THE CEO's UNSCRIPTED WIFE

The scent of stale potpourri and betrayal clung to the air, thicker than the dust motes dancing in the slivers of sunlight that pierced the drawn curtains. Zuri had only been back in her father's house for three days since scattering her mother's ashes over the churning Atlantic, and already, grief felt like a luxury she couldn't afford. It was an unwelcome guest, pushed aside by a far more insidious presence. She paused at the landing, the polished wood cool beneath her bare feet, listening.

The low murmur of voices drifted up from her father's study – his booming laugh, unsettlingly jovial, interspersed with a woman's syrupy tones and a younger, simpering giggle. Auntie Sade, her father's long-term "friend," had moved in the day Zuri left for the funeral. And with her, came Tola, Sade's daughter, a girl whose eyes always seemed to assess, to weigh. A sliver of curiosity, sharp and cold, cut through Zuri's numbness. Her father rarely entertained in his study, a room usually reserved for his solitary, weighty pronouncements. She crept closer, pressing an ear to the heavy mahogany door, the distant hum of Port Harcourt a dull counterpoint to the rising knot of dread in her stomach. "...a done deal, Solomon," Sade purred, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "Mr. Smith is very eager. Especially with Zuri back in town." Zuri's breath hitched. Mr. Smith. The name alone conjured images of sweaty palms and a lecherous gaze, a man whose wealth was as ill-gotten as his reputation was foul. He was one of her father's oldest, most disreputable business associates, known for his insatiable appetites and his collection of young, beautiful wives who inevitably faded from public view. "She's ripe for the picking," Tola added, her giggle sounding unnervingly like a hyena's cackle. "And with her mother gone, she has no one." A sickening wave washed over Zuri. No one. The truth of it, delivered with such callous glee, was a fresh wound. Her mother, her protector, her confidante, was truly gone. And in her place, this... this conspiracy. "Nonsense!" her father boomed, but there was a tremor of greed in his voice that belied his protest. "She'll be well-provided for. And think of the connections, Sade! The deal we can make with Smith once she's his wife... it's a goldmine!" A goldmine. Zuri gripped the doorknob, her knuckles white. Her father, the man who had always prided himself on his "business acumen," was selling her. His own daughter. Not for love, not for security, but for connections and a deal. He was trading her like a commodity, a piece of property to be bartered for fame and fortune. Rage, pure and incandescent, ignited in her gut, burning away the last vestiges of her grief-induced stupor. She wouldn't be bought. She wouldn't be sold. She wouldn't become another one of Mr. Smith's vanished wives. The idea hit her with the force of a physical blow, shocking in its audacity, yet strangely liberating. Her father had always paraded her as his pristine, untouched daughter, a virgin prize to be bartered at the peak of her market value. He bragged about her purity to his colleagues, a perverse point of pride. What if that purity, that unblemished state, was the very thing she destroyed? What if she became the ultimate scandal? A pregnancy. The thought was terrifying, reckless, dangerous. It was a gamble with her entire future, a plunge into an unknown abyss. But the alternative – a lifetime as Mr. Smith's chattel – was a fate far worse than any scandal. This was her only weapon, a desperate act of sabotage against the very foundation of her father's plans. If she wasn't "pure," she was worthless to him in this monstrous transaction. Her mind raced, bypassing the horror to land on the practicalities. She needed a man. Not just any man, but someone she could approach discreetly, someone who wouldn't involve her father, someone who wouldn't try to claim her after. A stranger. A fleeting encounter. She backed away from the study door, her heart thumping a frantic rhythm against her ribs. Her room. She needed to think, to plan. But as she retreated, she heard Sade's voice again, sharp with instruction. "Tonight. The Thorne Gala. Mr. Smith will be there. Make sure she's presentable." The Thorne Gala. The city's most exclusive, high-profile event, hosted by the elusive Ethan Thorne, the youngest and most enigmatic CEO in Port Harcourt. Her father, always eager to rub shoulders with the city's elite, had somehow secured invitations. It was the perfect storm. The place where her father intended to finalize her sale. And the place where she would detonate her escape. Zuri glanced down at the simple, dark dress she still wore from the funeral, feeling utterly out of place. This wasn't a dress for a socialite, let alone a woman about to throw her life into chaos. She needed to look the part of a woman who belonged at such an event, yet was desperate enough to shatter every societal expectation. She needed to be invisible enough to execute her plan, yet captivating enough to find her target. Her fingers trembled as she pulled out her phone, searching for the gala's details, her gaze fixed on the digital image of the opulent venue. Tonight. It had to be tonight. Her freedom depended on it. And with grim determination, a resolve colder than any grief, Zuri began to plot her disastrous wrong turn.