The morning light in Lagos didn't care about privacy. It pushed through the curtains anyway, spilling across Amara's side of the bed when she least wanted it. The sheets still smelled faintly of Tade's cologne, a reminder that he'd been there beside her all night but might as well have been miles away.
Her phone buzzed against the nightstand. She reached for it, eyes still heavy with sleep. The screen lit up so bright it made her squint. Dozens of notifications. Mentions. Headlines.
Her heart sank before she even read them.
Trending: #WhoIsShe
"Adeyemi's Mystery Woman"
"New Wife, Old Flame?"
Amara scrolled, thumb trembling. The same grainy photo appeared again and again: Tade, sharp suit, leaning too close to a woman no one recognized. Her face half-turned, elegant in that way that made people pause.
The comments were cruel.
"She looks like she belongs on his arm, not the wife."
"Classic rich men. Never faithful."
"Poor Amara. Marriage of convenience never works."
Others dripped with pity, which somehow hurt worse.
"She's sweet, but she can't compete with that."
"She's temporary. Just wait."
Amara tossed the phone onto the dresser like it burned her. Her stomach knotted, a wave of heat climbing her chest. She pressed her palm to her forehead, trying to steady herself.
From the bathroom came the hiss of the shower. Tade, as calm as ever, carrying on like their world wasn't plastered across gossip blogs.
She lay back against the pillows, questions circling in her head like vultures. Who was the woman? Why hadn't he told her? Why did he always keep doors shut and expect her to live with the mystery?
The water stopped. Moments later, Tade stepped out, towel at his waist, skin slick with droplets. His face was unreadable, perfectly composed — too composed.
Amara sat up, her voice sharp. "Are you really not going to say anything?"
He rubbed the towel across his head. "About what?"
Her laugh came out bitter. "Don't play dumb."
His gaze flicked to her phone on the dresser, screen still glowing faintly. He sighed. "It's gossip. Noise. It'll fade."
"Noise?" Her throat tightened. "They're calling me a placeholder, Tade. A fraud. They're saying she—whoever she is—fits better than I do."
His expression cooled. "Since when do you let strangers online decide your worth?"
"I don't!" Her voice cracked, louder than she meant. "But maybe I'd like to know if my husband is secretly seeing someone else. Is that too much?"
Something flickered in his eyes—anger, maybe hurt—but it was gone in a blink.
"I told you," he said evenly. "Don't believe everything you read."
"That's not an answer."
He didn't reply. Just turned, pulling a shirt from the wardrobe, sliding into it with mechanical neatness. She stared at him, fury rising, but words failed.
She pushed off the bed, stormed toward the balcony, and slammed the glass door behind her. The sound echoed through the house like a gunshot.
Breakfast was no better.
The staff moved quietly, laying plates of akara and yam fries, refilling juice glasses. Normally, Amara might have taken comfort in the smell, in the rhythm of morning in Lagos. Today every bite tasted like ash.
She picked at her food. Across the table, Tade scrolled through his emails, face lit by the screen.
Finally, she broke. "Do you even care?"
He didn't look up. "About what?"
"About me. About us. About the fact that I'm being torn apart out there while you sit here like it's nothing."
He set his phone down, eyes narrowing. "Because it is nothing. People's opinions don't build companies or pay bills. They don't matter."
Her grip tightened on her fork. "They matter to me. I'm the one being dragged through the mud, not you."
His tone hardened. "This isn't about you, Amara. It's about the image. The moment you show them they've rattled you, you've already lost."
She pushed her chair back with a scrape. "So I'm supposed to smile while they crown someone else as the woman who really belongs with you?"
He stood, sliding his phone into his pocket. "I have meetings."
And just like that, he was gone.
She tried calling Chika that afternoon. Her thumb hovered over the green button, but panic struck before the call connected. What could she say? Hey, I married a billionaire on paper and now I'm drowning in rumors about his ex?
She ended the call before Chika answered.
She tried Mama instead. Her mother's voice was warm, steady, grounding in a way Amara desperately needed.
"Hold on, my daughter," Mama said softly. "This storm will pass."
But what if it didn't?
When Amara hung up, the house felt cavernous. Glass walls, marble floors, expensive silence. She had never felt smaller.
The charity gala invitation arrived that evening.
Amara almost refused, but Tade insisted. "We have to show face. End the chatter."
So she wore the midnight-blue gown the stylists had chosen, diamonds heavy at her ears, smile painted on like armor.
The ballroom glittered with Lagos elites, cameras flashing the moment they entered. Amara's steps faltered when she saw her.
The woman from the photo.
Tall. Elegant. Dressed in crimson that caught every eye in the room. Her smile, when it found Amara, was slow and deliberate.
Whispers rippled instantly. Phones lifted.
Vanessa walked toward them with the confidence of someone who'd never been told no.
"Amara, isn't it?" Her voice was smooth, her hand extended. "I've heard so much about you."
Amara took the hand, though her pulse raced. "And you are?"
"Vanessa." Her smile sharpened. "An old… friend of Tade's." Her fingers brushed his arm as she said it, casual to everyone else, deliberate to Amara.
Tade's jaw tightened. "We go way back."
The words cut deeper than they should have.
"How nice," Amara said coolly, withdrawing her hand.
Vanessa's eyes glittered. "Enjoy the evening, Mrs. Adeyemi."
She glided away, leaving behind a storm of whispers.
Amara turned on Tade, fury bubbling. "What the hell was that?"
"Not here."
"Of course," she snapped. "Always later. Always silence."
His voice dropped low, dangerous. "I said not here."
The warning in his tone silenced her, but inside she burned.
The car ride home was suffocating. Lagos lights smeared across the tinted glass. Amara sat rigid, arms folded. Tade stared out the window like she wasn't there.
Finally, she broke. "That was her, wasn't it? The woman in the photo."
"Yes."
The single word winded her.
"And you weren't going to tell me?"
"There was nothing to tell."
She laughed, sharp. "The city thinks you're still in love with her. She touches you like she still owns you. And that's nothing?"
He turned then, eyes flashing. "Because it's irrelevant."
Her voice rose. "Irrelevant? Everyone saw it, Tade. Everyone felt it."
His mask cracked. "Don't twist this. Vanessa is in the past."
"Then why not say so earlier?"
"Because you don't need to know every detail of my past!" His voice finally snapped. "This marriage isn't about love and confessions. It's a deal, Amara. Nothing more."
The words hit like a slap.
Her throat tightened. "That's all I am to you? A deal?"
For a split second, regret flickered across his face. Then it was gone.
The silence after that was unbearable. Amara turned to the window, refusing to let him see the tears stinging her eyes.
By the time they reached the house, her hands shook. She stormed upstairs, slammed the bedroom door, and only then let herself break.
The next morning, it wasn't Tade who came knocking.
It was his mother.
Mrs. Adeyemi swept into the bedroom like she owned it. Her perfume filled the air, her expression carved from ice.
"Sit."
Amara sat.
"I warned you," Mrs. Adeyemi said. "Your little outburst, and now this scandal with Vanessa? You're dragging this family's name through the mud."
Amara's fists curled. "I didn't create that photo. I didn't invite her. I'm not the one with ghosts showing up at galas."
The older woman's eyes narrowed. "Careful. You may be wearing my son's ring, but rings can come off."
The words sliced. Amara's chin trembled, but she lifted it anyway. "I won't be bullied. Not by you. Not by anyone."
Something unreadable flickered in Mrs. Adeyemi's gaze before she turned. "This world eats the weak alive. Learn that quickly."
She left without another word.
By afternoon, the PR chief had arrived. Sharp suit, folder under his arm, eyes grim.
"This is spiraling," he said. "The photo. The dinner. Vanessa. The press smells blood. If we don't control the narrative now, it'll bury you both."
Amara sat stiffly. Tade leaned back, jaw clenched.
"We need a joint interview," the man continued. "A united front. Sit down, answer questions, show the world you're unshakable. If you don't…" He spread his hands. "Divorce will look inevitable."
Amara's stomach dropped. An interview. Lies packaged as truth.
Tade finally spoke. "Schedule it."
Her heart sank.
For the first time, she realized they'd have to fight this storm together.
Even if it meant pretending.