KIMANI

After Alaric left, I sat frozen, staring at the door he had disappeared through. My mind spun like a broken record, replaying his words, his eyes, the finality of what had just happened. Married. To him. My wedding day turned into… this.

I pressed my palms against the silky fabric of my dress, grounding myself, though my heart still raced. I didn’t know what to do, what to think, or even how to feel. A mix of betrayal, confusion, and disbelief settled in my chest like a heavy stone.

A soft knock came at the door, polite, careful, almost as if whoever was outside knew I was standing at the edge of breaking.

“Come in,” I said, my voice steadier than I expected.

The door creaked open and a maid slipped inside. She carried a familiar travel bag, one I had used countless times when visiting my father. She set it gently on the couch and gave a slight bow before leaving without a word.

I blinked at the bag. Did Alaric ask someone to collect it from my dad? That is quite thoughtful of him.

I unzipped the bag. Inside were neatly folded clothes, toiletries, and at the very top, my cell phone. I grabbed it like a lifeline, holding it to my chest for a moment before powering it on.

My group chat with Malik, Zendaya and Denise was blowing up. Even though it was just the three of them sending messages, it was so much.

I opened the message box with my dad first.

K - Hi, dad.

P(Papa) - Princess, how are you?

K - I'm breathing.

P - Sweetheart, I'm sorry about Jason.

K - Me too. I'm glad the truth came out before I went all the way.

P - How are you doing right now? With Mr Walker

K - Okay. He just showed me to my room and left me alone.

P - Princess, are you sure you haven't spoken to him before today?

K - No, papa. I'm just as shocked as you are.

P - Let me leave you to freshen up and relax. Talk later.

K - Okay, papa.

After my dad, I finally opened the group chat. My screen lit up with what felt like a hundred messages, each one typed with the urgency only my best friends could bring.

Malik: Babyyy, what the actual hell just happened?!

Zendaya: Kimani, don’t play with us. Did you KNOW Alaric Walker before today?

Denise: Girl, blink twice if you’re being held against your will. I’ll bring my cousins.

I snorted despite myself. My heart was still a mess, but leave it to them to pull out the drama.

K: No, I swear. Today was literally the first time I’ve spoken to him.

Malik: You expect us to believe you got snatched up at the altar like some N*****x special and you didn’t know him before?

Zendaya: Exactly. Why would the billionaire bachelor suddenly decide marriage was the move, today of all days?

Denise: Hold up. Is this a marriage or like… a temporary hostage arrangement?

I laughed out loud, the sound startling in the quiet room. A little weight lifted off my chest, even if it was only for a moment.

K: Guys, relax. I’m okay. Shocked, confused, borderline dizzy, but okay.

Malik: “Okay”? Kimani, you literally just married a man you met THIS MORNING.

Zendaya: Bestie, no offense but… what if he’s a vampire? This has romance novel energy.

Denise: No, vampire would be cute. This has more… mafia vibes. Like, “marry me or else.”

I pressed a hand to my mouth to muffle the giggle that escaped. “You guys are insane,” I whispered.

K: I promise, he didn’t force me. He was calm, polite even. He showed me to this huge fancy room and left me alone.

Malik: Polite kidnappers exist, babe.

Zendaya: We just want to know the WHY. Why you? Why now?

Denise: Also, he’s hot. I think our suffering is worth it.

I hesitated, cheeks warming as my mind flashed to Alaric’s dark eyes, the sharp line of his jaw, the effortless command in the way he spoke. He was… a lot.

K: He’s… decent.

Malik: Girl. DECENT?! That man is on magazine covers. He looks like trouble dipped in chocolate.

Zendaya: Agreed.

Denise: Great. Then the only problem left is you not knowing why your brand-new husband picked you out of billions of women.

I sighed, typing slowly.

K: I don’t know why, but I’ll figure it out. Right now, I just need to breathe.

Malik: Fine. But keep us updated every five minutes.

Zendaya: We love you, pookie.

Denise: And if he breaks your heart, I’m keying his car. Or you can get his credit card and we will max it out.

Their banter drew another laugh from me, a real one this time. My world had turned upside down in the span of a day, but at least some things like my friends’ madness remained the same.

I dropped my phone on the bed and leaned back against the headboard. For the first time since Alaric had walked out, I felt like maybe I could actually breathe.

I stood up and began to take off the wedding dress. Then

I slipped into one of the soft silk robes I found neatly folded at the edge of the bed, definitely not mine. The fabric glided over my skin, cool and impossibly smooth, like something out of a boutique I couldn’t even afford to step into. The robe smelled faintly of lavender and something crisp, expensive.

Freshening up helped, but when I caught sight of myself in the mirror, I almost laughed. My hair was pinned half in, half out, mascara shadows smudged under my eyes, my lips bare. This wasn’t the picture of a newlywed bride. It was the picture of a girl who’d been tossed into a storm she never asked for. I walked into the shower and cleaned up, finally clean I walked back to the room.

A soft knock pulled me from my thoughts. Before I could respond, the door opened, and two maids wheeled in a gleaming silver trolley. My eyes widened. There were trays upon trays of food - grilled salmon, roasted chicken, bowls of pasta, a fresh salad bursting with color, little plates of delicate desserts. My stomach, which had been too knotted all day to even think of food, growled loudly at the sight.

One of the maids gave a small smile and handed me a folded card. “From Mr. Walker, ma’am,” she said softly before they both curtsied and left as quickly as they had come.

I blinked, staring down at the card. My fingers fumbled with the neat fold before opening it.

The handwriting was sharp, precise, and somehow matched him perfectly:

Tell the staff your preferences and any allergies. You won’t need to eat what doesn’t suit you. – A.

I sat heavily on the bed, the card trembling between my fingers. He had thought of this? Thought about what I would eat, what I wouldn’t, what could hurt me? The man who’d barely spoken ten sentences to me had already considered more than Jason had in years.

Jason.

The thought of him made my chest tighten again. He hadn’t even cared if I’d eaten on our dates. Half the time, I had been the one making sure he was comfortable, fed, satisfied. Yet here was Alaric Walker, cold, unreadable, stranger, sending me a literal buffet and making sure I wouldn’t have to explain myself.

I pressed my lips together, pushing the thought away, but a strange warmth unfurled in my chest.

Pulling the trolley closer, I reached for a fork. I wasn’t sure what I wanted, but I knew one thing: I was starving.

I sampled a little of everything, the flavors rich and comforting. By the time I set the fork down, I realized how much calmer I felt, understandable, I love eating anyway.

Leaning back against the pillows, I let out a slow breath.

Married. To Alaric Walker.

Stills feels like a funny dream but I know that it's not.

KIMANI

It was already evening. I thought someone was going to bring me my meal like they did this afternoon. Instead, I got invited to the dining room. I changed into something better and followed the lady out,as we walked, I tried to make conversation. "What's your name?" I asked her. "Danielle, Mrs Walker." She replied. "Please, call me Kimani, that makes me feel like I'm some Richie rich lady." I told her. She only nodded, I hope she does.

The dining room was nothing short of breathtaking. Golden chandeliers hung low, their light bouncing off polished marble floors and the glossy mahogany table that seemed to stretch endlessly. A table that could easily seat a dozen people but tonight, only two places were set.

My sandals clicked softly against the floor as I made my way to the chair on the right side of the one at the head. The seat at the head was already occupied.

Alaric sat there, poised, his posture relaxed but commanding. His phone was in his hand, his sharp gaze fixed on the screen, as though the world outside me required his attention more than anything else.

I slid into my chair, my hands folding nervously in my lap. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the quiet tap of his thumb against the screen.

Then, as if sensing my unease, he placed the phone face down beside his plate. The action was subtle but deliberate—like he was telling me, you have my attention now.

Immediately, the maids stepped forward in seamless coordination, uncovering silver domes and serving dishes. Steam and rich aromas filled the air—seared steak, buttered vegetables, creamy pasta, roasted potatoes. My stomach tightened with a mix of hunger and nerves.

One of the maids leaned toward me with a polite bow. “What would you prefer tonight, ma’am?”

I blinked at the sheer variety, pointing carefully at a few things. “The pasta… and some of the vegetables, and a little of the potatoes please. Oh, and just a little chicken.”

She nodded, piling the food gracefully onto my plate before stepping back.

Once both our plates were served, silence lingered between us for a few bites. It wasn’t uncomfortable exactly, but it wasn’t easy either. The sound of cutlery against china echoed in the vast room.

Then, his voice came—low, calm, steady. “What do you want to do, Kimani?”

I froze, my fork pausing halfway to my lips. His gaze was on me now, unwavering, the kind of look that stripped away every excuse or deflection.

“What do I… want to do?” I repeated slowly.

“Yes,” he said, his tone unreadable. “With your time. With yourself. You’re not bound by anything here. Not by me.”

I exhaled, setting my fork down. “Honestly? I hadn’t thought about it. I was supposed to be on a honeymoon for the next three weeks.” The words slipped out before I could stop them. My lips twisted with irony. “But obviously, that’s not happening anymore.”

His expression didn’t change much, but I caught the faintest flicker in his eyes. Maybe pity. Maybe understanding.

“I’m on break,” I continued more softly. “Three weeks off work. I don’t even know what to do with myself now.”

He leaned back in his chair, regarding me carefully. “Then you’ll rest. And when you decide what you want to do with your days, tell me. I’ll make the arrangements.”

The casual certainty in his words made my pulse skip. He said it like there were no limits, like anything I wanted could be done if I only asked.

I toyed with a bite of pasta, chewing slowly, my thoughts churning. Alaric’s calmness made it impossible to read him, yet it also made me… braver somehow.

Finally, I set my fork down and lifted my gaze to him. “If I’m going to be your wife, even if it’s sudden and unconventional, shouldn’t I at least know you a little?”

One dark brow lifted slightly. “Know me how?”

I tilted my head, shrugging lightly. “Your favorite color. The food you like. Something as simple as that. Right now, you’re still a mystery. And I hate not knowing.”

His lips twitched—almost a smile, but not quite. “Most people prefer the mystery.”

“Well, I’m not most people,” I shot back before I could stop myself. The words came out bolder than I felt.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows lightly on the table, studying me as if I’d just said something worth dissecting. “Then how do you propose to know me?”

I hesitated, then a spark of mischief bubbled up, surprising even me. Maybe it was the surrealness of the day, maybe it was the food finally calming my nerves, but the words spilled out before I could second-guess them.

“A game,” I said.

His eyes narrowed slightly. “A game?”

“Yes.” I leaned back in my chair, folding my arms with mock seriousness. “We take turns asking questions. Simple ones. Nothing too invasive. And we both have to answer honestly.”

The silence stretched for a beat. His gaze was unreadable, the air between us charged.

Then, to my absolute shock, his lips curved. Not the faint twitch I had seen before, but an actual smile—small, controlled, but real. “You want to play a game with me?”

I nodded, my heart hammering. “Unless you’re scared.”

His eyes glinted, sharp and amused. “I don’t get scared.”

“Then prove it,” I said, a tiny grin tugging at my lips.

He sat back again, his presence filling the vast room as if the walls bent to his will. “Fine. After dinner.”

A flutter of anticipation rushed through me. I had no idea what I was getting myself into, but for the first time that day, the heaviness in my chest eased. For the first time, I felt something other than confusion or dread.

For the first time… I felt curious.

We finished the dinner and Alaric led me to another room. It was filled with shelves filled with books, and antiques. We took our seats in a soft single sofa facing each other. The maids came in and placed plates of dessert on the table between us.

“Let’s begin,” Alaric said, his deep voice threading through the quiet library. I'm calling it a mini library since it has so many books.

I tucked my legs beneath me, leaning forward with an eager smile. “Okay, but I go first since it was my idea.”

One dark brow arched. “Fair enough.”

“Favorite color,” I shot out. “You can’t roll your eyes either, I’m starting simple.”

His lips twitched. “Gray.”

“Gray?” I scrunched my nose. “That’s not even a real color. That’s what happens when black and white get bored.”

For the first time, he actually chuckled—low, brief, but unmistakably amused. “It’s still a color.”

“Fine.” I tapped my chin dramatically. “Okay, your turn.”

He leaned back, eyes gleaming. “Why pasta?”

I blinked. “What?”

“At dinner. Out of everything you could’ve chosen. You picked pasta first.”

I laughed softly, shaking my head. “Because it’s safe. Pasta never lets you down. You can dress it up fancy or just eat it plain, and it still works. It doesn’t… disappoint.”

The moment the word slipped out, I regretted it. His eyes sharpened slightly, but he didn’t press. Instead, he nodded once. “Fair answer.”

“My turn!” I said quickly, desperate to break the heaviness creeping in. “Dogs or cats?”

“Neither.”

My mouth dropped open. “You monster!”

His lips curved slightly. “I don’t dislike them. I simply don’t keep pets. They require trust. And time.”

Something about the way he said it made me pause, but I forced a laugh. “Remind me never to let you babysit.”

His eyes glinted. “Noted.”

The questions bounced back and forth. Silly ones at first: favorite season, whether he preferred coffee or tea, if he could cook anything beyond toast. I learned he hated sweet drinks, liked autumn because it was “quiet,” and could actually make a mean omelet. He learned I loved mangoes, always burned toast, and couldn’t swim.

It felt… normal. Dangerous, almost. Like I could forget everything else if I wasn’t careful.

Then he asked the question that stopped me cold.

“What do you fear the most?”

I swallowed hard, fidgeting with the hem of my robe. My smile faltered. “You’re supposed to start with easy questions.”

“I thought we’d moved past easy.” His gaze was steady, calm, but intent.

I hesitated, then exhaled slowly. “I guess… being unwanted. Giving everything I have to someone, only to find out I was never enough.”

His eyes didn’t waver. He didn’t mock, didn’t pity. He just… listened. And somehow, that was worse because it made my chest ache.

“Your turn,” I said quickly, my voice quieter now. “Same question. What do you fear the most?”

For the first time since we’d started, he looked away. His jaw tightened, his hands folding together loosely. The silence stretched until I almost thought he wouldn’t answer.

Then his voice came, low and rougher than before. “Losing control.”

I blinked. “Control of what?”

His eyes cut back to mine, dark and unreadable. “Everything.”

A shiver slid down my spine at the weight in his tone. This wasn’t just a man who liked to be in charge—this was a man who needed it, like it was stitched into his very skin.

The air grew heavier between us, the dessert plates untouched, the game no longer playful but something else entirely. Something that felt like the edge of a cliff.

I cleared my throat softly, trying to ease the tension. “Guess we’re not exactly playing twenty questions anymore.”

“No,” he agreed, his voice quiet but certain. “We’re not.”

Our eyes locked across the space, and for a heartbeat, it felt like the room was holding its breath.

"And that brings us to the end of it all." I said. "Hmm." he nodded. I looked at the time and saw that it was already quite late, we spent almost two hours in this room.

"Goodnight." I said standing. "Good night, Kimani." he replied.

ALARIC

Ever since I got married to Kimani—on impulse—I’ve been questioning myself.

Impulse is not something I allow. Not in business. Not in life. My world is built on precision, calculation, control. Every move I make is deliberate, weighed for consequence. Yet at the altar, with the whole city watching, I broke my own rule.

Four words. I will marry her.

I hadn’t planned them. I hadn’t even considered them until I saw the betrayal unfold before my eyes—the groom’s smug cowardice, the way the crowd feasted on her humiliation like vultures. And then her. Standing there, shoulders trembling but unbroken, tears streaking her face yet refusing to crumble.

Something about that sight made something in me shift.

I couldn’t explain it then. I can’t explain it now. But in that moment, I acted. I stepped forward, and the words were out before I could stop them.

And now, I have a wife.

I’ve read the headlines already—my assistant made sure I saw them before dinner. “Billionaire Alaric Walker Snatches Bride at Altar.” “From Humiliation to High Society—Kimani’s Shocking Marriage Twist.” A circus, exactly what I avoid. But strangely, I don’t regret it.

I think about her face when I asked her to trust me. The hesitation. The fear. And yet—she said yes.

That yes echoes louder in my mind than the media’s noise.

At dinner, she surprised me again. I expected silence, timid gratitude at best, or nervous chatter at worst. Instead, she challenged me. Boldly. Teasing about colors and pets as though she wasn’t sitting across from a man the city whispers about. She didn’t shrink beneath my stare. She leaned into it.

And then came her answer. Her fear. Being unwanted.

The words dug into me, sharper than I expected. I recognized them, though I’d never admit it aloud. That same hollow truth has lived in me longer than I care to remember. People want my power, my name, my wealth. No one has ever simply wanted… me.

And when she asked about my fear, I gave her the truth. Losing control. Because that’s the one thing I cannot afford. Control is safety. Control is survival. Without it, everything crumbles.

The way she looked at me then… curious, soft, not afraid—unnerved me.

She’s a stranger. Yet she sees more of me in hours than others have in years.

I tell myself it doesn’t matter. This marriage wasn’t planned. It’s a shield, a distraction, a necessary act in the moment. That’s all.

But when I carried her over the threshold, when I watched her laugh softly at her friends’ texts, when she sat across from me and dared to ask questions no one else would, I felt something I hadn’t felt in years.

A crack in the armor.

I don’t know what possessed me to make her mine in front of hundreds of witnesses. But one thing is clear:

Now that she is, I have no intention of letting her go.

The following morning, I was already dressed in one of my tailored suits, breakfast finished in silence, as it had been for years. The clinking of silver against porcelain, the crisp rustle of the newspaper, the stillness of an empty dining room, routine. Predictable. Controlled.

When I left, Evan was waiting with my briefcase. Always punctual, always composed—except this morning. His eyes flickered with something he clearly wanted to swallow back.

“You’re fidgeting, Evan. Speak.”

He cleared his throat. “It’s just that… you’ve just gotten married, sir. Even if it was on impulse, perhaps it would be wise to… embrace the phase. You know, the honeymoon period. The public is watching closely, and your sudden marriage has already shaken the city.”

I hated gossip. Yet even I couldn’t ignore the truth in his words. People were circling like sharks, waiting for the blood in the water, I don't blame them. I married a woman I haven't seen or spoken to before.

“Honeymoon phase, you say?” I murmured, lowering myself into the living room sofa.

“Yes, sir,” Evan replied carefully. “If you’re seen treating her well, publicly, it will silence the doubters before they even gain momentum.”

Silence the doubters. That, I liked. But it wasn’t only about the public. My mind returned to last night—to the look in her eyes when I asked her to trust me, to the way she smiled faintly at dinner as if she hadn’t been left in ruins only hours before. She hadn’t broken. She’d stared back.

"Okay, then. She will be coming with me to the office. Get some outfits ready for her, she needs to look the part." I said.

Evan’s surprise lasted a fraction of a second before he bowed his head. “At once, sir.”

After Evan left, I called the maid I had assigned to her-I don't think she knows yet. "When she wakes up, help her get ready." I told her. And she left after replying.

I remained seated, still and patient, though it was not in my nature. Calls waited, contracts required my signature, meetings ticked closer with every passing minute. My life ran on precision, on time I never wasted. Yet here I was—waiting. Breaking my own rules again.

Two hours later, I heard the sound of light footsteps on the marble staircase. I looked up, and there she was.

Kimani.

She wore a navy-blue blouse and tailored trousers, her hair pinned loosely, elegance in simplicity. Evan had chosen well. The sight of her was like the first breath after a long dive, unexpected, steadying, dangerous.

She caught me staring and frowned faintly. “What’s going on? Why am I so dressed up on your orders?”

I rose smoothly, buttoning my jacket. “Because,” I said, my voice leaving no room for debate, “you’re coming with me. To my office.”

The car was already waiting at the front steps when we walked out. I held the door open for her without thinking—something I never did for anyone—but the small flicker of surprise in her eyes made the gesture worthwhile. She slipped inside, cautious but composed, as though still trying to make sense of her new reality.

The ride was quiet. She kept her gaze on the city beyond the glass, her fingers folded in her lap. I should have been reviewing contracts, preparing for the morning’s meetings, but instead I found myself watching the subtle tension in her shoulders, the way her lips pressed together whenever we stopped at a light and someone outside recognized us.

Let them stare. Let them wonder.

When we arrived at Walker Enterprises, the reaction was immediate.

The moment we stepped into the lobby, the air shifted. Conversations faltered. Phones hovered midway to ears. My employees—men and women who had long perfected the art of working under my shadow—couldn’t disguise their curiosity.

“Good morning, Mr. Walker,” the receptionist stammered, her eyes darting to Kimani, wide with recognition.

My hand rested lightly against the small of Kimani’s back as I guided her forward. “My wife will be joining me today.” The words were deliberate, meant to echo across the marble floor.

Shock rippled like a wave. I saw it in their faces—disbelief, curiosity, the greedy spark of gossip barely contained. No one dared to whisper within my earshot, but I knew the building would buzz with speculation before the hour was out.

Kimani kept her chin lifted, though I caught the subtle rise of color on her cheeks. She wasn’t used to being the center of attention. She wasn’t used to walking beside a man who commanded it.

Good. They would learn. And so would she.

Evan joined us as the elevator doors opened. “Your first meeting is at nine, sir,” he said smoothly, and I caught the respectful glance he threw in Kimani's direction.

I stepped into the elevator, drawing her with me. As the doors slid shut, I caught her reflection in the steel panel, she was nervous, yes, but steady.

She had no idea the storm she’d just walked into.

But she was mine now. And I intended to make sure the entire world understood exactly what that meant.