Chapter 2: Mrs. Cole

Chapter 2: Mrs. Cole

The private hospital room smelled like disinfectant and money.

Amara ran in, still wearing her torn Ankara. Her mother was sitting up. Color back in her face. IV removed. The doctor was smiling and writing on a clipboard.

"Amara? They said everything is paid. Ten million naira! Who paid? Who would do that?"

Amara could not speak. The black card was still clenched in her hand, sweaty from her palm.

"Jayden Cole," she whispered. Her voice was shaking.

Her mother's eyes widened. "The billionaire? The one from TV? Amara, what did you do?"

"I did what I had to do to keep you alive," Amara said. Tears fell before she could stop them. "You are alive, Mama. That is all that matters."

Her mother pulled her into a hug. For the first time in weeks, Amara felt she could breathe.

Outside, a black G-Wagon waited by the hospital gate. The engine was running. A driver in a black uniform stood by the door.

"Mrs. Cole? Mr. Cole sent me," he said, bowing slightly.

Mrs. Cole. The name felt foreign. It felt like a costume she had not earned.

The driver took her through Lagos traffic to a mansion in Banana Island. The gates opened automatically. Inside, the compound was huge. Roses everywhere. A swimming pool that looked like the ocean. Inside, the house was silent and too big. Everything was white and glass and cold.

Jayden stood by the window with a glass of whiskey. He was still in his suit from the morning. He did not turn when she entered.

"You are late," he said.

"My mother — thank you. She is sitting up. She is talking. Thank you so much," Amara said, her voice full of gratitude.

"I don't need thanks. I need you to look like a billionaire's wife in 48 hours. My grandfather is arriving tomorrow."

He clapped his hands. Two women entered — a stylist with pink hair and a makeup artist carrying two big boxes.

"She needs to be transformed. My grandfather hates cheap things. Make her expensive," Jayden said, looking at Amara like she was a project.

Amara's cheeks burned with shame. She wanted to run away.

For three hours, they scrubbed, waxed, oiled, and curled. The torn Ankara she wore was taken and thrown in the trash right in front of her. They zipped her into a red off-shoulder satin dress that hugged her waist. They put her in gold heels that made her legs look endless. They curled her natural hair and laid her edges.

When she finally looked in the mirror, she did not recognize herself. She was beautiful. She looked powerful. She looked like someone who belonged in this house.

Jayden walked in. He stopped at the door. His cold eyes darkened as he looked at her from head to toe. For a second, he forgot to breathe.

"Good. You will do," he said quietly.

He stepped closer. He reached out and adjusted a strap on her shoulder. His fingers brushed her skin and she shivered. His touch was warm.

"Rule reminder," he whispered, his voice low near her ear. "Tomorrow we meet my grandfather. You smile. You hold my hand. You say we fell in love at a charity gala. You do not mention money. You do not mention the contract. You do not mention your mother's hospital bill. Understood?"

"What if he doesn't believe us?" Amara asked. Her heart was beating so fast he could probably hear it.

Jayden smiled for the first time since she met him. It was dangerous and charming. It made her knees weak.

"Oh, he will. Because you, Amara Okoro, are going to be the best actress of your life."

From his pocket, he took a small velvet box. He opened it. Inside, a huge diamond ring sparkled under the light.

He took her hand. Slowly, he slipped it onto her finger. It fit perfectly, as if it was made for her.

"Welcome home, Mrs. Cole," he said.