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.

KIMANI

The first thing I noticed when I opened my eyes was silence. Not the kind of silence that feels empty or lonely, but the kind that feels intentional—like someone was waiting.

And then I saw her.

The maid from yesterday—Danielle—stood a few steps away from the bed, her posture perfectly composed, her hands folded in front of her. She wasn’t fidgeting. She wasn’t impatient. She was simply… waiting. For me.

“Good morning, ma’am,” she said softly as soon as I stirred.

For a second, I forgot how to breathe. People usually didn’t wait for me. They moved on with their lives, their priorities, their schedules. I did need anyone to wait on me like I am some 16th Century lady,or princess who does not even lift a hand for most of her life. It was overwhelming in a way I couldn’t explain.

I sat up slowly, pulling the sheets around me, my throat a little tight. “You didn’t have to stand there all this time.”

“It’s my duty, ma’am,” Danielle replied, her expression calm.

I winced at the “ma’am” again. Yesterday, I had told her to call me Kimani, but clearly that hadn’t sunk in. Or maybe it was impossible for her to separate me from the role I had accidentally acquired—the role of Alaric Walker’s wife.

Wife. The word felt foreign, like a costume two sizes too big.

Danielle continued, “Mr. Walker asked me to assist you in getting ready. Clothes have been prepared for you.”

I blinked, unsure I heard right. “He… asked?”

She nodded.

That simple detail lodged itself in my chest like a tiny thorn. He hadn’t just left me behind to fend for myself. He had thought about me. Made arrangements. Considered me enough to alter his routine.

For a man I still barely knew, that thought felt dangerous.

“Right,” I murmured, forcing my legs over the side of the bed. “Let’s get this over with.”

---

The clothes waiting for me were nothing like the ones I usually wore.

At home, I lived in sundresses and soft sweaters, jeans and tops. They were clothes that spoke of comfort, not status.

But the outfit Danielle laid out was different. Tailored trousers in ivory, a cream blouse with subtle detailing at the cuffs, and soft nude flats that somehow managed to look expensive without trying. Everything about the ensemble screamed effortless elegance.

When I slipped into it, I didn’t recognize myself. My reflection looked… polished. Like someone who belonged to the world of boardrooms and cameras.

Like someone who belonged to him.

Danielle pulled my hair back into a loose twist, leaving a few strands framing my face. I kept staring at the girl in the mirror. She looked composed, sure, but beneath the surface, my pulse raced with nerves.

This wasn’t me. This was Mrs. Walker.

And I didn’t know how to carry her yet.

---

The car ride was surreal.

Alaric sat beside me in the back seat, dressed in one of his immaculate suits. Everything about him screamed precision—his posture, his focus, the way he scrolled briefly through his phone before setting it aside.

I wanted to ask why he hadn’t gone ahead without me. I wanted to ask why he had waited. But the words stuck in my throat.

Instead, I stared out the tinted window, watching the city blur past. The streets looked the same as always—yellow cabs honking, people rushing, vendors calling out—but they felt different from behind this car’s glass. As though I was separated from it all, part of some other world now.

At one point, I caught our reflections in the window. Him, perfectly at ease. Me, trying not to fidget with the hem of my blouse. We looked mismatched, like two characters forced into the same play.

And yet, when our eyes met briefly in the reflection, something in my chest tightened.

He wasn’t cold this morning. Reserved, yes. Controlled, absolutely. But not cold.

---

Walker Enterprises.

I’d seen pictures of the building before—it was hard not to, considering how often it appeared in the business news. A tower of glass and steel, sleek and unapologetically modern, rising high enough to catch the morning sun.

But stepping through the doors was something else entirely.

The lobby was vast, polished marble floors reflecting golden light, floor-to-ceiling windows flooding the space with brightness. Every detail whispered wealth and power, down to the faint scent of expensive cologne and fresh flowers arranged on sleek black tables.

People moved with purpose, their suits crisp, their expressions focused. This was a place of ambition, of endless motion. And into that world, I walked on Alaric’s arm.

The shift was immediate.

Conversations dipped into silence. Eyes followed us, wide with shock. The receptionist’s voice wavered as she greeted him, her gaze flicking to me again and again, like she couldn’t believe I was real.

My pulse pounded in my ears. I wasn’t used to being watched. Not like this. Not with curiosity and judgment rolled into one heavy stare.

Then I felt it.

His hand, steady and firm, at the small of my back.

Guiding me. Claiming me.

And then his voice cut through the silence like a blade.

“My wife will be joining me today.”

Seven simple words. Yes, I counted.

But the way he said them—calm, assured, leaving no room for argument—was enough to still the air in the entire lobby.

Whispers buzzed just at the edge of hearing. Staff who would never have dared to gossip aloud in front of him exchanged fleeting glances, their shock palpable.

I froze. My wife.

Hearing him say it out loud, in front of all these people, did something strange to me. On one hand, it made my stomach twist with nerves. This wasn’t a role I had trained for. I didn’t know the rules of being Alaric Walker’s wife in public.

On the other hand… it wrapped around me like armor.

He hadn’t left me to stand awkwardly at his side. He hadn’t introduced me like a burden or a stranger. He had announced me as his wife. His equal.

For a woman who had always felt replaceable, forgettable, that declaration hit harder than I expected.

I lifted my chin slightly, though my cheeks burned under the scrutiny. If I was going to be Mrs. Walker in this moment, then I would stand tall, even if my knees felt weak.

Alaric didn’t look at me. He didn’t need to. His presence was enough. The way he said my wife was enough.

And for the first time since the wedding, I felt a flicker of something I hadn’t felt in days.

Not humiliation. Not dread.

Something dangerously close to pride.

---

The elevator doors closed behind us, sealing us off from the sea of stares. I exhaled shakily, realizing I’d been holding my breath.

Alaric’s reflection in the stainless steel panel was calm, unreadable as ever.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I whispered before I could stop myself.

He finally looked at me, his gaze steady, unreadable. “Do what?”

“Announce me. Like that.”

His brow lifted slightly. “You are my wife. They needed to hear it from me. Clear and undeniable.”

I swallowed, my heart beating too fast. “Still… you didn’t have to.”

His lips curved—just barely. “Kimani, I don’t do things I don’t intend to.”

The way he said my name… low, deliberate, like it belonged to him now.

The elevator hummed upward, but I barely felt it. All I felt was the weight of his words settling into me, dangerous and warm.

For better or worse, my life had changed. And walking beside him, in front of the world, I couldn’t tell if I was terrified… or if some reckless part of me was ready to see what came next.

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open to reveal Alaric’s office floor—a realm of glass, steel, and quiet authority. The hum of printers and soft murmur of conversations filled the space. People moved with purpose, pausing briefly when they saw him enter. Even from a distance, their respect—and their fear—was tangible.

Alaric didn’t break stride. He walked confidently, long strides eating up the polished floor. I followed, trying to match his pace without tripping over my own nerves. My heart hammered in my chest, and I caught myself glancing around at the staff, sensing their wide-eyed stares.

“Kimani,” Alaric said as we approached his office. His voice was calm, commanding, yet there was a subtle softness when he addressed me. “You can sit here. Anywhere. Do what you like.”

The words were simple, but they carried weight. Freedom. Autonomy. In a world where I had been pulled, pushed, and overlooked, the idea that I could choose what to do in the very heart of Alaric Walker’s empire felt… surreal.

“Anywhere?” I repeated softly, a small, incredulous smile tugging at my lips.

“Yes,” he replied. “This is your space too, henceforth.”

I stepped inside, letting the door close behind me. The office was massive, floor-to-ceiling windows letting in the morning sun, the walls lined with shelves of leather-bound books and awards that gleamed under the light. A large mahogany desk sat at the center, but it wasn’t intimidating—Alaric had left enough space around it that it felt almost inviting, in a strange way.

I perched on the edge of one of the soft leather chairs near the window, taking it all in. The reality of the situation—the audacity of the morning, the whirlwind of yesterday—settled over me like a heavy cloak. My fingers drummed nervously on the armrest as I tried to figure out what to do next.

And then, almost instinctively, I reached for my phone.

Time to say hello for the day to my dad and my friends, those three misfits will spam the group chat if I do not update them on time.

I opened my dad’s chat first, my thumb hovering for a moment before typing.

K: Hi, dad.

Papa: Princess

How are you?

I smiled faintly, despite the tight knot in my stomach.

K: I’m okay. Really. I’m… actually at Alaric’s office.

There was a pause before his response came.

Papa: At his office? Are you sure you’re okay? Being in a place like that?

K: I am, papa. He’s… he’s not the person you might think. I’m fine.

Papa: Sweetheart, just… take care of yourself, alright? Remember, you have me, and your friends.

K: I know. I promise.

I put my phone down for a moment, letting his words sink in. The tension in my shoulders eased slightly. Even if everything around me felt unfamiliar, the constant of my father’s care reminded me I wasn’t entirely alone.

Now, for my friends. Right on cue, the group notification began coming in like an avalanche. What's going on??

Malik sent a link to the group, it was to an article, the title bold and glaring at me. "HONEYMOON AT WORK? ALARIC WALKER SPOTTED AT WALKERS ENTERPRISES WITH WIFE, KIMANI."

What the heck