Chapter Three: Warnings and Weapons

The woman’s heels struck the marble floor like gunshots—sharp, deliberate, dangerous.

Amara slowly lowered the pen, her fingers tightening instinctively around it like a weapon. She didn’t know who this woman was, but every inch of her screamed complication.

Tall and poised in a satin pantsuit that whispered wealth, the stranger had cheekbones that could slice glass and eyes that flickered between judgment and fury. Her lipstick was flawless. Her presence? Deadly.

Ezekiel didn’t move. His face was unreadable.

“I told you not to do this,” the woman hissed, stepping further into the room without invitation. Her accent was laced with clipped, upper-class polish. “And yet, here you are—bringing her into this circus.”

Amara stood slowly, the contract forgotten for a moment. “I’m right here, you know. If you have something to say, say it.”

The woman’s eyes landed on her, sharp and assessing.

“You’re the girl?” she asked.

“Woman,” Amara corrected. “Who are you?”

“His stepmother,” Ezekiel said flatly. “Maya.”

Amara blinked. This was the infamous Maya Kalu? The woman the tabloids called “Ice Queen of Banana Island,” who inherited half of the Kalu fortune after Ezekiel’s father died?

Maya crossed her arms and gave Amara a slow once-over. “You’re prettier than I expected. That won’t help you.”

“I don’t need your expectations,” Amara replied calmly.

Maya smiled, but there was no warmth. “Of course you don’t. Girls like you never do. You’re here to play your part, collect your money, and disappear.”

“Maya,” Ezekiel interrupted, voice low but firm, “leave.”

She turned to him with a look that pierced. “You think marrying some broke little artist will protect your claim? The board is watching. The lawyers are watching. You can’t bluff your way into control with a contract bride.”

Amara felt the heat rise to her cheeks. “I can speak for myself.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can,” Maya said without looking at her. “But you don’t understand what you’re stepping into. The Kalus eat each other alive for breakfast. You’re just… decoration.”

Amara took a breath and stepped forward. “And yet, here you are—threatened by decoration.”

That got Maya’s attention.

For a moment, silence stretched between them like a wire ready to snap.

Maya’s lips parted slightly. “Clever.”

“I try,” Amara replied with a thin smile.

Ezekiel finally moved, walking between them like a referee about to call time.

“This conversation is over. Maya, you weren’t invited. Leave now, or I’ll have security remove you.”

“I am family,” Maya said coldly.

“You never acted like it,” he replied without flinching.

Her expression didn’t change, but her eyes darkened.

She turned on her heel and walked away without another word. Her perfume lingered, sweet and suffocating.

When the door clicked shut, Ezekiel let out a breath—more like a release of tension than relief.

Amara crossed her arms. “She doesn’t like you.”

“She doesn’t like anyone.” He glanced at the unsigned contract. “You okay?”

Amara considered that. “She thinks I’m a pawn.”

“You’re not.”

“She said the board is watching you. That this marriage is a bluff.”

He didn’t reply right away. Instead, he walked to the window and stared out at the endless stretch of manicured lawn and glittering fences.

“It is a bluff,” he said finally. “But it’s also real. Once you sign, we get married. Legally. Publicly. For one year.”

Amara walked over to him. “Why did she say this wouldn’t be enough?”

He turned, and for the first time since they met, she saw it—fatigue. Not physical, but something deeper. A weight behind the eyes.

“Because she’s trying to take everything.”

Amara narrowed her eyes. “Including the company?”

He nodded. “The board is split. My father left a clause—if I’m unmarried by my 33rd birthday, control of KaluTech passes to Maya. I turn 33 in six weeks.”

“And you just now decided to get married?”

“I’ve been reviewing options,” he replied. “You were... the best one.”

“Wow,” Amara said, eyebrows raised. “Such romance.”

He gave the faintest smirk. “This isn’t romance, Amara. It’s war. And I don’t lose wars.”

Her fingers found the edge of the table. She still hadn’t signed. The contract sat there like an invitation to ruin—or rebirth.

“You really believe I can fool them?” she asked.

“I don’t need them fooled,” he said. “I need them convinced. There’s a difference.”

She sighed and picked up the pen.

“I have one condition.”

His brow lifted. “You already negotiated the terms.”

“This isn’t about money,” she said. “If I do this… you let me investigate my father.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

“I want access to your family files, business records, archives—whatever you have. I want to know why my dad said the Kalus owe me. And if you’re hiding something, I will find it.”

Ezekiel didn’t blink. “Agreed.”

Just like that?

She stared at him. “No hesitation?”

“You’d investigate with or without permission,” he said. “This way, I can control how much you find.”

That was probably the most honest thing he’d said since they met.

She leaned over and signed her name at the bottom of the page.

The ink bled slightly on the thick paper. Final. Binding.

“You have your bride,” she said. “Now what?”

He picked up the contract and placed it in a folder like it was a sacred relic.

“Now,” he said, “we make this look real.”

Three hours later, Amara stood in a designer boutique on Victoria Island, surrounded by silk, diamonds, and an assistant who wouldn’t stop smiling.

She held up a dress worth more than her rent for the past three years.

“This one’s perfect for your engagement dinner,” the assistant chirped.

Amara turned, stunned. “Engagement dinner?”

A new voice spoke from the doorway.

“You’re meeting the board tomorrow night,” Ezekiel said. “Time to become the woman everyone will fear.”

Then he added, cool and low:

“And whatever you do, don’t trust anyone at that table.”