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