” Her mother didn't move. “Who is it from?” “Blackwood.” The cup trembled slightly in Celine's hand. Amara noticed. She had never seen her mother react to a name like that. “Mom?” Celine put the cup down. “Give it to me.” “No.” The answer came too quickly. Celine looked at her. “Amara.” “You know him.” It wasn't a question. Her mother's face changed. Only slightly. But enough. Amara had spent twenty-four years learning her mother's expressions. She knew when Celine was tired. She knew when she was angry. She knew when she was pretending everything was fine. This was different. This was fear. “You know Victor Blackwood,” Amara said. Celine looked away. “I don't want you involved with that family.” “What family?” “Just don't go.” Amara stared at her. “I've been invited to a lawyer's office because a billionaire I've never met apparently put my name in his will, and you're telling me not to go?” “Yes.” “Why?” “Because I said so.” Amara almost laughed. Her mother had never been good at giving orders without explanations. “That's not an answer.” “It is the only one you're getting.” Celine walked toward her and reached for the letter. Amara pulled it away. “What happened between you and Victor Blackwood?” Celine froze. For several seconds, the only sound in the apartment was the ticking clock above the refrigerator. Then her mother said quietly: “Nothing.” Amara looked at her. “You're lying.” Celine's eyes filled with something Amara couldn't identify. Regret, perhaps. Or fear. Then she said the strangest thing of all. “If his lawyers have found you, it's already too late.” Amara's heart skipped. “Found me?” Celine didn't answer. She turned and walked back toward her room. “Mom.” Celine stopped. “Don't go to that meeting.” Amara looked down at the letter. Then at her mother. And for the first time in her life, she understood something terrifying. Her mother wasn't afraid of Victor Blackwood. She was afraid of what his death had uncovered. Two hours later, Amara stood outside the offices of Blackwood Group. The building disappeared into the clouds above Lagos. She checked the address on the letter one last time. Correct. She almost turned around. Then she remembered her mother's face. And walked inside. The receptionist looked at the letter. Her expression changed. “Mr. Cross is expecting you.” “Julian Cross?” “Yes.” Amara nodded. She followed the receptionist into a private elevator. The doors closed. As the elevator climbed, Amara stared at her reflection. She looked ordinary. Simple blouse. Black trousers. Hair tied back. Nothing about her suggested she belonged inside a building like this. When the doors opened, a man in a dark suit was waiting. He looked to be in his fifties. Calm. Professional. Unreadable. “Ms. Vale.” “Mr. Cross?” He nodded. “Thank you for coming.” “I almost didn't.” “I expected that.” That made her pause. “What exactly is this about?” Julian studied her for a moment. Then he said: “Mr. Victor Blackwood left very specific instructions regarding you.” Amara felt a chill move down her spine. “You said this was about his will.” “It is.” “Why am I in it?” Julian didn't answer immediately. Instead, he opened a door. “Come inside.” Amara stepped into the conference room. Three people were already sitting around the long table. She recognized two of them from the news. Damian Blackwood. Victor's eldest son. And Adrian Blackwood. His younger brother. Both men looked at her. But Damian's expression was different. He didn't look surprised. He looked angry. As though he had been waiting for her. Amara took the empty chair. Julian placed a folder on the table. “Before we begin,” he said, “there is one thing you need to understand.” Amara looked at him. “Mr. Blackwood's will contains an unusual provision.” Damian leaned back in his chair. His eyes never left Amara. Julian opened the folder. And said: “Mr. Blackwood did not merely leave you an inheritance.” He turned the first page. “He left you a condition.” Amara's heart began pounding. Julian looked directly at her. “You must marry Damian Blackwood.”