REMARRIED TO A STRANGER

Amina's shoes slapped against the cracked pavement, her worn heels barely clinging to her feet. The weight of her graduation gown dragged behind her like a chain. Around her, students laughed and snapped photos, celebrating their new beginnings. She forced a smile, clutching the rolled certificate she'd fought so hard for.

A degree in Business Management. A promise of a better future.

But her stomach twisted as she glanced at the message on her phone: Mama says Come home with food. Your brother is sick again.

Home wasn't a place Amina loved. It was a leaking roof, three younger siblings, a sick mother, and an alcoholic father who only came around when he needed money.

Still, today wasn't all bad.

Because Idris had proposed.

"Let's get married," he had said simply, just outside the campus hall. No flowers. No ring. Just his deep voice, steady as always.

Amina had blinked, stunned. "Are you serious?"

He nodded. "You don't have to keep struggling. Come with me. My family will take care of you."

She knew who he was. Everyone did. The heir to Mfaume Gold Corp., Rich. Quiet. Reserved. And yet, for reasons she never fully understood, he had fallen for her.

And now he wanted to marry her.

She, a nobody from the slums of Tandale.

She had said yes.

The wedding was small but elegant. His parents hadn't even attended. His mother, Mrs. Mfaume, had made her opinion clear the first time they met.

"You think wearing a cheap dress makes you our equal?" she'd spat in front of Idris.

Amina had swallowed the insult and forced a smile. She told herself things would get better. That love would win.

For a while, it did.

Idris got her a job in the Mfaume offices-entry-level, nothing special, but she worked hard, learned fast, and stayed out of the way. She never took long breaks. She brought coffee to the boardroom. She smiled when the secretaries gossiped about her cheap shoes.

But the whispers began soon after.

Gold was missing. A shipment from one of the mines never made it to the port.

And somehow... the records had her digital signature on them.

She was called into the office one morning-Mrs. Mfaume, two lawyers, and Idris.

"We gave you everything," Mrs. Mfaume said coldly. "And you repay us by stealing?"

"I didn't," Amina gasped. "Why would I-? I don't even have access to-"

"You do," Idris interrupted, avoiding her eyes. "You signed off on the inventory."

She turned to him, confused. "You know I didn't do this..."

His silence crushed her.

They gave her a chance: return the gold's worth in cash, five billion shillings, or face prison.

She had nothing. Not even a proper lawyer.

So she went to prison.

Ten years later, she stepped out of the iron gates with nothing but a plastic bag and a scar on her cheek from a fight she hadn't started.

The world had moved on. Idris had remarried; her name was a stain in newspapers, and her own mother had died while she was locked away.

Amina didn't cry. She couldn't.

That night, she walked into a bar with trembling hands and no plan. Just hunger. Just pain.

And that's when she met him.

The stranger.

Black suit. Tattooed hands. Eyes like a predator.

"You look like hell," he said, setting down a glass of whiskey in front of her.

"I just got out," she replied honestly.

He smiled like he liked that answer. "Wanna marry me?"

Amina blinked. "What?"

"I need a wife by tomorrow morning. You need a new life. We both win."

She laughed. "You're crazy."

"Maybe," he said, sipping. "But you've got nothing to lose, and I've got everything to gain."

She stared at him, saw no pity in his eyes, no fear.

Just an opportunity.

And after ten years of silence, Amina said yes again.

But this time, it wasn't for love.

It was for revenge.

Amina didn't sleep that night.

The stranger-he said his name was Zayn-had paid for her meal, handed her a key to a hotel room, and left without asking a single question about her past. No "What were you in for?" No judgment. Just that confident smirk and the promise of a legal marriage the next morning.

She sat on the edge of the hotel bed, staring at the silver ring he'd left behind. Simple, but expensive. Real silver. Probably custom-made.

Was this another trap?

Had fate not done enough to her already?

Still, there was something about Zayn. Something dark. Powerful. As if he knew things she didn't-about the world, about people like Idris and his fake-perfect family.

In the morning, she wore the plain white dress left for her on the chair. It fit like it had been made just for her.

Zayn was waiting at the city registrar's office, dressed in black again, his tattoos peeking out from his cuffs. He held out his hand without a word. She placed her fingers in his.

They signed.

They kissed.

They walked out as husband and wife.

Just like that.

Later that afternoon, as they sat in the backseat of his luxurious black SUV, he finally asked, "Are you ready to tell me what they did to you?"

Amina's jaw clenched. "Why? Planning revenge already?"

He didn't laugh. "Maybe. I like to fix things that were broken unfairly."

She turned to him slowly. "You want the full story?"

"I want your version. Not the media."

So she told him.

Every word.

And by the time she was done, Zayn looked her in the eye and said only one thing:

"Good. Let's destroy them."