Marry me for 90 days

“Sign here, and your mother lives. Sign here, and you sell your next ninety days to me.” Amara Okoye stared at the doctor across the desk. “No.” The word slipped out before she could stop it. “There has to be another way.” The doctor sighed. “Miss Okoye, your mother’s kidneys are failing. We’ve already extended her treatment twice.” Amara gripped the edge of the chair. “Please.” “Seven days.” The doctor’s voice softened. “After seven days, if the surgery deposit isn’t paid, we’ll have no choice but to stop dialysis.” The room spun. Seven days. Seven days to find ten million naira. Seven days to save her mother. Or lose her forever. Her phone vibrated. She glanced at the screen. MOTHER’S CONDITION CRITICAL. PLEASE REPORT TO WARD C. Her heart dropped. She jumped to her feet. “Mum!” An hour later, she sat beside her mother’s bed. The machines beeped steadily. Her mother looked smaller than ever. Fragile. Tired. Dying. Amara forced a smile. “You scared me.” Her mother squeezed her hand weakly. “You look exhausted.” “I’m fine.” “Liar.” Amara laughed despite the tears threatening to fall. “I’m working.” “Too much.” “It’s temporary.” Her mother studied her face. “Don’t destroy your future trying to save me.” Amara looked away. Because she already was. Near midnight, she arrived at Carter Tech Tower. Her second job. Cleaning offices. The billionaire employees never noticed her. Which was fine. She didn’t need attention. She needed money. A lot of it. Fast. She pushed her cart down the executive floor. Empty. Silent. Until she reached the corner office. The CEO’s office. She wasn’t supposed to enter while anyone was inside. The lights were off. Good. She stepped in. Then her phone buzzed again. The hospital payment reminder. OUTSTANDING BALANCE: ₦10,000,000 Her chest tightened. Ten million. She slid down beside the desk. And finally broke. A sob escaped her lips. Then another. Then— “What are you doing on my floor?” A cold male voice cut through the room. Amara jumped. Standing in the doorway was Damien Carter. The billionaire CEO himself. Tall. Perfect suit. Perfect face. Perfectly emotionless. His dark eyes settled on her tears. “Sorry.” She wiped her face immediately. “I’ll leave.” He didn’t move. “What happened?” She laughed bitterly. “Why do rich people always ask that?” His expression didn’t change. “My mother is dying.” Silence. “Hospital bills.” Another silence. Then— “How much?” She frowned. “What?” “How much?” “Ten million.” His jaw tightened slightly. The only sign he was even listening. Then he walked toward his desk. Opened a drawer. Pulled out a document. Dropped it in front of her. Amara stared. “What is this?” “A solution.” She blinked. “What?” Damien sat down. Calm. Controlled. Like he was discussing quarterly profits. “I need a wife.” The words stunned her. “What?” “You need ten million naira.” “Are you insane?” “Probably.” He folded his hands. “But the offer stands.” Amara stared at him. Then laughed. Hard. “You’re joking.” “I’m not.” The laughter died instantly. He slid the document toward her. Contract Marriage Agreement. Her stomach dropped. “You actually prepared this?” “Yesterday.” “Why?” “Because my grandmother is trying to control my life from beyond the grave.” Amara frowned. “What does that even mean?” Damien leaned back. “If I am not legally married for ninety consecutive days before my thirty-second birthday, I lose a fifty-billion-naira inheritance.” Her mouth fell open. “Fifty billion?” “Yes.” “And you’re asking a cleaner to marry you?” “You were available.” She nearly threw the document at him. “You are unbelievable.” “And you’re desperate.” That hit harder than she expected. Her silence told him everything. Damien continued. “No romance.” “No.” “No intimacy.” “Good.” “No public affection unless absolutely necessary.” “Perfect.” “You’ll stay in my penthouse.” Her eyes narrowed. “Absolutely not.” “Guest room.” She hesitated. “Separate lives.” “Separate lives.” “After ninety days, we divorce.” “Yes.” The room grew quiet. Then— “The money?” Damien reached for his phone. “Half tonight.” Her breath caught. “The rest after the wedding.” Ten million. Her mother could live. Ten million. Her future wouldn’t matter if her mother died. Ten million. Her hands trembled. Thirty minutes later, they sat across from each other in the conference room. The contract lay between them. The pen felt heavier than a brick. Amara stared at the signature line. This was madness. Marriage wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Not in a business contract. Not for money. Not with a stranger. Her throat tightened. “This feels like selling myself.” For the first time all night, Damien’s voice softened. “No.” She looked up. “This is saving her.” The words hit somewhere deep. Painful. Because he was right. Slowly, she lowered the pen. Signed her name. AMARA OKOYE The moment the ink touched paper, everything changed. Damien signed next. Then closed the folder. “It’s done.” A strange sadness settled in her chest. She was officially engaged to a billionaire she’d known less than an hour. What could possibly go wrong? Damien opened a small velvet box. Inside sat a wedding ring. Simple. Elegant. Expensive. He slid it across the table. “Wear it.” Amara picked it up. The metal felt cool against her skin. Then something caught her eye. Words engraved inside. Tiny. Almost hidden. She turned the ring closer to the light. And froze. Her blood turned cold. For Ebele. Forever. 2002. Ebele. Her mother’s name. The ring slipped in her trembling fingers. Damien frowned. “What is it?” Amara looked up. Heart pounding. “How…” Her voice cracked. “How do you know my mother?” His expression hardened. “I don’t.” She held up the ring. Then Damien saw the engraving. And for the first time that night— The billionaire looked shocked. “That’s impossible…”