The flight back from the Maldives dragged on, each hour stretching into the next, clouds and recycled air blurring together. Amara sat by the window, headphones resting on her ears but silent. She stared at the sky as if the endless cotton swells might somehow untangle the mess in her mind.
Clarity never came.
She thought of the storm, the way Tade had looked at her across that candlelit table, the words that had lodged themselves in her chest: "Because you're the only one who doesn't want me."
She wanted to erase them, wipe them from her memory, but they clung, following her into dreams, seeping into waking hours. Hunger and doubt gnawed at her, relentless.
Tade, for his part, seemed untouchable. He tapped away at his laptop, made quiet calls, and moved through the flight with the composure of someone who owned the world. The ease irritated her as much as it fascinated her. How could someone be so unreadable?
By the time the plane touched down in Lagos, Amara was restless. She wanted a shower, her bed, to pretend the whole whirlwind had been a fever dream. But the universe had other plans.
The airport doors slid open, and the world erupted.
"Mr. Adeyemi! Over here!"
"Is it true you married in secret?"
"Mrs. Adeyemi, smile for us!"
"Love at first sight? Or business?"
Flashes of cameras, microphones shoved under faces, phones pointed like weapons. Security surged around them, but chaos still reigned.
Amara froze.
Her first instinct was to disappear, cover her face, shrink into the shadows. But Tade's hand found hers firm, unyielding.
"Smile," he murmured, quiet enough for only her to hear.
"What?"
"Smile. Now."
Her heart thudded, panic rising, but his grip steadied her. She forced the corners of her lips up into a smile. Photographers screamed for more. Tade lifted their joined hands as if showing her off, leaning close to whisper something calculated, knowing the lens would capture it as intimacy.
Her cheeks ached. She hated every second.
Finally, the black SUV swallowed them, doors shutting with a thud that muted the world. Silence enveloped them, but her pulse refused to slow.
"What the hell was that?" she snapped, pulling her hand free.
Tade leaned back, calm as ever. "That was survival."
"Survival? They treated us like exhibits!"
"They always will. Get used to it."
Her throat tightened. Lagos lights streamed past the window, but she saw none of it. Her world had shrunk, suffocating under scrutiny.
By the time they reached the estate, exhaustion wasn't physical. It was soul-deep. She kicked off her shoes and collapsed onto the couch. Her phone buzzed relentlessly. Finally, curiosity won.
Headlines stared back at her:
• "Nigeria's Billionaire Prince Finally Tied Down!"
• "Who is Amara Johnson? The Mystery Bride Behind the Contract Marriage Rumors."
• "Love Story or Business Merger? Experts Weigh In."
Scrolling, she found old photos of herself dug up, analyzed, criticized.
"She doesn't look rich enough."
"Gold-digger vibes."
Her hand trembled.
Tade emerged from his study, sleeves rolled up. "Don't read the comments," he said.
Easy for him. He'd been living in the circus his whole life.
"They don't know me," she said. "And already…" She trailed off, unable to finish.
"Already they think they do," he said quietly.
For a moment, his arrogance faltered. She saw resignation, a battle he'd fought a thousand times. She turned away, hugging her knees. She didn't want his pity. She wanted freedom. Freedom wasn't part of the contract.
Long after Tade had retreated, she lay awake. The glow of her phone reflected on the ceiling. A message from Kemi:
"Girl, is this real?? Tell me you didn't marry him for money."
How could she answer? The truth was messy. Finally, she typed:
"It's… complicated. I'll explain later."
She rolled onto her side, hiding under the blanket, the headlines burning behind her eyelids.
The week was a blur of cameras and noise. Grocery runs required security. Cafés, salons everywhere eyes and whispers. Suddenly, she was trending, not for her work, not for her life, but for her title: Mrs. Adeyemi.
And she hated it.
Hated the stares. The whispered judgments. The constant measurement of her every move. Hated the gnawing doubt within herself.
"Why her?"
"She'll never survive in his world."
"Temporary."
Temporary. She slammed her phone down, knuckles white.
The announcement of a high-society dinner made her stomach twist.
"It's unavoidable," Tade said, buttoning his cufflinks. "My associates will expect us."
"Your associates," she repeated. "Not mine."
"You're my wife, Amara. That makes it both of ours."
The word "wife" sat awkwardly on her skin, like a borrowed dress. "I don't fit into your world," she muttered.
"Then learn to."
The dinner was everything she feared—chandeliers, polished marble, hollow laughter. Cameras flashed discreetly. Heads turned the moment she entered.
Tade's whisper: "Smile."
She did, but inside, she wanted to vanish.
Business partners lingered, sizing her up. One oily man said, "Beautiful. Unexpected choice, Tade."
"Yes," she said, voice sweet, smile in place. "Love doesn't always follow… expectations."
By the third table, whispers cut too deep. When one socialite hinted she wouldn't last, Amara snapped.
"Maybe worry about your own marriage. I hear your husband prefers his secretary's company."
Shock froze the room. Tade's grip tightened. "Enough," he hissed.
"No. Enough is standing here while people insult me."
"Not here," he said quietly, but it was too late. The mask was cracked.
The car ride home was silent, suffocating.
At the estate, she confronted him. "I'm not here to be your trophy!"
"Every move is calculated. Tonight wasn't dinner. It was business. And you… you can't afford to lose control."
"Control. That's all you care about. Controlling me. Controlling everything."
He stepped closer, voice low: "Do you think this is a game? One wrong move and it all collapses."
"Maybe it should. I never wanted this life!"
The words lingered. Silence. Then:
"You're right. You didn't want it. But you chose it."
He retreated, leaving her chest heaving, tears threatening. For the first time, she wondered if this was a mistake she couldn't undo.
Amara pressed against her bedroom door, sliding to the floor. You chose this. For her family, not herself. Some nights, when cameras were off, she asked if it would ever be worth it.
Her phone buzzed. Her mother's name. She answered, voice trembling.
"Amara, are you alright?"
"I don't know, Mama. Everything feels… too much."
"People will always talk. Hold your head high. Don't let them see you break."
"It's not just them. It's him. We're… fighting. I don't know if I can do this."
Her mother's voice softened: "Marriage is never easy. Yours… is more complicated than most."
Amara closed her eyes. "What if I made a mistake?"
"You didn't. You made a choice. Hold on a little longer."
Time. Promise and punishment all at once.
Across the hall, Tade stared at the city skyline. Her words at dinner echoed, louder than any boardroom critique. I never wanted this life.
He tried to shove the thought away. It was business, a contract. Nothing more.
Yet her fire haunted him. He paused outside her door, hand over the handle. For a foolish moment, he wanted to sit with her, to tell her he didn't hate her fire, that maybe… he wanted this to be real.
He walked away.
The next morning, the storm online had grown. Clips of her clapback went viral. Headlines screamed:
• "Mrs. Adeyemi Fights Back!"
• "The Fiery New Wife Shakes Lagos High Society!"
Some cheered her. Most did not.
Then the worst: "Who is the mysterious woman spotted with Tade Adeyemi two weeks before his wedding?"
A grainy photo: Tade, elegant, a woman brushing his arm. Speculation ran wild.
Amara stared. She realized she knew so little about him.
By noon, the estate buzzed. PR called. His mother arrived, sharp and commanding.
"Amara," Mrs. Adeyemi said, eyes like daggers. "That stunt. And now this."
"I didn't cause it," Amara said, bracing herself.
"You fueled it. Lack of composure reflects badly on this family."
Anger flared. "Maybe your son isn't perfect."
Mrs. Adeyemi's gaze froze her. "Be careful. Names can be taken back."
"I won't be intimidated."
That evening, Tade returned, expression unreadable.
"Is it true?" Amara demanded.
He froze. "What?"
"The woman in the article. Was she yours?"
"Don't believe everything you read."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you'll get. The truth doesn't matter in our arrangement."
Her chest ached. She turned away. Cracks were forming in their perfect script.
And in those cracks, feelings she wasn't supposed to have began to grow.