The hospital corridor smelled like bleach and death.
My hands were shaking as I clutched the bill.
TOTAL DUE: ₦50,000,000
PATIENT: MR. ADEBAYO - CRITICAL CONDITION
Dad needed surgery in 48 hours or he would die.
I had ₦17,342 in my account.
“Miss Adebayo?” The nurse’s voice was cold. “If payment isn’t made by tomorrow, we will discharge him.”
Discharge him to die.
I staggered out of the hospital into the Lagos rain, tears mixing with the water on my face. My phone buzzed. 27 missed calls from loan sharks. Another text: “Pay us or we take your house.”
That was when I saw him.
A black Maybach pulled up in front of me. The window rolled down.
Cold grey eyes. Sharp jaw. A suit that cost more than my entire year’s salary.
Damian Cole.
The Damian Cole.
CEO of Cole Global. The youngest billionaire in Nigeria. 29. Ruthless. The man Forbes called “The Ice King.”
And the man who hated me.
Three years ago, I was a waitress at his company gala. I spilled wine on him. He had me blacklisted from every 5-star hotel in Lagos.
“What do you want, Mr. Cole?” My voice cracked.
He stepped out of the car. The rain didn’t even touch him. Two bodyguards held an umbrella over his head.
“You’re in trouble, Aria.” He said my name like it was poison. “I did my research.”
My blood went cold. “Get lost.”
“Your father is dying. You’re in debt. And in 3 days, I lose my inheritance.”
I stared at him. “What does that have to do with me?”
Damian’s lips curved. It wasn’t a smile. It was a shark’s smile.
“My grandfather put a clause in my father’s will. To get full control of Cole Global, I have to be married. For one year. Legally.”
I laughed. It sounded broken. “So go marry your ex, Selena. She’s been chasing you for years.”
“She wants the company. I don’t trust her.”
He pulled out a folder. Inside was a contract.
I scanned it with blurry eyes.
"CONTRACT OF MARRIAGE
Party A: Damian Cole
Party B: Aria Adebayo
Terms: Legal marriage for 12 months. No intimacy required. Separate bedrooms. In exchange: ₦50,000,000 upfront. Additional ₦10,000,000 at the end of 12 months".
My breath caught.
₦50 Million.
Dad’s surgery. The debt. Everything gone.
“This is insane,” I whispered. “You can’t buy a wife.”
“I’m not buying a wife,” Damian said. “I’m renting one. You play the part. You attend events. You smile for cameras. You don’t embarrass me. And you don’t touch me.”
His eyes raked over me. Wet dress. No makeup. Broken.
“Why me?” I asked. “Out of all the women in Lagos?”
“Because you’re desperate,” he said simply. “And desperate people don’t ask questions. Sign it, and your father gets his surgery tonight. Don’t sign it, and... well.”
He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to.
My phone buzzed again. The hospital.
“Miss, the doctor needs your decision in 1 hour.”
Dad’s face flashed in my mind. The way he worked 3 jobs to send me to school. The way he told me “My daughter will be great one day.”
I couldn’t let him die.
Not for pride. Not for anything.
My hand was shaking so hard I could barely hold the pen.
“One year,” I said. “Then we divorce. No strings.”
Damian’s jaw ticked. “One year.”
I signed.
Aria Adebayo.
The moment the ink dried, Damian snapped his fingers. A bodyguard handed me a black card.
“This has ₦50M. The hospital has already been paid.”
My knees buckled. Relief hit me so hard I thought I would faint. “Thank you”
“Don’t.” His voice cut through me like ice. “This isn’t charity. You’re my employee now.”
He opened the car door. “Get in. We’re going to the courthouse. Now.”
I slid into the Maybach. It smelled like his cologne. Expensive. Cold. Dangerous.
The driver pulled off. Rain hit the windows.
Damian didn’t look at me. He was on his phone, barking orders. “Cancel all meetings. I’m getting married in 2 hours.”
Married.
In 2 hours I would be Mrs. Damian Cole.
The car stopped at the courthouse. Reporters were already there. How did they know so fast?
Damian got out first. Then he turned and held out his hand to me.
I stared at it. That hand had signed away millions without blinking. That hand could destroy me.
But it was also the hand that just saved my dad.
I took it.
The cameras flashed. Damian pulled me close. His arm around my waist was solid. Unforgiving.
“Smile,” he murmured in my ear. His breath was warm. “You’re the happiest bride in Lagos.”
So I smiled. Even though my heart was breaking.
The judge was fast. 10 minutes. Rings. Vows. “I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
And just like that, it was done.
Damian slipped a 10-carat diamond on my finger. It felt like handcuffs.
“Congratulations, Mrs. Cole,” the judge said.
Outside, Damian dragged me to the car. The moment the doors closed, he let go of me like I burned him.
“New rules,” he said, loosening his tie. “One: We live in my house. Two: You will attend company events as my wife. Three: No one can know this is fake.”
“Four,” I said quietly. “Separate bedrooms.”
His grey eyes flicked to me. For a second, something flickered there. Surprise? Amusement?
“Obviously,” he said. “I don’t sleep with gold diggers.”
The word hit me like a slap.
Gold digger.
I wanted to scream that I did this for my dad. That I would rather die than want him.
But I bit my tongue. ₦50M. That was the price of my pride.
We pulled into Cole Mansion 30 minutes later. It was massive. Glass, marble, and cold.
A housekeeper led me to the guest wing.
“This is your room, Ma,” she said. “Mr. Cole’s room is down the hall.”
I dropped my one bag on the bed. It looked pathetic next to the king-size mattress.
My phone rang. The hospital.
“Miss Adebayo, your father’s surgery is scheduled for 8pm. Payment received. Thank you.”
I broke down. Silent sobs. I did it. Dad was going to live.
There was a knock.
Damian stood in the doorway. He had changed into black sweats. Without the suit, he looked younger. And somehow more dangerous.
“The contract,” he said, tossing me a copy. “Read clause 8.”
I flipped to it.
“Party B will not attempt to seduce, manipulate, or develop feelings for Party A. Violation results in immediate termination and repayment of ₦50M.”
I looked up. “I’m not stupid.”
“Good.” He stepped into the room. He was too close. I could smell his cologne again.
“Because the last thing I need is you catching feelings, Aria. This is business.”
Business. Right.
He turned to leave, then paused at the door.
“Oh, and one more thing.”
“What?”
His eyes dropped to my lips for half a second before snapping back to my eyes.
“You will sleep in the guest room. Don’t touch me. Don’t talk to me unless necessary. And don’t...”
He stopped.
“Don’t what?” I whispered.
Damian’s jaw clenched.
“Don’t make me regret this.”
Then he was gone. The door clicked shut.
I was alone.
A married woman.
To the coldest billionaire in Lagos.
And somewhere in the house, my husband was sleeping 3 doors down.
I touched the diamond on my finger and wondered what hell I had just signed myself into.
