The billionaire Lagos bride book

Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The Weight of Gold

​The humidity in Lagos always felt like a thick, wet blanket, but today, it felt like it was suffocating Amaka. She stood in the middle of the cramped living room, the rhythmic creak-creak-creak of the rusted ceiling fan above her doing nothing to cool her skin. It only served as a countdown to the disaster waiting to happen.

​"Amaka, did you hear what the doctor said?" her mother's voice drifted from the small bedroom, thin and brittle like dried parchment.

​Amaka squeezed her eyes shut, her fingers digging into the worn fabric of her skirt. "I heard, Mama. I'm handling it."

​But she wasn't handling it. The medical bill sat on the plastic dining table, the zeros staring at her like mocking eyes. Two million Naira. For a girl who spent her days haggling over the price of fish in the market and her evenings cleaning the offices of people who didn't even know her name, two million might as well have been two billion.

​She walked to the window, looking out at the chaotic street of Mushin. Below, a yellow danfo bus screeched to a halt, the conductor shouting destinations into the dusty air. Life was moving on for everyone else, but for her, it had come to a grinding halt.

​"The landlord was here again," her younger brother, Chidi, whispered as he emerged from the kitchen. He was only ten, but the dark circles under his eyes made him look like an old man. "He said if we don't pay the arrears by Friday, he's throwing our things into the gutter."

​Amaka turned, her heart breaking at the sight of his thin frame. "He won't do that, Chidi. I won't let him."

​"How?" Chidi asked, his voice cracking. "You already work three jobs, and we still don't have enough for Mama's medicine."

​Amaka had no answer. She went to her small bedside table and picked up a crumpled flyer she had found stuck to the windshield of a car she was cleaning yesterday. It was elegant, printed on heavy cream paper that felt like wealth against her calloused skin.

​"NEEDED: A COMPANION FOR A HIGH-PROFILE CONTRACT. DISCRETION MANDATORY. REWARD: LIFE-CHANGING."

​There was no company name. Only a sleek gold logo and a phone number. It felt like a trap, the kind of thing her pastor warned her about. But then she looked at her mother through the half-open door-pale, shivering despite the heat-and then at the eviction notice taped to their front door.

​God, please forgive me for what I am about to do, she prayed silently.

​She grabbed her only "good" blouse-a faded yellow one that she had scrubbed until the stains were almost gone-and her worn-out black flats. She didn't have money for a taxi, so she braced herself for the long trek to the address listed on the back of the flyer. It was in Victoria Island, the land of the gods, where the roads were paved with dreams and the air smelled like expensive perfume instead of diesel fumes.

​By the time she reached the gleaming glass skyscraper, her feet were throbbing and her blouse was damp with sweat. She felt like a speck of dust on a diamond. The security guards at the front gave her a look that said 'You don't belong here,' but when she showed them the gold flyer, their expressions shifted from disgust to a strange, hushed respect.

​"Top floor," the guard said, pointing toward the elevators. "Mr. Sterling is expecting the candidates."

​Candidates. or a piece of meat at an auction?

​The elevator ride was silent and terrifyingly fast. When the doors opened, she stepped onto a plush carpet that swallowed her feet. The office was vast, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling glass that showed the entire Atlantic Ocean. In the center of the room, sitting behind a desk made of dark, polished wood, was a man.

​Alexander Sterling.

​She had seen his face in newspapers, usually captioned with words like 'Ruthless' or 'Cold-Blooded.' But the photos didn't do justice to the sheer power he radiated. He was dressed in a charcoal suit that probably cost more than her entire neighborhood. His eyes, dark and piercing, didn't look at her-they dissected her.

​"Sit," he said. His voice was a deep, smooth baritone that made the hair on her arms stand up.

​Amaka sat on the edge of the leather chair, clutching her bag to her chest like a shield.

​"Name?" he asked, flipping through a folder that she realized was full of photos of beautiful, glamorous women. Women who looked like models.

​"Amaka... Amaka Okoro, sir."

​He finally looked up. For a moment, the world stopped. He didn't look at her outfit or her messy hair. He looked into her eyes with an intensity that made her want to run and stay at the same time.

​"You're late, Amaka," he said, leaning back. "And you don't look like the others. You look like you've been fighting a war."

​Amaka felt a flash of heat-not from the Lagos sun, but from pride. "Because I have been, sir. Some of us don't have the luxury of looking like we spend our days in spas."

​A small, dangerous smile touched his lips. It wasn't a kind smile. "Good. I don't need a doll. I need someone who understands the value of a contract. I need a wife for one year. Someone who can play the part, follow the rules, and disappear when the time is up."

​He pushed a piece of paper across the desk. At the bottom, in bold ink, was the figure.

​Fifty Million Naira.

​Amaka's breath hitched. That wasn't just medicine money. That was 'buy a house for Mama' money. That was 'send Chidi to the best school' money.

​"The catch?" she whispered, her voice trembling.

​Alexander stood up, walking toward the window, his back to her. "The catch is that for the next 365 days, your life belongs to me. You will eat what I tell you, wear what I buy you, and lie to the entire world. You will be the devoted Mrs. Sterling in public, and a stranger in private. Do we have a deal, or are you going back to the 'war' you came from?"

​Amaka looked at the pen on the desk. She thought of the landlord, the doctor, and the cough that shook her mother's chest every night. She thought of the God she served and the life she wanted.

​Slowly, her hand reached for the pen.

​"I have one condition," she said, her voice stronger than she felt.

​Alexander turned, one eyebrow raised in amusement. "A girl in your position making conditions? Bold."

​"My family," Amaka said. "The first payment must be made today. Before I sign anything else, they must be safe."

​Alexander stared at her for a long beat, the silence in the room heavy enough to crack the glass. Then, he nodded once. "Done."

​Amaka gripped the pen and signed her name. As the ink dried, she felt a cold shiver go down her spine. She had just saved her family, but as she looked at the beautiful, icy man in front of her, she wondered if she had just sold her soul to a devil in a designer suit