The rain had eased to a drizzle by the time Amara reached home, but her clothes still clung to her skin, damp and heavy. She climbed the narrow stairwell, shoes dragging on the cracked cement. The air smelled of kerosene and fried plantain, the usual perfume of the building.
Their flat sat at the end of the corridor, the door swollen from years of rain. Amara paused, her key in hand, chest rising and falling. She took one deep breath before unlocking it.
"Amara!"
Chike flew into her the moment she stepped in, wrapping his long arms around her waist. His grin made his thin, handsome face glow. Sixteen, all restless limbs and growing muscle, already taller than her.
"You're late again," he said, half-teasing, though his eyes searched her face carefully.
"I know," she muttered, ruffling his hair. "How was school?"
"Good. We started rehearsals for inter-house sports day. Guess what? They picked me for the relay!" His voice cracked with excitement.
Amara smiled, but it hurt. The reminder of that final school fees letter burned in her bag. If money didn't come, his name could vanish from the register before he ever touched that relay baton.
"That's wonderful, Chike," she said, walking past him into the sitting room.
The room was small and tired. The sofa sagged in the middle, the center table wobbled when touched, the television only worked when it felt like it. On the wall hung their only family photo, her mother's face gentle and bright, her arm draped over them both. Amara's chest tightened every time her eyes found it.
"You haven't eaten," Chike said, standing in the doorway.
"I'll eat later. I'm tired." She sank into the sofa, head falling back.
Chike frowned but didn't argue. He disappeared into the kitchen, and silence folded over the room.
Amara's mind replayed the afternoon, Tade Adewale's voice still ringing in her head. Calm, certain "I need a wife. And I want you to be that woman".
Her stomach knotted. Madness. Pure madness. Yet her rent was months behind, Chike's fees overdue, her account balance bleeding from every debit alert. And Tade had slid across the table a folder thick with money, with promises.
Her phone buzzed. She jumped, half-expecting another bank notification. Instead, it was Ifeoma.
Babe, are you alive? You've been quiet since yesterday.
Amara typed back: I'll come over tomorrow.
The next day, she stood outside Ifeoma's apartment in Surulere with a plastic bag of puff-puff and two bottles of soft drink. Ifeoma always said, "Don't bring anything, you need the money more than me," but Amara couldn't show up empty-handed.
The door flew open. Ifeoma appeared in a head scarf and oversized T-shirt, toothbrush hanging from her mouth.
"Woman, you look like you haven't slept in a year," she mumbled, pulling Amara into a hug.
"Good to see you too," Amara muttered with a tired smile.
They settled on the couch, puff-puff between them. Ifeoma's eyes narrowed.
"Talk. You look like bad news."
Amara hesitated, then let the words spill. The café. The proposal. The contract. The money.
By the time she stopped, Ifeoma was staring.
"Wait, You mean the Tade Adewale? Billionaire, ice king, Mr. Tall, Dark and Trouble himself?"
Amara winced. "Yes."
"Jesus is Lord." Ifeoma dropped back, laughing in disbelief. "I swear, rich people and their wahala. They are always thinking of contract marriage."
"It's not funny, Ifeoma."
"I know." She grew serious, leaning forward. "But Amara, this is… big. Like, your whole life can change big."
"I can't do it," Amara whispered. "It feels like selling myself."
"It's not selling, it's surviving." Ifeoma squeezed her hand. "Your brother's future, your rent, your peace of mind sorted. One year of pretense for a lifetime of freedom."
Amara covered her face with both hands. Her chest felt tight.
"Just promise me you'll think about it," Ifeoma said softly. "Don't let pride tie you down when God might be handing you a lifeline."
Meanwhile, in his glass office at Adewale Holdings, Tade sat behind his desk, the Lagos skyline glittering outside. The city pulsed below him, chaotic, alive, unforgiving. Like himself.
He hadn't expected Amara to agree immediately. He respected her resistance. But desperation bent even the strongest eventually. Still, she unsettled him. Her eyes had held something no one else's did: the ability to look past his billions and see the man.
He shook the thought away. This was business. Strategy. And Amara Johnson, whether she liked it or not, was a move he intended to make.
That night, Amara lay awake, the ceiling fan humming overhead. Chike snored softly in the next room, a reminder of why she carried the world on her back.
Her mind ran in circles, her landlord's threats, the school's notice, her mother's tired smile in the photo, Tade's steady gaze.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: You don't have much time. Decide quickly.
Amara froze. Her stomach turned to stone. She didn't need to guess who it was.
Clutching the phone to her chest, she shut her eyes. This wasn't just an offer anymore. It was a crossroad. And whichever way she turned, her life would never look the same.