KURTIS

A marriage of convenience. Contracts were needed. Certain lines were supposed to be defined, but for some reason, I found it amusing to tease her.

The way her eyes widened, her expression shifting from confusion to guarded caution, yet beneath it all, an innocence that was almost too easy to rattle. Her hands hung behind her back, her posture tense, as if she was both resisting and submitting at the same time. Even with her guard up, she was so easy to fluster.

"So, do tell me," I mused, leaning slightly closer, my voice deliberately laced with amusement. "Will kissing you to prove you're my wife be a breach of contract?"

Her lips parted, a small, startled sound escaping before she stammered, "Well, umh..."

I smirked, enjoying how she struggled for words. "Sorry to tell you, but I might have to kiss you quite a lot. Even more than your ex did," I said, watching her reaction closely. "I can refer to him as your ex, right?"

"Well, yeah," she mumbled, still staring up at me in a trance-like state.

I chuckled as I released her, just in time for her to let out a deep exhale. She had been holding her breath.

"Relax," I said smoothly, pouring her a glass of wine before handing it to her. "I’ll have the entire draft edited and two copies produced as we put the first condition on hold. Now, let’s talk about our story. We need a perfectly synchronized narrative to make them believe in our marriage."

She took a slow sip, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Make them believe?"

"Right," I nodded, swirling my own glass lazily. "Like I told you that night, this marriage will help me join a specific rank of people."

She scoffed, arching a brow. "Rank? You mean the billionaires?"

I nodded. "You can call them that. Basically, they control the flow of jewelry production. You can create, but they make the final decisions. That’s why I need to join them."

Her fingers traced the rim of her glass as she absorbed my words. The moment I mentioned the name, I saw the recognition light up in her eyes.

"The one I’m after is one of the prominent ones—Mr. Julius Abdala."

She didn’t even attempt to hide her surprise as she gasped, "You mean the cabinet secretary in charge of jewelry and artifacts?"

"Yes. The one and only. The creator of the Lost Jade."

I could practically see the suppressed joy on her face. She wanted to jump up, maybe even squeal, but she contained herself.

"He’s like my role model," she said with an enthusiasm that made me smirk. "I love his designs! The way he describes art!"

"I see," I murmured, tapping the rim of my glass. "Then you should know he doesn’t tolerate liars."

She straightened, her excitement dimming as she composed herself. "I thought you hated liars, too."

"Ours is different."

"Different? Isn’t lying just... lying?"

"It is," I admitted. "But some lies hurt people. Cause harm. We won’t be harming anyone."

She studied me for a moment before nodding. "I see. So, what sort of lie have you conjured?"

I took a full gulp of wine, set my glass aside, crossed my legs slightly, and fixed my gaze on her. "We first met at a local jewelry display event. You mistook me for a waiter and gave me a tip."

She blinked. "I gave you a tip?"

"Yeah. In my world, if a girl gives you a tip, it's basically asking for attention."

She chuckled softly. "So, in short, I pursued you?"

I grinned. "Something like that. I tried to explain, but instead of listening, you gave me more tips."

Her laugh was genuine, light, a sound that momentarily softened her guarded demeanor.

"Then I got interested. Like a fool in love, I did my research, found out about you, and showed up at your workplace."

She smirked. "You’re good. So, how did you manage to court me?"

"That’s simple," I said nonchalantly. "I invested in your company. And you got interested, too."

She burst into laughter, shaking her head. "That’s the best you could come up with?"

"I think it’s good," I defended.

"How about this—" she leaned in slightly, amusement twinkling in her eyes. "We met at an event. I got lost, ended up in your room, drunk. One thing led to another, and we happened to meet again later. We decided to give it a try, and that led to a secret marriage."

That was... surprisingly good.

"Okay, that would do."

I glanced at my watch. "Are you free this Friday?"

"Friday?"

I stood up, pulling a black card from my pocket. "There’s an event. We’ll be making our first appearance as a couple."

She eyed the card before looking back at me. 

"Right. Also, we never discussed money. You do intend to get something out of this, don’t you?"

She didn’t answer immediately, just stared at me.

"How about fifty million? Should I put that in the contract?"

Her eyes widened. "Fifty million?!"

"Not enough? Seventy then?"

"Wow." She blinked at me in disbelief. "You really have that kind of money just waiting?"

"Obviously."

She exhaled, shaking her head. "But sorry, I’m not interested in the money. Like I said, I need this wedding. When the time is right, I’ll get my benefits from it."

Weird. Nobody refuses that kind of money.

"Yeah, whatever," I muttered. "But think of something. Anything. So you have leverage when the contract is over."

"Why would—"

"And one last thing," I interrupted. "Use this card to buy presentable clothing. The theme will be pearl. And the most important part—you’ll be moving in here starting tomorrow."

"What?! You want us to live together?!" she exclaimed, clearly stunned.

I stared at her. "What do you mean? We’re married. Doesn’t it make sense that we live together? Wouldn’t that be the perfect evidence instead of living apart?"

She fumbled for words, dropping her gaze. "But still, you can’t just ask me to move in tomorrow!"

"You can plan with Fedrick," I said coolly. "Purchase everything to make it look like you've been living here for a long time."

I grabbed my phone, picking up my BMW keys as I headed for the door. Fedrick was still in the car.

"Handle all talk about yesterday," I instructed as I slid into the driver’s seat.

"Yes, sir."

"Don’t come tonight."

"Excuse me, sir?"

"I’m having dinner with my father and his family. I might not return tonight."

"Understood. I’ll have some suits sent to the house."

"No need for that."

"Fine then, sir. Have a good day."

****

I loathed the very thought of stepping inside this house. My skin crawled the moment I crossed the threshold, a sickening wave of nostalgia choking me as ghosts of my past lurked in every corner. My childhood, my mother—her warm voice promising she would always be with me—her delicate hands holding mine as she tucked me in. And my father. The man I once called a hero, the man who led her to her downfall. She had taken her own life. Because of him. Since then, he had ceased to be my father. He was my eternal enemy.

"Welcome home, Kurtis," came a familiar voice.

Old man Vincent. My father’s ever-loyal personal assistant. His weathered face held something close to sympathy, but I was past caring.

I barely spared him a glance. My mind was already sinking into the past. When I was born, we lived in Kilimani. Back then, my family wasn’t as influential. We were wealthy, yes, but my father’s company had yet to make its mark. It was my mother who changed that. A brilliant jewelry designer, she created a masterpiece that skyrocketed the company to heights unimaginable. That was the beginning of the end.

With newfound wealth, we relocated to Karen, into a monstrous four-story mansion with fifteen rooms—too many for just three people. Soon, some of my father’s relatives moved in, leeching off the success my mother had built. And then she arrived. A washed-up model, claiming to be my father’s secretary. That was when everything crumbled. The so-called secretary quickly became his wife, dragging in two children that weren’t even his.

I despised them. Especially Gavin. That manipulative bastard spent his days sucking up to my father, always angling for a way to secure his place.

"Who’s around?" I asked, stepping deeper into the house, the stench of betrayal thick in the air.

"Why? Would you run away?"

That voice.

I turned toward the garden, where he stood, smirking like he had won some sick game.

"Welcome home, son."

"Fuck you!" I spat, turning on my heel. Just being in his presence turned my stomach.

Exhaling sharply, I headed upstairs to what was once my room. After a long, hot shower, I emerged, dressed and composed, but the storm inside me still raged.

By the time I joined them outside, the dinner setup was already arranged in the garden. A simple dining set under the open sky.

"It’s been a while, Kurtis."

Gavin. His voice carried forced politeness, but the mockery was unmistakable. He gave a lazy wave, his smirk deepening as he waited for a reaction.

"Nice of you to join us for dinner," my father’s wife chimed in, her tone annoyingly sweet. "To be honest, I didn’t expect you to—"

I pulled out a chair, sitting as far away from them as possible. "It’s my home. There’s no reason for me not to be here."

She fumbled, eyes darting to my father for support. "I didn’t mean it that way, what I meant—"

"I don’t give a fuck what you meant." My voice was cold, slicing through her excuses. "I’m here to make sure dirt doesn’t stain my mother’s memory."

Her breath hitched. "Excuse me?"

"Dirt," I repeated, my gaze shifting to her children.

"He means us, Mom!" Sharon, my stepsister, huffed. Her so-called husband, Edwin Kabarenge, sat beside her, looking uncomfortable.

"Gizz, Kurtis, you do know I’m your mother—"

"Don’t dare!" My voice cut through her sentence like a blade. "Don’t fucking dare! You’re just a bitch my father brought in for entertainment after my mother died!"

"What did you just say?! Did you just call my mother a whore?" Gavin shot up from his seat, his fists clenched, fury boiling in his eyes.

"Your words, not mine," I taunted, scratching my forehead lazily.

"Say it again!" he roared, his knuckles turning white.

I smirked. "She’s just an entertainme—"

Gavin lunged, grabbing my collar and yanking me up from my seat.

"Gavin!"

My father’s voice thundered across the garden. Vincent stood beside him, his expression unreadable.

"What do you think you’re doing?!" my father demanded.

"Dad, he just—"

"Let him go!"

"But Dad—"

"Didn’t you hear him?" His mother rushed to him, smacking his arm in exaggerated horror. "Mom! Didn’t you hear what he said?!" Gavin shouted, his rage barely contained.

My eyes locked with my father’s.

"Apologize," he ordered, voice dangerously low.

I sat back down, arms crossed. "I don’t feel like it. What I said was the truth."

"Kurtis!" he barked, but before he could say more, his wife wrapped her arms around him, rubbing slow circles on his back. "It’s okay, Martin. The boys are just being boys," she chuckled, soothing him like a pathetic puppy.

"You should show some respect. She might not be your mother, but she is my wife," my father says sternly.

"Tch, whatever. I don’t give a shit about the women you sleep with," I scoffed, pulling out my phone.

"Watch your mouth, son! You are in my house now!" he warned.

I chuckled coldly. "Last time I checked, this was my father and mother’s house. Not just yours."

Silence fell. Even the servants, who had been preparing to serve dinner, stood frozen, holding the plates in their hands.

"You want to go there?" my father barked.

"Oh, sure!" I leaned forward, smirking. 

"I furnished this fucking building with my own money! My money!" he shouted.

"No, my mother’s money! She designed the necklace! She brought the investors! She fought to her last breath to maintain the company while you were messing around with that ugly bitch over there!"

His hand slammed against the table, rattling the silverware. "How dare you! This is my fucking house! Mine! Show me some respect, boy!"

I let out a cold chuckle. "You want my respect? You’ve got to earn it. Being my father doesn’t guarantee you anything. I fucking hate you! The only reason I tolerate you is because Mom asked me to!" I pushed my chair back and stood up. "Let’s just keep our competitive little distance. We both know we can’t sit at the same table. Don’t invite me to this bullshit again!"

I turned to leave.

"Don’t you dare turn your back on me, son!" he roared.

I snapped back. "You know what?! Just the thought of your blood running through my veins makes me sick!"

"Bad for you!" he shot back.

"Yeah? It’s a fucking nightmare!"

I stormed out, heading straight for my car. The moment I climbed in, I spotted Vincent running after me.

"Move out of the way, Vincent!" I warned.

"Son, please, you don’t have to leave like this!" he pleaded, but I ignored him, honking as the gate swung open.

"Come on, Kurtis! You can’t drive when you’re this angry! Please, son!"

Too late. I was gone.

I gripped the steering wheel tightly, my teeth grinding together, rage bubbling in my veins. My vision blurred with fury as I sped down the estate road, heading towards Ngong Road. My mother’s face flashed through my mind, followed by the smug grin on my father’s face. The way they all looked at me like I was the villain.

I was so caught up in my rage that I didn’t see it coming.

A loud honk.

Blinding lights.

Then—

Impact.

Everything went black.