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### **5. The Ice and the Flame**
The handshake was brief.
Cold.
Professional.
Unreal.
Amara pulled her hand away the moment their palms parted, wiping the ghost of his touch on her jeans. Everything about him screamed distance—his voice, his eyes, his very presence. It made her skin tingle and itch at the same time.
Damian sat back down and typed something into his laptop.
> "My assistant will handle your relocation. I expect you to move in tomorrow morning. You'll receive a stipend weekly—no need to ask."
> "So I'm to live like your caged wife and smile for the camera?"
> "Only when required."
She tilted her head. "What happens when people start asking why you married someone like me?"
His fingers paused over the keyboard.
> "Then we'll let them wonder."
---
### **6. Adaora's Tears**
The estate in Ikoyi was nothing like Amara had imagined.
It wasn't loud or flashy. No gold-plated gates or fountains. Instead, it was... controlled. Clean lines. Black stone walls. Dark glass. Power disguised as restraint.
When the car pulled into the circular driveway, her stomach knotted.
She glanced at Adaora, sitting beside her with wide eyes.
> "Ama... this house is bigger than our entire street."
> "It's just temporary," Amara murmured.
> "You said we were moving into a friend's place."
> "A... very rich friend."
Adaora squinted. "Is that why you're wearing a new wig and those borrowed shoes?"
Amara gave a tired smile. "Don't ask too many questions. Just... trust me."
A tall woman in a pencil skirt greeted them at the door with a practiced smile. Her name was Zainab, Damian's personal assistant. She led them through the glass doors into the marble-tiled hallway, explaining rules like a boarding school matron.
No wandering. No photography. No gossip.
> "You'll have the guest wing. Fully furnished. Your sister will be enrolled in a nearby school. You'll have access to a private study space for your remote classes."
Amara nodded numbly.
That night, after Adaora had bathed in a bathroom bigger than their old sitting room and curled into the imported sheets, she whispered:
> "Ama... are you in trouble?"
Amara swallowed.
> "Yes."
> "Can I help?"
> "You are helping. Just by being here."
Adaora turned away, blinking back tears she didn't want her sister to see.
So did Amara.
---
### **7. The Paper Wedding**
Three days later, Amara stood in front of a mirror in a quiet registry office in Lekki, dressed in a fitted ivory gown with long sleeves and no lace.
It wasn't a wedding.
It was a **transaction**.
The press didn't know. His staff didn't attend. Only Zainab, Adaora, and two of his lawyers.
Damian wore a dark grey suit. No boutonnière. No smile.
When the officiant asked them to say "I do," Damian responded with a nod, not even turning his head.
Amara felt her throat tighten.
This wasn't how she imagined her wedding would be. No vows from the heart. No tears of joy. Just the sound of pens scratching on documents and a flash of a camera from Zainab's phone—for record keeping.
After the ceremony, they walked out into the sunlight as man and wife.
Or at least, that's what the paperwork said.
> "You may now kiss the bride," the officiant said politely, as if it mattered.
Damian turned to Amara, cool eyes scanning her face. She stiffened.
He leaned forward slowly, brushing the barest, coldest kiss onto her cheek.
> "Contract fulfilled," he whispered.
Her stomach turned.
---
### **8. The Public Reveal**
Three weeks passed.
Amara resumed classes online, keeping to her corner of the house like a ghost. She rarely saw Damian except for scheduled check-ins once a week—discussing bills, logistics, legal questions.
He was always polite. Always distant.
Their paths never crossed unnecessarily.
Then, one Friday evening, Zainab entered her study without knocking.
> "You're needed at the Lagos Law Society Gala tonight."
> "What?"
> "Mr. Stone wants to make the marriage public. You'll be accompanying him. Dress formal."
Amara stood up, heart hammering.
> "But—why now?"
> "Because the press is already digging. Better to control the story than fight it."
Four hours later, Amara stepped out of a car in front of a golden-lit hotel ballroom, dressed in a sleek black gown that clung to her like truth. Her makeup was done by a professional. Her hair flowed like silk. She felt like someone else.
Damian took her hand before the cameras flashed.
> "You don't have to smile," he murmured.
> "Good. I wasn't planning to."
They walked in together, arm in arm.
Gasps.
Whispers.
People turned, blinking in disbelief. *The Ice Lord is married? To her?*
Amara kept her head high, her expression unreadable.
She was no longer the girl fighting eviction or hiding from shame.
She was Mrs. Amara Stone now.
Even if the title meant nothing.
---
### **9. The Warning**
Later that night, after the gala, she stood by the window of her room, watching the distant lights over the lagoon. Damian walked in, uninvited.
He leaned against the doorframe, removing his watch.
> "You handled yourself well tonight."
> "Thanks. I practiced pretending in the mirror."
He didn't smile. He never did.
> "The press will be watching now. We keep the appearances up. No unnecessary drama."
> "You say that like I'm the one who starts fires."
He tilted his head.
> "Don't forget, Amara—this is business. That's all it'll ever be."
She turned fully to face him.
> "Then you should stop looking at me like I'm more than that."
A pause.
He said nothing. Just left.
And for the first time since signing the contract, Amara realized something terrifying:
He *had* been looking at her differently.
And so had she