Married To The Billionaire Stranger

rk, a cascading waterfall of silk that shimmered under the grand chandeliers of the opulent ballroom. It was the kind of dress a woman dreamed of wear

illionaire named Darius Kane, and there was not a

ate hope. She had read the prenuptial agreement – a thick, dense document filled with legal jargon that solidified the cold, transactional nature of their union. It stipulated everything from asset division (she would get nothing

ut then, she'd visited Amaka, weak and pale, her breathing labored. She'd remembered the doctor's grim prognosis without the surgery. And the image of Emeka, smirking as he va

gnates, politicians, and socialites who looked at her with a mixture of curiosity, speculation, and thinly veiled

ra had designed, stood beside her, her hand gripping Zara's

as I can be when marrying a man I m

a remembered the vows, the solemn promises of 'love, honor, and cherish,' and the bitter irony almost made her laugh. She certainly

nd slid it onto Zara's finger. It was cold, heavy, and felt less like a symbol of union and more like a shackle. As his fingers brushed hers, a familiar current,

ol against hers, firm and unyielding. Their eyes met again, and in that brief, intense gaze, Zara felt a spa

bride," the pastor anno

public declaration, the physical manifestation of their farce. Sh

ted, surprisingly warm despite his icy demeanor. His golden eyes, which had been so cold, seemed to soften for

cent of his expensive cologne, the surprising softness of his lips, the faint pressure of his fingers against her skin. It was a kiss meant to convey passion, to convince every skeptical gue

readable. He looked at her for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, and Zara f

ped, recording the moment for society pages and gossip columns. Zara forced a sm

herself navigating a sea of unfamiliar faces, offering polite smiles and vacant nods. Every word felt rehearsed, every gesture a performance. She was acutely aware of Darius by

ex-fiancée, a well-known socialite and heiress. Her eyes, narrowed and sharp, were fixed on Zara with an unmis

k, lingering for a moment, her gaze never leaving Zara. "And you must be... Zara. The new Mrs. Kane." Her tone w

's warning: no scandals. She forced a smile, her voice steady. "It was certainly unexpected. But when you k

her back. "Vanessa," he said, his voice a cool wa

to wish the happy couple all the best. Though, I must say, Darius, you always did have a taste for... the unconventi

anessa was out of earshot. "Charmi

his eyes. "You handled that well," he said, his voice surprisingly d

etending, of fending off jealous exes and curious soci

the multi-tiered confection. His presence was overwhelming, his arm brushing hers, the subtle scent of his cologne

the forced smiles, the constant awareness of Darius beside her – it was all draining. She long

security. A sleek Rolls-Royce, white and gleaming, awaited them. As the car pulled away from t

ra stared out the window, watching the familiar Lagos streets turn into the unfamiliar, spra

manicured gardens, finally revealing a house that was less a house and more a palace. It was a sprawling, contemporary masterpiece

pped out, feeling impossibly small against the grandeur of her

nse of dislocation. This wasn't a home; it was an estate. And she, Zara

yer with soaring ceilings and stark, modern art. Tunde was waiting for the

, his voice surprisingly

ere, small and familiar, even if it was about to be taken from her. T

he arrangements tomorrow." His voice was flat, business-like. He didn't say goodnight, didn't offer a gesture o

the sterile smell of the grand house. She was married. To a stranger. And her new life, a bewildering, terrifying journey into the unknown, had jus