Chapter 2 The golden handcuffs

Chapter 2: The Golden Handcuffs

​The silence in the penthouse was heavy, broken only by the soft hiss of the air conditioner that felt like ice against Amaka's skin. She looked down at her hand, which was still trembling as she held the sleek, heavy fountain pen. The ink on the paper was dark and permanent-just like the decision she had just made.

​"A wise choice, Amaka," Alexander said. He didn't move from the window, but she could see his reflection in the glass. He looked like a king surveying a kingdom he had already conquered. "Most women would have begged for more time to think. I like that you didn't. It shows desperation, and desperation is a very reliable motivator."

​Amaka felt a sting of humiliation. "I didn't do it out of greed, Mr. Sterling. I did it because I have people who depend on me. My pride isn't worth my mother's life."

​"Pride is a luxury for those who can afford it," Alexander replied, finally turning around. He walked toward her, his footsteps silent on the expensive marble floor. He stopped just inches away, and for the first time, Amaka smelled him-a scent of sandalwood, expensive tobacco, and old money. It was intoxicating and terrifying. "From this moment on, your old life is a shadow. You don't live in Mushin anymore. You don't haggle for fish. You are the future Mrs. Sterling. Act like it."

​He pressed a button on his desk, and a few seconds later, the heavy oak door opened. A woman stepped in, dressed in a sharp grey suit with her hair pulled back so tightly it looked painful. She held a tablet in one hand and a look of pure clinical judgment in her eyes.

​"This is Marcus, my executive assistant," Alexander said, not looking at either of them. "She handles my life. From now on, she handles yours too. Marcus, get her cleaned up. The 'Mushin' needs to be washed off before the press sees her."

​Marcus nodded once, her eyes scanning Amaka like she was a bug under a microscope. "Understood, sir. The car is waiting downstairs to take her to the secondary residence."

​"One moment," Amaka interrupted, standing up. "You promised the first payment. Today."

​Alexander paused, his hand on the door handle of his private office. He looked back at her, a glint of something-was it respect or amusement?-in his eyes. "Check your phone in five minutes, Amaka. I am many things, but I am not a liar. Businessmen who break their word don't stay at the top for long."

​He disappeared into the inner room, leaving Amaka alone with the icy Marcus.

​"Follow me," Marcus said, her voice like a machine's. "We have a very tight schedule. Mr. Sterling's parents are arriving from London tomorrow for the Gala, and you need to look like you've been his secret fiancée for months, not someone he picked up from a flyer."

​As they walked toward the elevator, Amaka felt like a prisoner being led to a very beautiful cell. The elevator descended, and just as the doors opened to the underground parking lot, her phone buzzed in her pocket.

​With shaky hands, she pulled it out. It was a text alert from her bank.

​CREDIT: NGN 5,000,000.00

DESC: STERLING CORP - DISB

​Amaka gasped, nearly dropping the phone. Five million Naira. She had never seen so many zeros in her life. It was more money than her father had earned in his entire lifetime. Tears pricked her eyes-tears of relief, but also of fear. This wasn't a dream. It was a debt.

​"Is there a problem?" Marcus asked, not stopping her brisk walk toward a black Mercedes-Maybach.

​"No," Amaka whispered, wiping her eyes quickly. "No problem."

​"Good. Because your life is about to become very complicated," Marcus said, opening the car door. "Inside that folder on the seat is your new identity. Memorize it. You went to a private school in Enugu. You met Alexander at a charity event in Paris. You love polo, you hate the limelight, and you are madly in love with him. If you forget even one detail, the Sterling family will tear you apart."

​Amaka sat in the plush leather seat, the smell of 'new car' and wealth filling her lungs. She opened the folder. Inside were photos of Alexander as a child, a list of his favorite foods (black coffee, medium-rare steak, silence), and a detailed map of the Sterling estate.

​But as the car pulled out into the Lagos traffic, Amaka looked out the tinted window. She saw a woman carrying a heavy tray of bread on her head, navigating the potholes and the heat. Just yesterday, that had been her world. Today, she was behind glass, moving through the city like a ghost.

​"The wedding is in two weeks," Marcus said, tapping on her tablet. "It will be a private ceremony at the Sterling manor. Only family and a few selected board members. Until then, you will be under-going 'refinement.' Speech coaching, etiquette, and a complete wardrobe overhaul. Mr. Sterling has a reputation for perfection. You will not be the crack in his armor."

​Amaka looked at the five million Naira notification again. She thought of her mother, currently in a cold hospital ward, and Chidi, who was probably eating a dinner of plain garri.

​"I'll do it," Amaka said, her voice firm. "I'll be whatever he wants me to be. But tell Mr. Sterling one thing."

​Marcus looked up, her eyebrow raised. "And what is that?"

​"He can buy my time, and he can buy my name," Amaka said, looking Marcus straight in the eye. "But he hasn't bought me. I am a partner in this contract, not a slave."

​Marcus actually let out a short, dry laugh. "Funny. That's exactly what the last three girls said before they fell in love with him and had their hearts crushed. Try to be different, Amaka. For your own sake."

​The car sped onto the Third Mainland Bridge, the blue water of the lagoon stretching out forever. Amaka closed the folder and leaned her head back. The war for her family's survival was over, but a new war-a war for her soul-had just begun.

​She was Amaka Okoro, the girl from Mushin. But tomorrow, the world would know her as the woman who tamed the coldest billionaire in Nigeria. She just had to make sure she didn't lose herself in the process.