The Adeleke & Co. headquarters loomed like a glass monolith against the Lagos morning sky—sharp, cold, and unapologetic. I stepped out of the Bentley behind Kian, heels clicking on marble like tiny accusations. Security nodded us through without a word. Everyone knew who we were now. The wedding photos had hit every society blog before sunrise.
Inside the executive elevator, Kian pressed the button for the 35th floor. Silence stretched between us thicker than the glass walls.
I stared at our reflection: him in charcoal perfection, me in navy power suit that felt like borrowed armor. My wedding ring caught the light—too heavy, too bright.
"You didn't have to bring me here," I said quietly.
"You're my wife." His voice was flat. "Investors want to see the united front. Especially after the merger announcement."
"United front," I echoed. "Right. Because nothing screams stability like a fake marriage built on blackmail and old grudges."
He turned to face me fully then. The elevator was small. Too small. His cologne wrapped around me—same one from five years ago, the one I used to steal from his drawer and spray on my pillow when he was away.
"Ada." My name came out softer than I expected. "This isn't easy for me either."
I laughed—short, bitter. "Poor you. Forced to pretend you care while your billions multiply. Must be torture."
His jaw flexed. "You think I wanted this?"
"You chose it." I stepped closer, voice dropping. "You could have walked away five years ago and never looked back. Instead you came back, paid off my father's bills, and chained me to you for 101 days."
The elevator dinged. Doors opened to polished chaos—assistants scurrying, phones ringing, the scent of fresh coffee and ambition.
Kian didn't move. "101 days," he repeated, almost to himself. "You're already counting."
"I started counting the second I signed." I brushed past him into the hallway. "Let's get this photo op over with."
The boardroom was packed. Mr. Adeleke Sr. at the head, flanked by men in suits worth more than most people's houses. A photographer waited with a tripod. A journalist from BusinessDay hovered with a recorder.
"Ah, the newlyweds," Mr. Adeleke said, smile wide but eyes calculating. "Come, come. Let's show the world what a strong partnership looks like."
Kian's hand found the small of my back—professional, light. I didn't flinch. Not outwardly.
They posed us by the floor-to-ceiling windows: Lagos sprawling below like a glittering promise. Kian stood behind me, one arm loosely around my waist. I tilted my head toward his shoulder. Perfect couple. Perfect lie.
The photographer snapped away. "Smile bigger, Mrs. Adeleke. Yes—chin up. Mr. Adeleke, look at her like she's the only thing in the room."
Kian turned his face toward mine. Our noses almost brushed. His breath was warm on my cheek.
For a heartbeat, the room disappeared.
His eyes weren't cold now. They were stormy. Haunted. The same look he'd given me that night five years ago when he said goodbye at the airport fence—right before he disappeared.
The flash popped.
"Perfect," the photographer called.
Kian didn't let go immediately. His thumb grazed my waist—once, barely there. Then he stepped back.
The journalist stepped forward. "Mr. and Mrs. Adeleke, how does it feel to balance love and business in such a high-stakes environment?"
Kian answered smoothly. "Love and business aren't opposites. When done right, they strengthen each other."
I smiled—tight, practiced. "Exactly. We're stronger together."
The words tasted like ash.
After the photos, Mr. Adeleke pulled Kian aside for a private word. I wandered to the refreshment table, pretending to study the fruit platter.
A woman approached—tall, sleek braids, red lipstick sharp enough to cut glass. She wore a cream suit that screamed "I belong here."
"Adanna, right?" Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "I'm Zara. Head of Mergers & Acquisitions."
I nodded. "Nice to meet you."
She leaned closer, voice low. "Congratulations on the wedding. Kian's never brought anyone to these things before. Must be serious."
"It is," I said carefully.
She laughed softly. "He used to say marriage was a liability. Guess you changed his mind."
Something twisted in my chest. "Guess so."
Zara's gaze flicked to Kian across the room. "Be careful, though. Men like him… they collect things. Companies. Properties. People. When they're done, they divest."
My fingers tightened around the glass I hadn't realized I'd picked up.
Before I could respond, Kian returned. His eyes narrowed when he saw Zara.
"Zara," he said, tone clipped. "Didn't know you were back from Dubai."
"Just in time for the happy news." She touched his arm—casual, familiar. "We should catch up. Old times."
Kian removed her hand smoothly. "Another time. My wife and I have plans."
He took my elbow. Gentle, but firm. We walked out together.
In the hallway, I pulled away. "Old times?"
"She's a colleague."
"She touched you like you were more than colleagues."
He stopped. Turned. "Jealous, Ada?"
"Don't flatter yourself."
"Then why do you care?"
I opened my mouth. Closed it. Because the truth was too dangerous: I cared because some stupid part of me still remembered what it felt like when he looked at me like I was everything.
Instead I said, "Because for the next 100 days, you're mine. On paper. Act like it."
His gaze darkened. "Careful what you wish for."
We rode the elevator down in silence again.
When the doors opened to the lobby, he spoke quietly. "Tonight. Dinner. Just us. No cameras. No investors."
I looked up at him. "Why?"
"Because we can't keep pretending in public while hating each other in private. Not for 100 more days."
My heart thudded. "What if I say no?"
"Then we keep bleeding slowly." He stepped closer. "Or we face it. Tonight. 8 p.m. My place."
I searched his face for the trick. Found only exhaustion—and something that looked dangerously like hope.
"Fine," I whispered. "But if this is another game—"
"It's not." His voice cracked, just barely. "Not anymore."
He walked away first.
I stood there, watching his back disappear into the crowd, counting down in my head.
100 days left.
And already, the hate was starting to feel like something far more terrifying.
End of Chapter 5