Chapter 4: Silent Battles

Zara sat in the corner of the bedroom, hugging her knees close while reflecting on her father’s past and current health struggles. She scrolled through her phone gallery as she looked through old pictures of her dad. In one, he was laughing with his eyes shut tight, a moment that felt far away now. In another picture, he was deep in thought over a chess game, carefully planning his next move like his life depends on it.

Her eyes were clouded, but she blinked quickly to hold back the tears from falling. She hadn’t expected it to hurt this bad, reminiscing to the good memories while everything else slipped further away each time she visited the hospital. Her father’s smile had grown fragile, stretched thin between the pain and the endless medications.

But there was no time for weakness. Not here. Not with Dami Adeyemi’s cold, calculating gaze just outside the door.

The contract rested on the dresser—a cold, official paper, spelling out the terms of a marriage neither of them truly wanted, but both were forced to accept. Her signature on the last page felt strange, like it belonged to someone else—someone braver, or maybe just more desperate.

The door opened gently.

Dami walked in with his jacket thrown over one arm and sleeves folded up to his elbows. His confidence filled the room even before he spoke and his eyes swept the space, as it settled on her. For a moment, everything seemed to pause.

“We need to talk,” he said, calm but firm—no room for argument.

“About what?” Zara’s voice was guarded, wary.

“The rules.”

She swallowed. Of course. There were rules.

He sat on the edge of the bed, leaving a careful gap between them—like even an inch too close might unravel everything they were holding together.

“We have to make this marriage look real,” he said, voice low, eyes steady on hers. “That means expectations.”

She crossed her arms, skepticism burning. “Like pretending we’re in love?”

“Yes. we are to the public. ”His voice was steady and firm, with a hint of command. “You will come with me to the events, smile for the cameras, and act like the perfect fiancé.”

“And behind closed doors?”

“In private,” he said, “we maintain boundaries. No interference in each other’s personal lives. No emotional entanglement.”

Zara’s heart faltered. “No emotional entanglement?” she echoed, incredulous. “So if I start caring… I’m breaking the contract?”

“You won’t,” he said sharply.

She stood up, frustration spilling over. “That’s arrogant.”

He shrugged, calm and steady. “It’s necessary. This isn’t about love. It’s business.

Zara paced the room, folding her arms tight. Each step felt heavier than the last. After a long pause, she stopped and faced him.

“You’re not scared of marriage,” she said softly but firmly. “You’re scared of feeling anything. That’s the real contract, isn’t it?” Don’t let anyone close—not even yourself.”

Dami’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, the unbreakable armor cracked just slightly in the set of his eyes.

He said nothing.

Two days later, the media frenzy spread like wildfire.

The internet lit up with photos from their engagement shoot. Zara wore a red gown that caught the light with every step, bold and impossible to ignore. Dami stood next to her in a sharp tuxedo, looking like he belonged on a magazine cover. Their smiles were flawless—but felt a little too perfect. The kind you practice in a mirror, not the kind that comes from the heart. Every flash of the camera felt choreographed, every touch practiced, every kiss on the cheek timed for the perfect effect.

“You’re all over the blogs,” Dami said, a dry smile playing on his lips as he passed her the tablet as they sat on opposite ends of the big couch. The tablet’s light glowed softly on Zara’s face as she scrolled through the headlines—each one louder and more dramatic than the last.

“Adeyemi Empire’s Prince Finally Engaged!”

She set the tablet down, fingers trembling slightly. The invasive gaze of the public felt suffocating.

“They’re already digging,” she murmured.

“They always do,” Dami said, voice like steel. “The press thrives on scandal. Our job is to control the narrative.”

Zara laughed bitterly. “You really think we can control people’s curiosity? Their gossip?”

“No. But we can feed them just enough truth to distract from the lies.”

The gala was their first public appearance as a couple. Zara stepped out of the car in her emerald gown flowing with her every move. It fitted her like it was made just for her, elegant and confident, impossible to miss. The deep green highlighted the warmth of her skin, and for a moment, the crowd seemed to pause.

Beside her, Dami stood like a statue—stoic, unyielding, every bit the billionaire fiancé.

The paparazzi’s flashes erupted like lightning, freezing every angle, every carefully practiced smile.

Dami leaned close, his voice a low murmur meant only for her. “Ready to lie with me?”

Zara forced a smile, sweet and practiced. “Born ready.”

The mansion had all Lagos’s elite present. Their laughter blended with the soft sound of glasses clinking, and the chandeliers that lit up the room with a warm light. 

“I am Dami’s aunt,” she said calmly as she approached Zara with a handshake. “Could we have a moment to talk?”

Zara walked with her out to the balcony. The air there was cooler, and the music from inside faded into a quiet hum.

The woman studied her calmly and uttered, “You don’t belong in this world.”

Zara didn’t flinch. “Maybe not,” she replied. “But you need to get used to it.”

“Then don’t get too relaxed’’ The aunt said. Dami keeps people at arm’s length. If you believe you can change him, you’re wrong.”

Zara raised her chin, face composed. “My purpose isn’t to change him, but to protect what counts.”

A familiar smile played on her lips. “That means that you’re either extremely smart… or hopelessly naïve.”

Later that day at the mansion, Zara removed her heels, tired while her mind reminisced on all that had happened. Dami was by the bar, pouring whiskey into a glass.

“You managed my aunt better than I figured,” he said, voice steady but with something beneath the surface.

“She’s... something,” Zara said with a fake smile as she settled into the cushioned sofa to rest.

“You’ll understand the politics.” Dami said.

“I am not willing to learn,” Zara said sharply, her weariness and anger coming through. “I want to wake up without calculating every step I take. I want my life back.”

He regarded her silently for a moment, then said quietly, “Your father’s treatment is covered. Your debts are cleared. You have your life… just not the version you imagined.”

Zara stood and faced him. The distance between them suddenly felt electric, charged with something unspoken.

“And what do you have, Dami?” she asked softly. “Money? Power? A reputation built on fear? What do you really go home to?”

His eyes hardened, a quiet storm of tension beneath the surface. “Don’t assume you know me.”

Zara stood her ground, unwavering.

Zara didn’t look away. Her voice was soft but steady. “Maybe I don’t. “But I recognize pain when I see it.”

A long silence stretched between them. Then he stepped back, as if her presence burned him.

“I suggest you stick to the contract, Zara.”

She nodded slowly, the fire in her chest refusing to die. “Then stop acting like you want more.”

That night, in separate rooms, they lay awake, staring at ceilings that held nothing but their fears.

The contract was clear.

But hearts never kept to rules.