The Innocent Secretary Who Tamed The Billionaire Boss Pt2 – Ty

Previously on the virgin secretary who tamed the playboy billionaire. Femiabo played too hard and his father finally had enough. The ultimatum was clear. Find a respectable wife in 2 weeks or lose the multi-billion naira empire to his rival cousin Gay. But when the grey mouse transformed into a stunning beauty, the lines began to blur.

Femi realized his fake fiance was a dangerous temptation. But just as the lie was becoming real, the past walked through the door. It seems Amara is already married. Quick question before we continue. Do you think Amara is actually married or is Gay lying? Let me know your theory in the comments below. And if you haven’t subscribed yet, what are you waiting for? Click that button and let’s dive into season 2.

The silence in the dining room was heavier than the mahogany table that separated the waring factions. The echo of Jed’s accusation bounced off the walls, mingling with the lingering electricity of the kiss Femi and Amara had just shared. Femi pulled away from Amara slowly, his hands sliding from her face.

He looked at her, searching for a denial, but what he saw made his stomach drop. Amara wasn’t looking at him. She was staring at the manila folder on the table, her face drained of all color, her hands trembling violently in her lap. She looked like a ghost. Married. Chief Adabbeo<unk>’s voice was a low rumble, breaking the silence.

He didn’t look at Jeday. He stared straight at Amara. Is this true, child? Of course, it’s true. Jeday gloated, stepping forward and opening the folder. He pulled out a photograph, a grainy, dated picture of a younger Amara looking terrified, dressed in traditional beads, standing next to a man with a hard, aggressive jawline.

Here is the wedding photo taken four years ago in his eigu village. The man is OA. He paid the bride price. By traditional law, she belongs to him. Femi snatched the photo from the table. He stared at it. It was Amara undeniably. She looked younger, thinner, and utterly miserable. But she was wearing the beads of a bride.

“You lied to me,” Fei whispered, turning to Amara. “The betrayal tasted bitter. He had just put his reputation on the line for her. He had just kissed her and felt something real and she was another liar. You stood in my office. You listed your rules and you forgot to mention a husband. I am not married.

Amara finally found her voice. It was shrill desperate. She stood up, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. That is not a wedding photo. That was a a transaction I did not agree to. She turned to the chief pleading. Sir, please. My father died when I was 18. My uncle, he owed money to a local tout. A toxic, dangerous man named Oena.

To clear the debt, my uncle took Oena’s money and declared me his wife. Amara’s eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t let them fall. She pointed a shaking finger at the photo in Femi’s hand. I refused him. I refused to sleep in his house. I refused to cook his food. The night that photo was taken, I ran away.

I ran to Lagos with nothing but the clothes on my back. I have never seen him since. A forced marriage is not a marriage, sir. It is slavery. Semantics, Jeday sneered, crossing his arms. In our culture, once the bride price is paid and the wine is carried, you are a wife. A still claims you.

In fact, I spoke to him this morning. He is very eager to come to Lagos and claim his property. He is a monster. Amara screamed, losing her composure. He beat two women in the village into the hospital. I would rather die than call him husband. Enough. Chief Adabo slammed his hand on the table again. The room froze. The chief stood up slowly, his gaze moving from Jed’s smug face to Amara’s terrified one and finally resting on his son. Femi, the chief said calmly.

Did you know about this? Femi looked at the photo again. He looked at Jeday who was practically drooling with victory. Jeday thought he had won. He thought he had humiliated Fei and destroyed the deal. Femi looked at Amara. She looked small, cornered, and terrified. But behind the fear, he saw the same fire that had made her demand respect in his office.

She was a victim of a cruel tradition, not a villain. And suddenly Femi realized he didn’t care about the truth. He cared about winning. And he cared inexplicably about protecting her from the sharks circling the water. Femi ripped the photo in half. The sound of the tearing paper was loud and satisfying.

Gay’s jaw dropped. “Fei?” Gay gasped. “That is evidence. That is trash.” Femi said coldly. He tossed the pieces onto the table and walked over to stand beside Amara. He took her hand, not gently this time, but firmly. A show of force. My fianceé told me everything. Femi lied. He looked his father dead in the eye. I knew about the forced attempt.

I knew about the uncle. Why do you think I keep her so close? Why do you think we kept our relationship private? Amara looked up at him, shocked. He was doubling down. I am a lawyer by training father. Femi continued his voice smooth and authoritative. Under Nigerian constitution a marriage requires consent. Amara did not consent.

She was sold. That is human trafficking not matrimony. Oena ease has no claim on her. And if he tries to come near her fem eyes darkened, shifting to gday. If he tries to come near my future wife, I will bury him under so many lawsuits he won’t be able to afford the air he breathes. He is bluffing. Gay sputtered, losing control of the narrative.

Uncle, this is a scandal waiting to happen. Imagine the blogs. Billionaire heirs fights village tout for wife. It’s embarrassing. The only thing embarrassing here, Gday, Chief Adabbeo said quietly, is that you went digging into a woman’s painful past to score points against your cousin. The chief walked over to Amara.

He looked her up and down for the first time. His eyes were not cold. They were assessing. “Is it true?” the chief asked her. “Did you run away to save yourself?” “Yes, sir,” Amaro whispered. “I chose poverty in Lagos over slavery in his ego. I worked my way up from cleaning floors to being Femi’s secretary.

I have never taken a shortcut until she stopped herself before she admitted to the fake engagement. The chief nodded slowly. Strength, I respect that. He turned to Gday. Get out. But uncle, get out. The chief roared. And take your witness with you. If I hear that you are communicating with this Oena character again, you will be removed from the board permanently. Jeday turned purple.

He snatched up his folder, glared pure hatred at Fei and Amara, and stormed out of the room. When the door slammed shut, the energy in the room shifted. “Do not think you are in the clear,” the chief said to Femi. “Jed is a snake. He has opened a door now. this husband of hers. If Jed found him, the press will find him and he will come.

I can handle a village bully, Dad. Femi scoffed. This is not a bully, Femi. This is a man who feels his honor has been stolen by a rich man. That makes him dangerous. The chief side sitting back down. The gala is in 10 days. You have 10 days to fix this. If this Oena shows up at my gala or if a story leaks before then the deal is off. And Jed gets the chair.

Understood. Femi said. Go home. The chief waved his hand dismissively. And Fei, that kiss, it was convincing. Keep it up. The drive back to the mainland was suffocating. Femi drove the G Wagon like he was running from the devil. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

Amara sat in the passenger seat, still trembling, the shawl wrapped tight around her as if it were armor. You should have told me. Femi broke the silence, his voice low and dangerous. I I didn’t think it mattered. Amara stammered. It was years ago. He is in the village. I thought he had forgotten me. Men like that never forget what they think they own. Femi snapped.

He slammed his hand on the steering wheel. Do you realize how close we came to losing everything? If I hadn’t stepped in, my father would have thrown you out. You would have lost the money for your mother. I would have lost my company. I know, Amara cried out, tears finally spilling over. I know, okay? I was scared.

I thought if I told you I came with baggage, you wouldn’t hire me as your secretary, let alone your fake wife. I needed the job, Fei. I needed to eat. Femi glanced at her. The street lights flickered over her face, illuminating the tears sliding down her cheeks. She looked fragile, but she was holding herself together with sheer will.

He sighed, the anger deflating slightly. Jeday found him. That means Jed is paying him. Oena isn’t just a scorned ex anymore, Amara. He’s a weapon being used against me. I will go back to the village, Amara said quietly. I will confront him. I will make him stop. You will do no such thing, Femi said. You think you can reason with a man who thinks he bought you? Oh, you are staying in Legos.

He made a sharp U-turn, the tires screeching on the asphalt. Where are we going? Amara grabbed the handle above the door. My apartment is the other way. You aren’t going to your apartment, Fei said grimly. Jed knows where you live, which means Oena knows where you live. If he is coming to Lagos, that is the first place he will go.

So I have a lock on my door. A lock? Femi laughed without humor. Amara, you live in Suril. A determined man can kick that door down in 2 seconds. You are not safe there. Then where am I supposed to go? My penthouse. Amara gasped. No, absolutely not. Rule number one, no touching. Rule number four, which I am adding now, is no cohabitation. I cannot live with you.

It is improper. Would you rather be improper or kidnapped? Femi shot back. This isn’t a debate. You’re my asset now. I paid 5 million naira for this engagement. I am protecting my investment. I am a person, not an investment. Right now, you are a liability, Femi said coldly. And I keep my liabilities where I can see them.

The penthouse at EcoAtlantic was breathtaking. It was a world of glass, steel, and cold luxury hovering 30 floors above the ocean. Femi ushered Amara inside. She stood in the foyer, clutching her handbag, looking out at the panoramic view of the dark ocean. It was beautiful, but it felt like a cage. “Guest room is down the hall to the right,” Fei said, tossing his keys into a bowl. “It has a lock.

You can barricade yourself in if you’re afraid I’ll attack you. But trust me, Amara, after today, I’m too tired to be a playboy. He walked to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of whiskey. He didn’t offer her any. Amara didn’t move. How long until the gala? Femi said, taking a sip. Once we secure the company, I will hire private security for you.

I will pay Oena off if I have to. But until then, you stay here. Amara nodded slowly. She was exhausted. The adrenaline of the evening was fading, leaving her bone tired. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For standing up for me with your father. You didn’t have to rip the photo.” Femi looked at her over the rim of his glass.

For a moment, the mask slipped. He looked at her not as a boss, but as a man who had felt her trembling against him. “You are under my protection, Amara,” he said softly. “Nobody touches what is mine.” The phrase hung in the air. What is mine? Was he talking about the fake fiance or something else? Before Amara could analyze it, Femi’s phone rang.

It wasn’t a call. It was a FaceTime request. It’s an unknown number, Femi frowned. He set the glass down and swiped to answer, holding the phone up. Who is this? Femi demanded. Amara watched Femi’s face. In an instant, his expression went from annoyed to horrified. The blood drained from his face faster than it had at the dinner table.

Femi? Amara stepped forward. Who is it? Femi didn’t speak. He slowly turned the screen toward Amara. The video was grainy, lit by a single bulb swinging from a ceiling. A man sat on a plastic chair. He was young, muscular, with a scar running through his eyebrow and a toothpick chewing aggressively in his mouth. He looked toxic. He looked dangerous.

He looked exactly like the man in the photo, Oena. But it wasn’t OA that made Amara scream. It was the background. Behind Oena sitting on a hospital bed looking frail and terrified, hooked up to Infor Drip, was an older woman. Mama Amara shrieked, her hands flying to her mouth. On the screen, Oena leaned forward, grinning a smile that didn’t reach his dead eyes. “Hello, wife.

” Oena’s voice crackled through the phone speaker, thick with an ebo accent and malice. “I see you have found a rich man to pay your bills. That is good because the price of your freedom just went up.” He patted Amara’s mother on the shoulder. The old woman flinched. “I am at St. Nicholas Hospital.” Oena laughed.

“Your mother is very nice. She told me you were getting married to a billionaire. I think I should be the ring bearer. Eh Amara fell to her knees sobbing. Don’t touch her. Fei roared at the phone, his veins popping. If you touch one hair on her head, you have 24 hours, Oena interrupted, his face hardening.

Bring my wife to me or I will pull the plug on this machine myself. The screen went black. Femi stood frozen, the phone still held up in the air. Amara was on the floor wailing, her world collapsing around her. The enemy wasn’t coming to Legos. He was already here. And he had the one thing Amara loved more than life itself. Here is chapter 4 of the virgin secretary who tamed the Playboy billionaire.

Chapter 4, the rescue mission. The screen of Femi’s phone had gone black, but Oena’s laughter seemed to hang in the cold air of the penthouse like a poisonous gas. Amara was still on her knees. Her expensive red silk dress pulled around her like blood. She was shaking so violently that her teeth chattered. “He is going to kill her,” Amara gasped, her voice barely audible.

“He is crazy, Femi. You don’t know him. He doesn’t care about jail. He doesn’t care about anything except getting what he thinks is his.” Femi stared at the blank phone in his hand. His initial shock had evaporated, replaced by a cold, calculating rage. This wasn’t a boardroom negotiation. This wasn’t a stock market crash.

This was a man threatening a defenseless old woman to get to a girl who had already suffered enough. He slipped the phone into his pocket, and walked over to Amara. He didn’t offer empty platitudes. He didn’t tell her to calm down. Instead, he reached down, grabbed her upper arms, and hauled her to her feet. “Listen to me,” Femi commanded, his voice hard still. “Look at me, Amara.

” Amara looked up, her eyes swimming with tears, her glasses crooked on her nose. We are going to get her. Femi said, “Tonight, now, but he said 24 hours. He’s lying. He’s unstable. If we wait, he might get bored or angry or drunk.” Femi released her and stroed toward the elevator, grabbing a set of keys from a hook. But they weren’t the Gwagon keys.

They were for the armored land cruiser. Stay here. Amara cried, chasing after him. Oh, I am coming with you. Femi spun around. You are the target, Amara. If you walk into that room, he wins. He takes you and he hurts your mother anyway just to teach you a lesson. She is my mother. Amara screamed, grabbing the lapels of his suit.

I am not sitting in this glass tower drinking your whiskey while she dies. If I have to trade myself for her, I will do it. Femi looked down at her hands, gripping his suit. He saw the desperation in her eyes. The same desperation that had made her agree to a fake marriage. She was loyal to a fault. Fine, Fei said, grabbing her hand.

But you do exactly what I say. If I say run, you run. If I say duck, you duck. Do you understand? Yes. Let’s go. The drive to St. Nicholas Hospital was a blur of speed and tension. Femi drove with one hand on the wheel and the other holding his phone to his ear, barking orders to his head of security.

A frighteningly efficient ex-military man named Tenko. I don’t care about protocols, Tenko. Femi snapped into the phone. I want a four-man team at the hospital perimeter in 10 minutes. Silent approach. Do not engage until I give the signal. The subject is armed and hostile. And Tenko, if anything happens to the patient, you’re fired.

He hung up and glanced at Amara. She was huddled in the passenger seat, eyes closed, lips moving in silent prayer. “Tenko is the best,” Femi said, his voice softer now. “He used to protect the governor. We will get her out.” Amara opened her eyes. Why are you doing this? Doing what? Risking your life. This isn’t in the contract.

You could just call the police and stay home. You are a billionaire, Feami. You aren’t supposed to be here. Femi tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Why was he doing this? He told himself it was to protect his asset. If Amara’s mother died, the deal was off. But deep down, as he watched the street lights flicker over Amara’s terrified face, he knew it was more than that.

I don’t like bullies, Fei said simply. And nobody threatens my wife. Fake or not. The hospital parking lot was quiet. It was 11:30 p.m. Femi parked the Land Cruiser in the shadows away from the main entrance. Two black SUVs were already parked near the emergency exit. Tenko stepped out of the shadows. A giant of a man wearing black tactical gear. Boss.

Tenko nodded to Fei, then glanced at Amara in her evening gown. She’s going in. She has to. He needs to see her to let his guard down. Femi said. What’s the situation? Subject is in room 304. Private ward. He has barricaded the door with a chair, but the window is accessible. My men are in position on the balcony. He has a knife. Maybe a locally made pistol.

We can’t be sure. Femi nodded. He turned to Amara. Okay, here is the plan. You and I walked to the door. We talk to him. We keep him focused on us. Tenko’s men will breach from the window on my signal. What is the signal? Amara asked, her voice trembling. When I offer him money, Fei said.

Greedy men always drop their guard when they smell cash. The hallway on the third floor smelled of antiseptic and floor wax. It was eerily silent. The nurse’s station was empty. Oena had likely scared them off or locked them in a supply closet. Amara’s heels clicked on the lenolium floor. Femi reached out and took her hand.

His palm was warm and dry. It anchored her. They reached room 304. Ready? Femi whispered. Amara nodded. She took a deep breath, adjusted her shawl, and pushed the door open. The room was dimly lit. The heart monitor beeped rhythmically. Beep beep beep. The only sound that proved her mother was still alive.

Oino was sitting on the edge of the hospital bed eating an apple he had stolen from the patients tray. He looked up his eyes widening when he saw Amara in the red dress. “Adam,” Oena grinned standing up. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You look expensive.” He took a step toward her. Amara flinched, stepping back.

“Stop right there.” Femi stepped in front of her, blocking Oena’s path. Femi stood tall, his suit jacket unbuttoned, his dreads tied back. He looked every inch the powerful co, but his stance was ready for a fight. Oena looked Femi up and down and laughed. So this is the bank account. He is pretty. Does he know you are used goods, Amara? Femi didn’t take the bait.

Step away from the patient, Oena. This is not a patient. This is my mother-in-law. Oena sneered. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a switchblade. The metal glinted under the fluorescent lights. He waved it casually toward the four line connecting to Mama’s arm. One cut, OA said, his voice dropping and air goes into the vein. Very painful way to die. No.

Amara screamed, lunging forward. Femi caught her arm holding her back. Stay back, Amara. He looked at Oena. What do you want? You want her back? She doesn’t want you. You want respect? You don’t have it, so it must be money. Oenna’s eyes flickered. I want what I paid for. I paid the bride price. How much? Femi asked, reaching into his inner jacket pocket. Oena tensed, raising the knife.

Don’t try anything. I’m just getting my checkbook, Fei said slowly, pulling out a slim leather book. How much was the bride price? 50,000 naira, 100,000. It is about honor, Oena shouted, though his eyes were glued to the checkbook. 5 million, Fei said calmly. I will write you a check for 5 million naira right now.

You take it, you walk out of here, and you never come back to Lagos. Oena froze. 5 million. It was a fortune in the village. He licked his lips. The knife lowered slightly. Cash, Oena demanded. Checks can bounce. I don’t carry 5 million in cash. Femi lied. But the check is good. Look at me. Do I look like I bounce checks? Femi took a step forward, holding out the checkbook.

Take it. Be a rich man in his ego or stay here and go to prison for murder. It’s an easy choice. Oena looked at Amara. He looked at the knife. He looked at the checkbook. Greed one. Give it to me. Oena said, reaching out with his left hand, the knife still in his right. Femi stepped closer. Yelled the checkout. Now, Femi yelled.

Glass shattered as the window behind Oena exploded inward. Two men in black tactical gear swung into the room on ropes. Oena spun around in panic, slashing the knife wildly. “Amara, get down!” Femi shouted, shoving her toward the door. But Oena was fast. Realizing he had been tricked, he roared with rage and lunged, not at the soldiers, but at Femi.

Femi raised his arm to block, but he wasn’t a street fighter. The knife sliced through the expensive fabric of his suit jacket and carved a deep gash into his forearm. “Fei!” Amara screamed. The pain was white hot, but Fei didn’t back down. Adrenaline flooded his system. He swung his other fist, connecting solidly with Oena’s jaw.

It wasn’t a technical punch, but it had the weight of a man protecting his woman behind it. Oena stumbled back, stunned. Before he could recover, Tenko burst through the door, tackling Oena to the ground with the force of a freight train. The knife skittered across the floor. “Secure him!” Tenko barked. His men were on Oena in seconds, zip tying his hands and dragging him, kicking and screaming out of the room. “You will pay for this.

” Oena screamed as he was hauled away. I am her husband. I am her husband. Then silence. Amara scrambled up from the floor and ran to the bed. Mama. Mama. The old woman stirred, her eyes fluttering open. She was groggy from medication. Unharmed. Amara, why are you shouting? Amara collapsed onto the bed, weeping with relief, burying her face in her mother’s neck.

Femi leaned against the wall, clutching his bleeding arm. His breath was coming in ragged gasps. The room was spinning slightly. He watched Amara. She was safe. The mother was safe. He had one, boss. Tenko approached him, looking at the blood dripping onto the floor. You need a doctor. That cut is deep. Amara’s head snapped up. She turned and saw Fei.

Oh my god, she gasped. She released her mother and ran to him. Feami, you’re bleeding. She reached out, her hands hovering over the wound, terrified to touch it. The blood was soaking his white shirt, staining it crimson. It’s fine. Femi gritted out, trying to smile. Just a scratch. Ruined a custom Armani suit, though. My Taylor will be upset.

Stop joking. Amara cried, tears streaming down her face again. He stabbed you. You You saved us. She looked up at him and for the first time there were no barriers, no glasses. She had lost them in the scuffle. No secretary persona, no fake fiance act. Just a woman looking at her hero. I told you.

Femi whispered, his vision blurring slightly. Nobody touches what is mine. His knees buckled. Amara caught him, her arms wrapping around his waist, struggling to hold his weight. Help. Someone help him,” she screamed at the nurses, rushing into the room. 2 hours later, the penthouse was quiet again. Femi sat on the edge of the oversized leather sofa, his left arm heavily bandaged and resting in a sling.

He had refused to stay at the hospital overnight, demanding to be taken home once the stitches were in. Amara walked into the living room carrying a tray with tea and painkillers. She had changed out of the ruined red dress into one of Femi’s oversized t-shirts and a pair of leggings she had in her emergency bag.

She set the tray down and sat next to him. “Take these,” she said softly, handing him the pills. Femi swallowed them dry. “Is your mother settled?” “Yes.” Tenko moved her to the VIP wing. “He has two men outside her door. She is safe.” Amara looked down at her hands. “Because of you.” It was part of the deal, Femi said gruffly, looking away, protecting the asset.

Stop it, Amara said. Femi looked back at her. Stop what? Stop pretending you don’t care. Stop pretending this is just business. Amara moved closer to him. She reached out and gently touched the bandage on his arm. You took a knife for me, Fei. That is not in the contract. Femi looked at her. The adrenaline had faded, leaving him exhausted and strangely vulnerable.

The barrier between them felt very thin tonight. “I didn’t want him to hurt you,” Femi admitted, his voice low. “Why?” “Because,” Femi leaned his head back against the sofa, closing his eyes. “Because you are the only real thing in my life right now, Amara. And I think I think I’m starting to hate the idea of you being anyone else’s wife, even a fake one.” Amara’s breath hitched.

She looked at his face, the handsome features now etched with pain and fatigue. She remembered the way he had stood in front of her, the way he had fought for her. Rule number one was no touching, but rules were made for the office. They were not made for late nights in pen houses after surviving a madman.

Slowly, tentatively, Amara reached out. She placed her hand on his cheek, turning his face toward hers. Femi opened his eyes. He didn’t pull away. “Amara,” he warned softly. “The painkillers make me a little honest. You should go to your room.” “I don’t want to go to my room,” Amara whispered. She leaned in.

Femi’s healthy arm came up, wrapping around her waist, pulling her onto his lap. She gasped, but didn’t resist. She settled against him, careful of his injured arm. “If you kiss me now,” Femi murmured, his gaze dropping to her lips. It won’t be for my father and it won’t be for Jeday and I won’t stop. Amara looked into his eyes. I don’t want you to stop.

She closed the gap. This time the kiss wasn’t desperate or explosive. It was slow. It was tender. It tasted of tea and relief and a shifting dynamic that neither of them could deny anymore. Femi groaned low in his throat, his hand tangling in her hair, deepening the kiss. Amara melted against him, her hands clutching his shoulders.

But just as Femi shifted, pressing her back against the sofa, a sharp pain shot through his arm. He hissed, breaking the kiss, wincing. Amara pulled back immediately. Your arm. I’m sorry. It’s fine. Femi breathed, forehead resting against hers. Worth it. Amara smiled, a shy, genuine smile. She smoothed the hair back from his forehead. You need to sleep, she said.

Doctor’s orders. Stay with me. Femi asked. It wasn’t a demand. It was a request. Amara hesitated. Then she nodded. I’ll stay, but just to sleep. You are injured. Femi chuckled dryly for now. He adjusted his position, pulling a throw blanket over them. Amara curled up beside him, resting her head on his good shoulder.

For the first time in years, Fei Adabbeo fell asleep without alcohol, without a model, and without fear of the morning. But outside in the dark streets of Lagos, Jeday was not sleeping. He sat in his car watching the dash cam footage his spy had sent him from the hospital parking lot. He saw Fei fighting. He saw the police taking Oena away.

Jeday smiled. So Jeday whispered to the empty car. Oena failed, but he did confirm one thing. Femi is in love. And love, love makes you weak. He picked up his phone and dialed the number. Hello. Is this the editor of Legos Gist? Yes, I have a story. It’s about Fei Adabo and a secret village husband.

I want it on the front page tomorrow morning. The morning sun over EcoAtlantic didn’t break gently. It poured through the floor to ceiling glass of the penthouse like liquid gold. Amara woke up slowly. For a moment, she forgot where she was. She forgot the hospital, the knife, and the terror of the night before. All she felt was warmth, solid, heavy warmth.

She shifted slightly and realized she was not in her small bed in Suril. She was tangled on a leather sofa, wrapped in a cashmere throw, her head resting on a chest that rose and fell in a steady rhythm. She looked up. Femi Adabbea was asleep. The notorious playboy, the shark of the boardroom, looked deceptively peaceful.

His dreadlocks were fanned out against the cushion, his features softened by sleep. His left arm was in a sling, resting protectively across his stomach. Amara held her breath. She knew she should move. She knew she should get up, make coffee, and return to being the efficient secretary.

Rule number one was dead, but surely in the light of day, they would rebuild the walls. But she couldn’t move. She traced the line of his jaw with her eyes. He had fought for her. He had bled for her. “If you keep staring at me,” Femy’s voice rasped deep and thick with sleep. I’m going to charge you a consulting fee. Amara jumped, her cheeks heating up.

Femi cracked one eye open, a lazy boyish grin spreading across his face. I wasn’t staring. Amara lied trying to sit up. I was checking your bandage. Femi didn’t let her move. His good arm tightened around her waist, pulling her back down against him. It’s too early for Liz Amara. And it’s definitely too early to move. Femi, we have work.

The board, your father can wait, Femi murmured, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He inhaled deeply. You smell like vanilla. Is that the secretary perfume or the fiance perfume? Amara’s heart hammered against her ribs. The sensation of his breath against her sensitive skin sent shivers down her spine. “It’s just me.

I like it,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her pulse point. “The moment was perfect. It was a bubble of domestic intimacy that felt more real than anything Amara had ever known. For five minutes, they weren’t a billionaire and his employee. They were just a man and a woman safe in a tower above the world.

Then the world intruded. Bz zzz Bz. Femi’s phone, which had been silent on the coffee table, began to vibrate violently. Then Amara’s phone joined in. Then the landline in the kitchen started ringing. The bubble popped. Femi groaned, the softness vanishing from his eyes. He sat up, wincing as his injured arm jostled. He reached for his phone.

Amara watched his face. She saw the exact moment the piece died. Femi’s jaw clenched. His eyes darkened to black flint. He didn’t say a word. He just stared at the screen, his thumb scrolling. Femi? Amara whispered, a cold dread pooling in her stomach. What is it? Femi didn’t answer. He looked at her and his expression was unreadable.

It wasn’t anger at her. It was a protective furious shield going up. Don’t look at your phone, Fei commanded. Why? Amara reached for her handbag. Amara, don’t. She ignored him. She grabbed her phone. The screen was flooded with notifications. WhatsApp messages from her church group, missed calls from numbers she didn’t know, and a Google alert she had set up for Adabo Group.

She opened the link. It was Legos gist. The headline screamed in bold red letters. Scandal. Billionaire’s virgin bride is a runaway village wife. Exclusive. Femi Adabo’s new fiance, the innocent Amaranagi is actually the property of Mr. Oena. Police reports confirm a brawl at St. Nicholas Hospital last night involving the billionaire heir and the scorned husband.

Is the Adabo Empire funding adultery? Below the text was the photo, the grainy photo of her in the village beads. And next to it, a blurry photo taken from a hidden camera at the hospital showing Fei bleeding and Oena in handcuffs. Amara dropped the phone. It clattered onto the floor. “It’s over,” she whispered. The room spun.

Everyone knows my church, my reputation, your father. She stood up, backing away from him. I have to go. I have to leave. If I leave, maybe the story stops. You are not going anywhere. Femi stood up, ignoring the pain in his arm. Look at the headline, Feami. Amara cried, hysteria rising in her voice.

They are calling me an adulteress. They’re calling you a fool. Gay did this. E1. The gala is tonight. You can’t take a village wife to the gala. Your father will fire you. Let him. Femi said. Omar stopped. What? Femi walked over to her. He kicked her phone aside and took her face in his good hand. Let him fire me. Femi said, his voice terrifyingly calm.

Let Jedday have the chair. Let the board scream. I don’t care. You care. Amara argued. This is your legacy. This is your life. You are my life. Femi shouted back. The silence that followed was deafening. Femi looked shocked by his own words. Amara stared at him, her mouth slightly open. Femi exhaled, running his hand through his dreads. I didn’t mean.

Look, Amara, before yesterday. Yes, the company was everything. But last night when I saw that knife, when I thought I might lose you, I realized that the chair is just wood and leather. You are flesh and blood. He stepped closer, forcing her to look at him. We are not cancelling, Fei said firmly.

We are going to the gala tonight. Are you insane? Amara laughed, a broken sound. We will be eaten alive. The press will be waiting. Exactly. Femi smirked, a dangerous glint returning to his eyes. They want a scandal. Let’s give them a show. They want to see the village wife. I will show them a queen. He walked to the intercom on the wall and pressed the button. Tenko.

Yes, boss. Perimeter is secure. Paparazzi are at the gate. Let them wait. Call Lumiè. Tell them to bring the gold dress, the one I designed, and get the makeup team here in an hour. Femi. Amara shook her head. I can’t. You can. Femi said softy. You tamed a playboy. Amara, you survived. Oena.

You can handle a few flashes. The rest of the day was a military operation. Stylists arrived. Makeup artists worked in silence, too afraid of Femi’s scowl to ask about the scandal. Amara sat in the chair like a statue, letting them paint her armor on. Femi spent the day in his study shouting into his phone.

Amara could hear him through the door. If one shareholder sells I buy them out personally, suing Legagos just for defamation. Yes, today tell Gay if he shows his face near me, he will need a dentist. By 700 p.m. the sun had set over Legos, leaving the city glittering with lights. Amara stood in front of the fulllength mirror in the master bedroom.

She didn’t recognize herself. The gold dress was a masterpiece. It was liquid metal hugging every inch of her frame with a neckline that plunged daringly low and a back that was completely open. It was bold. It was regal. It was a declaration of war. Her hair was no longer in a bun. It fell in soft, dark waves around her shoulders.

She wasn’t wearing her glasses. Wow. Femi’s voice came from the doorway. Amara turned. Femi was dressed in a black tuxedo that fit him like a second skin. His injured arm was secured in a sleek black silk sling that looked more like a fashion statement than a medical necessity. He looked devastatingly handsome. He walked into the room, his eyes devouring her.

He stopped a foot away. You look Femi shook his head at a loss for words. Dangerous. I feel like I’m about to walk to my execution. Amara admitted, her hands trembling slightly. No, Fei stepped behind her. They looked at their reflection in the mirror. The billionaire and his queen. You are walking to your coronation.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a velvet box. He opened it. Inside sat a diamond necklace that looked heavy enough to sink a small boat. This was my mother’s, Fei said quietly. She wore it when she told the press to go to hell in 1995. Amara gasped. Femi, I can’t wear that. It’s a heirloom.

You are the only one I want wearing it. Femi said. He took the necklace out. Lift your hair. Amara swept her hair to one side, exposing the nape of her neck. Femi moved closer. The heat of his body radiated against her back. He draped the cold diamonds around her throat. His fingers brushed her skin as he clasped it. He didn’t pull away.

He lingered, his hand resting on the bare skin of her shoulder, his thumb stroking the curve of her neck. Amara’s breath hitched. The tension in the room shifted instantly from anxiety to something much heavier, much hotter. Femi lowered his head. His lips grazed the sensitive spot just below her ear. Amara’s eyes fluttered closed, her head tilting back involuntarily against his chest.

They are waiting for us, Femi whispered against her skin, his voice dropping to a low growl. The wolves, the press. Gday. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, sending a jolt of electricity straight to her core. Let them wait, Amara whispered back, her voice breathless. Femi turned her around slowly so she was facing him. His eyes were dark, dilated, burning with an intensity that made her knees weak.

Tonight we play a game, Fei murmured, his hands sliding down her back to rest on her hip, pulling her flush against him. We smile. We wave. We pretend we don’t care. He leaned in closer, his lips hovering millimeters from hers. But when we get back here, Fei promised, his voice thick with intent.

When the doors are locked and the cameras are gone, I’m going to show you exactly who you belong to, and it won’t be a fake husband from a village.” Amara swallowed hard, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his chest. “Is that a threat, Mr. Adabo?” Femi smirked, brushing his lips against hers.

A tease, a promise, a spark before the fire. “No, Mrs. Adabo,” he whispered. “That’s a plan.” He pulled back, leaving her wanting, leaving her breathless. He offered his good arm. Shall we go break the internet? Amara took a deep breath. She looked at the man who had turned her world upside down. She took his arm. Let’s go. The dress is on. The diamonds are fastened.

And the war has just begun. Femi promised to Marai game. And he promised to show her exactly who she belongs to when the doors are locked tonight. The fake marriage is officially over. The real passion is just starting. Will they survive the red carpet or will Gay destroy them before they make it back to the penthouse? Vote now.

Do you think they will make it to the bedroom or will the scandal break them apart? Comment #teamfi if you trust him. Don’t miss the explosive season 3 premiere. Smash that subscribe button and turn on the bell so you are the first to see the gala showdown.