I woke up before Damien.
The sheets were cool beside me, though I knew he'd only recently stepped out. The faint scent of his cologne still lingered in the air—earthy, clean, and infuriatingly addictive.
I sat up in bed, pulling my silk robe closer around my body, still trying to process what happened the night before.
His kiss.
The one he didn't warn me about.
The one I didn't stop.
The one that made me forget this was supposed to be fake.
I pressed a hand to my chest.
My heart was doing too much.
Downstairs, the house was quiet. Our chef, Bimbo, smiled and gestured to the set breakfast.
"Good morning, ma. Mr. Damien said he'll be working from home today."
That was unusual.
He barely slept in the mansion during weekdays. Always at the penthouse or in a boardroom.
I thanked her, grabbed some toast, and headed to the garden. But I paused halfway through the corridor when I heard his voice behind the study door.
Low. Controlled. Pissed.
"I said I don't care about Fola's threats."
Pause.
"If the investor wants to withdraw, let him. We don't negotiate with extortionists."
Another pause.
"No one dictates the terms of my marriage—not even shareholders."
Marriage.
My name.
Business.
The lines blurred so fast I almost dropped the toast.
He came out of the study minutes later, barely noticing me standing by the pillar.
But when he did, he stopped.
"You heard that?"
"I wasn't trying to," I said quickly.
He nodded. "It doesn't matter."
"Who's threatening our marriage?"
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "An old friend-turned-nemesis. Fola Bamidele. Owns 20% of our Eastern supply chain. He thinks our marriage isn't real."
I froze. "And if he proves it?"
"Then he calls for a board vote to strip me of CEO powers."
"Is that legal?"
He looked at me. "It's corporate legal. Which means it's as dirty as it is effective."
That day, I learned the weight of being a CEO's wife—even a fake one.
The PR team arrived by noon. Cameras. Press kits. Talking points.
"Mrs. Odukoya," Nene said with her usual sharpness. "We need you in full elegance mode. A media interview is being arranged. One-on-one. You'll speak about your love story. Your marriage. The man behind the brand."
I blinked. "I thought we weren't doing fake affection?"
Damien stepped in. "We're not. But this isn't affection. It's strategy."
I almost laughed. "Right. Because emotions don't exist in boardrooms."
But he didn't smile.
And I realized this was serious.
Deadly serious.
Later that evening, I sat on the rooftop balcony, flipping through the media prep notes.
Damien joined me, two mugs of tea in hand.
He offered me one without a word and sat beside me.
"I'm sorry," he said.
That made me look up. "For what?"
"For dragging you into this part of my world. The ruthless part."
"I agreed to the deal."
"You didn't agree to war."
I sipped the tea, staring at the skyline. "What's he got against you, this Fola guy?"
Damien's jaw tensed. "We grew up together. Same schools. Same Ivy League. But I always beat him—academically, socially, financially. He thinks I took what was meant for him."
"Typical male ego."
"It gets worse. He was supposed to marry into the Okonkwo family. But the girl broke it off. Because of me."
My brows rose. "Why?"
"Because she saw me first. And he never forgave me for it."
"Let me guess. He thinks this marriage is another way you're winning."
He nodded.
"So prove him wrong," I said.
He turned to me. "You're the only one who can do that, Zara."
Two days later, I found myself in a high-rise studio downtown, lights beaming at my face, a camera crew setting up, and a popular lifestyle host smiling like she knew everything about me.
Her name was Clara Adebayo. Charming. Ruthless. Known for softening her targets before striking hard.
The red light blinked.
"We're live in three… two… one…"
She turned to me.
"Good evening, Lagos. Tonight, we sit with the most talked-about bride in the country. Zara Odukoya—wife of Damien Odukoya, business magnate, and the man behind the empire."
I smiled on cue.
"Zara," Clara began, "many people say this marriage came out of nowhere. One minute you were a private woman, the next—Mrs. CEO. Tell us, what's it like?"
I paused.
Then answered truthfully.
"It's intense. Not because of the fame. But because love, when real, demands more of you than you're ready to give."
Clara raised a brow. "You're saying you're in love?"
"I'm saying… I'm learning what it means to love someone who doesn't need anyone."
That quieted her for a second.
She tried a different angle.
"Some say your relationship is convenient. A cover. A merger. What do you say?"
I smiled.
"The only convenience is waking up next to a man who sees the world on fire and still keeps me warm."
That line went viral before the interview even ended.
That night, I came home to Damien waiting in the living room, watching the replay on mute.
When I entered, he didn't say anything at first.
Just stood.
Crossed the room.
And kissed me.
Again.
Soft.
Unrushed.
Devastating.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine.
"You said you weren't falling."
"I lied."
He exhaled sharply.
"So did I."
We didn't talk about it again.
Because we didn't need to.
We were shifting.
Morphing.
From contract to chemistry.
From strangers to… something else.
But peace doesn't last long when you're married to power.
The next morning, a letter arrived.
Hand-delivered.
From Fola himself.
Inside was a legal threat.
A court order demanding proof of consummation.
A list of witnesses for deposition.
And a cruel handwritten note:
"Let's see how long she keeps playing the part."