STOLEN BY THE BILLIONAIRE

Episode3: TheBlogger

Chapter Three: The Blogger

Amara woke up to cameras in her face.

She screamed, pulling the duvet over her wedding dress — she had fallen asleep in it.

"Relax, madam, it's just for i********:!" A tiny lady with pink hair was already directing a photographer. "I am Toke, lifestyle blogger! Your husband hired me. Five hundred thousand followers will see this!"

Amara looked around frantically. Oliver was leaning against the doorframe in a white t-shirt and sweatpants. Without a suit, he looked younger. More human. And annoyingly handsome.

"You didn't wake me," she hissed at him.

"You looked tired. And you were drooling on my mother's antique sheets."

"I was not drooling!"

Toke clapped. "Yes! This bickering! This is what married couples do! Love it! Now kiss! Oliver, carry her!"

"No," Oliver and Amara said at the same time.

Oliver walked over and pulled Amara gently to her feet. "We will not kiss for your blog. We will take one decent photo."

He placed a hand on her waist. Even through the thick wedding dress, the heat of his palm burned.

"Smile, Amara," he whispered, close enough that the camera couldn't hear. "Or they will say Daniel broke you."

That word — broke — made her lift her chin. She smiled. Not her customer care smile. A real, dangerous smile.

Oliver stared for a second. His hand tightened on her waist.

Click. Click. Click.

"Perfect! Caption: Morning after! Billionaire wife still in wedding dress! So in love they couldn't change!"

After the blogger left, Amara locked herself in the huge bathroom. She peeled off the wedding dress finally. Under it, she wore plain white shorts and a bra. In the mirror, she barely recognized herself. Her eyes were swollen.

There was a soft knock. "Amara? Clothes are in the closet. Pick something for breakfast."

He had bought her clothes? She opened the walk-in closet. It was full — not second-hand, not cheap — silk dresses, shoes still in boxes, all in her exact size.

"How did you know my size?" she shouted through the door.

"Jessica left your measurements at the tailor's shop when she was planning to steal your dress. I kept the paper," Oliver said from the other side. "Don't read meaning into it."

She picked a simple yellow gown. When she came out, Oliver was already downstairs with coffee and two plates of yam and egg sauce.

"You cooked?" she asked.

"Mama T cooked. I just didn't want you to claim I was starving my fake wife."

They ate in silence. It was awkward until Oliver's phone rang.

On speaker, a lawyer's voice: "Sir, Daniel just landed in London. He tried to use the company card. Declined, as you ordered."

"Good. Freeze his account," Oliver said.

Amara dropped her spoon. "You froze his account? He has nothing in London!"

"He has Jessica. That's enough," Oliver said coldly. "He stole from my company, Amara. I don't forgive theft."

She should have felt pity for Daniel. She felt nothing. Only relief that someone was finally punishing him.

After breakfast, Oliver handed her a black card. "Ten million allowance. Pin is your birthday. Don't spend it all at once."

Amara held the card like it would burn her. She had never held one million, let alone ten.

"I can't take this," she said.

"You already signed that you would," he said. "And Amara?"

"Yes?"

"My mother is coming for lunch tomorrow. She hates me. She will hate you more because she thinks you married me for money. Prove her wrong."

"But I _did_ marry you for money!"

A small smile touched his lips for the first time since yesterday. "I know. But let's not tell her that."

For a second, they both laughed — a real laugh — and the huge, cold mansion felt a little less cold.

Then Amara's phone buzzed. A text from her mother: _My account just received 500 million. Amara, what did you do??_

Amara looked up at Oliver. He was already looking at her.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He nodded. "Welcome home, Mrs. Adeyemi."

The words shouldn't have made her heart skip. But they did.