Contract Wife to the Ruthless Billionaire

The air conditioning was too cold. Amara sat at the edge of the chair with her bag tight on her lap. She had been waiting for almost three hours. Her shirt was still damp from the rain, her shoes were worn out, and inside her pocket was a folded hospital bill that said fourteen days. Fourteen days to find the money for her mother's surgery. Fourteen days or they would send her mother home. "Amara Johnson?" The receptionist did not even look up from her computer. "He will see you now. Forty seventh floor. Do not keep him waiting. He hates being kept waiting." Amara stood up fast. Her legs were numb. The elevator ride was silent. The walls were glass. The higher it went, the smaller the city looked below. She was not here for a job. She was here because her friend Ifeoma worked as a paralegal in this building and Ifeoma had whispered to her two nights ago, "My boss needs a wife. Not a real wife. One year. Contract. He will pay a lot." Amara had laughed that night. Then the hospital called again in the morning. Now she was here. The doors opened. He was standing by the window with his back to her, talking on the phone. Tall. Black suit. Shoulders broad. Everybody who worked in business knew that face. Reuben Cole. Thirty two. Billionaire. They called him ruthless because he never smiled in meetings, never forgave debt, and never gave second chances. " - I don't care if they cry. Sue them. I want that building before Friday." He ended the call without saying goodbye. He turned. His eyes were grey. Cold grey. The kind of grey that makes you forget what you came to say. "You are Amara Johnson. Twenty five. You left university in final year because you could not pay. Your mother is in the private hospital needing kidney surgery. You work two jobs, morning shift at a cafe and night shift at a bar. You owe three months rent. You live in a one room apartment." Amara's mouth went dry. "You checked my background?" "I check everyone who walks into my office," he said. He walked to his desk. He did not offer her a seat. "Ifeoma said you are desperate and you know how to keep your mouth shut. Are you both?" It was insulting how direct he was. "I need money for my mother's surgery," Amara said, her voice shaking. "Ifeoma said you had a proposal." Reuben opened a drawer and slid a thick black file across the desk to her. "Marriage contract." Amara stared at it. She did not touch it at first. "I need a wife for twelve months. Not a real wife. A contract wife. My father died two months ago. In his will, he wrote that I cannot take full control of Cole Group and become chairman unless I am married and settled for at least one year. My board is using that rule to push me out and put my cousin in my place. I need to show them a wife, a stable home, a responsible image before the board meeting on Monday." He said it like he was discussing a business deal. Amara opened the file with shaking hands. The first page was bold. CONTRACT DURATION: 12 MONTHS PAYMENT: Forty thousand dollars. Twenty thousand paid after the court wedding, twenty thousand after the divorce is final after twelve months. Amara stopped breathing. Forty thousand. That was not just hospital money. That was hospital, rent, school fees, debt, everything. More than everything. That was a new life. She forced herself to read the next page. You will live in my residence for the full twelve months. You will follow me to every party, family dinner, and board meeting and act like my loving wife. Inside the house, we are not husband and wife for real. No touching, no romance, no obligation. It is strictly business. You will not have any other romantic relationship during the twelve months. If you embarrass me in public, the contract ends and you will not receive the final payment. Do not fall in love with me. If either of us develops feelings that affect the business, I will end the contract immediately without final payment. After twelve months, we will file for a quiet divorce. You will sign away any right to my house, my company, or any property. Amara read the line again. Do not fall in love with me. He actually wrote that inside a legal contract. "You are serious?" she asked. "I never joke about money, Miss Johnson. Do you want to know why I picked you?" She nodded slowly. "Because you are not from my circle. You are not one of those socialite girls who will try to turn a one year contract into a lifetime marriage for my money. You are not someone my board knows. You are desperate enough to follow rules, and you are educated enough not to embarrass me in front of investors. And," his eyes dropped to her old bag, "you need this more than I do. That makes you reliable." It hurt, but it was true. "What if I say no?" she asked. "Then you walk out of this office now, you go back to your cafe, and you find another way to save your mother in fourteen days," he said calmly. "I will find another girl before four o'clock today. There is a line of girls outside who will take it." He was right. In this city, many girls would kill for this chance. Amara thought of her mother in that hospital bed. Her mother who tried to smile even though her eyes were yellow and she could not stand. She thought of the landlord banging her door every morning. She thought of how she dropped out in final year. "What about... us? In the house? You said no romance, but-" "I have no interest in you that way," he cut her off, cold and final. "I like my women experienced, expensive, and temporary. You are none of those. This will be platonic. You will have your own room. We will be actors for the public. In private, we are strangers sharing a house." The words stung more than they should have. She looked down at the last page. A line for signature. AMARA JOHNSON - CONTRACT WIFE. "Why me and not a professional actress?" she whispered. For a second, something flickered in his grey eyes. Something tired. Something almost human. "Because an actress will fall in love with the lifestyle. You," he looked at her, really looked at her, "you look like someone who just wants to collect the money, save her mother, and disappear after twelve months. That is exactly what I need." He picked up an expensive black pen and held it out to her. Outside, thunder rolled and rain hit the glass. Inside, the billionaire waited. Amara did not know that Monday's board meeting was a trap set to disgrace Reuben and take his father's company. She did not know that Reuben had not slept in two days because his cousin was trying to steal everything. She did not know that this contract that looked like business would scatter her whole life and make her feel things she promised never to feel. All she knew was the pen was cold, the file was heavy, and for forty thousand dollars, she was about to sell one year of her life to a man who just warned her not to fall in love with him. Her hand was shaking, but she reached for the pen anyway. She pressed it to the paper.