The elevator dinged with a sterile chime, and Amara Wilson stepped out into the top floor of Grey Enterprises — a place that didn't feel like a corporate office, but more like the throne room of a king.
Everything gleamed.
Marble floors. Chrome edges. Glass walls that overlooked the city like it belonged to him.And maybe it did.Because Alexander Grey didn't just own this building — he owned half the city's skyline. Tech, real estate, finance. Every corner of the elite breathed his name like it was a warning.
And now… she was going to marry him.
"Miss Wilson?" a woman's voice said crisply.
Amara blinked, startled. A red-haired assistant approached, dressed in black from head to toe, holding a sleek tablet.
"He's expecting you."Of course he was.
Amara adjusted her simple black dress — the only formal thing she owned — and tried to breathe normally as the assistant led her down a long corridor.Each step echoed like judgment.
The office door opened without a knock.Alexander Grey didn't look up. He was seated behind a massive glass desk, typing something on his laptop with ruthless efficiency.
He didn't greet her.Didn't stand.Didn't even glance her way.Just said
, "Sit," like he was talking to an employee.
Amara swallowed hard and obeyed.The chair was too soft. Too low. It made her feel smaller than she already did.He finally looked up, and for the first time, their eyes met.And everything in her body screamed run.
Alexander Grey was… perfection, in the cruelest form. Dark hair, razor-sharp cheekbones, an emotionless mouth. He had the kind of face sculptors would kill to carve — if they didn't break under the weight of his gaze first.
"I don't have time for small talk," he said. "You've read the contract?"
She nodded once.
"Any questions?"
"Just one: What kind of man turns a woman into a business transaction?".But she didn't ask.Instead, she whispered, "Why me?"
He closed his laptop and leaned back, his expression unreadable. "Because you need the money. And I need a wife. It's a fair trade."
Her face flushed with shame, but he didn't stop.
"You're clean. Educated. You have no scandals, no ex-lovers hunting you, and no ambition to cause trouble. You're… average. I like average."
"Wow," she muttered. "Do you give compliments often, or am I just lucky today?"she jokingly asked
Something flickered in his eyes — amusement? Irritation? It was gone too fast.
"Don't get clever, Miss Wilson. This isn't a fairy tale. This is a contract. One year. No physical intimacy. No media drama. You'll smile when needed, speak when spoken to, and disappear when the job is done. Understood?" He said in a voice sounding like she has offended him
Her stomach twisted.This man wasn't just cold. He was ice from the inside out.
Still… she nodded.Because her father was dying. Because hospital bills didn't care about dignity. Because the world wasn't kind to broke daughters with useless degrees and no one left to help.Alexander pushed a thick stack of papers toward her.
"Sign on the last page." He said and her hand hovered over the pen.
One year.
One lie.
One signature to give up who she was.
And in that moment, a memory flashed:
Her father, coughing in his hospital bed, apologizing for being a burden.And she knew that there was no choice.
She signed.
He stood immediately, offering no handshake, no smile, just efficiency.
"The wedding is tomorrow. My assistant will handle the dress, hair, and media instructions. You'll move into the guest wing of my estate. I prefer privacy."
She rose too, fighting the tremble in her knees. "What happens if I… break the contract?"
His lips curved — not a smile. More like a warning.
"Then I'll ruin you."
~~~~
The elevator doors slid shut behind her, but Amara didn't move.She just stood there — stiff, silent, stunned — gripping the contract folder like it was a coffin.The numbers echoed in her head.
One year. One hundred thousand dollars. Zero freedom.She hadn't cried in front of him. She wouldn't give Alexander Grey the satisfaction. But now, standing alone in the steel cage of the elevator, she finally let out a breath.
And broke.Tears spilled silently down her cheeks.
Not because she regretted it — she didn't have the luxury of regret.
But because it wasn't supposed to be like this.Marriage was supposed to be about love. Partnership. Safety. Her mother used to say,
"Marry a man who sees you, even when the world forgets you."
Alexander Grey hadn't even looked at her like a person.She was just a name. A solution.
The elevator stopped on the ground floor, but Amara stayed inside.
The doors tried to close again, then reopened.
And still… she didn't move.
Two Weeks Ago (Flashback)
The hospital hallway smelled like antiseptic and quiet grief.Her father's breathing had been labored that night, and every cough felt like it cracked another part of her ribs. She'd sold her laptop two days before. Her textbooks were gone. She hadn't eaten in 24 hours.
"Amara…" his voice rasped. "You don't have to keep fighting like this."
She grabbed his hand. "Don't say that. I can still get the money. I just… need a little more time."
"There's no time, baby. I don't want to be the reason you destroy yourself."
"You're not. You're the reason I'm still standing."She had smiled, even then. For him.
But when she left the hospital that night, she cried behind a public toilet stall, her phone clutched tight in her hand, staring at the name on the screen: Mrs. Helen Grey,Alexander's mother.The woman who'd made her the offer.
Present
Amara didn't remember how she got outside.The air was thick with Lagos humidity, but it still felt better than Alexander's office — like at least the sky didn't judge her.
She walked, blindly, for blocks. She ignored the stares, the catcalls, the traffic. The world had faded into a dull hum behind the weight of what she'd done.It wasn't until she passed the same fruit vendor twice that she realized she was walking in circles.
She sat on a bench near a closed ATM and wiped her face with the back of her hand.Tomorrow, she would marry a man who couldn't stand to breathe the same air as her.
And it was all for someone she might still lose anyway.
Meanwhile — In Alexander's Mansion
"Are you sure this is what you want?" Helen Grey's voice was soft, but laced with strength.She lay in a hospital bed propped up in the west wing of the Grey estate, her skin pale, her body weak… but her eyes still sharp.
Alexander stood at the window, watching the night fall over the city. He didn't answer.
"Alex," she tried again, gentler this time. "You've always been so distant. So guarded. I worry… that after I go, you'll have no one."
"I have the company. The board. My staff."
Helen gave a tired smile. "So cold. Just like your father."
He flinched, barely. But she noticed.
"This girl — Amara — she's not from our world. She's kind. That matters, Alex. It matters more than money."
He turned slowly. "This isn't about kindness. It's about closure."
"No. It's about fear," she whispered. "You're afraid to let anyone close. Even now, when I'm dying, you'd rather strike a deal than take a chance."
Silence settled between them like fog.
Finally, he said, "The wedding is tomorrow. She signed the papers."
Helen's smile was small, but real. "Then maybe there's still hope."