The Ceo's Contract

The hospital called at 6:42am.

Zara had been awake already, staring at the cracked ceiling above her bed, but the sound of her phone vibrating against the small wooden table made her heart jump.

She reached for it with sleepy fingers.

One missed call.

Then another.

Then the phone rang again.

Unknown Number.

Her stomach tightened.

She already knew who it was.

For the past three days, every call from the hospital had felt like a countdown.

Zara answered.

"Hello?"

"Miss Adebayo, your brother's bill is ₦500,000. We need payment by Monday or we discharge him."

Her eyes immediately closed.

For a moment, she couldn't speak.

She gripped the edge of the thin mattress with one hand.

"Please..." Her voice came out barely above a whisper. "Please, he's still in ICU."

"Yes, Miss Adebayo. That's why we're giving you until Monday."

"But I don't have that kind of money."

There was a pause on the other end.

"I'm sorry. You need to make arrangements."

The call ended.

Zara hung up and stared at her ceiling in Surulere.

One room.

Peeling paint.

One fan that made noise but no air.

The tiny room was hot already, even though the morning was still young. Her clothes from yesterday were hanging from a nail on the wall because she didn't have a proper wardrobe. A small plastic bucket sat in the corner beside the bathroom door.

Everything she owned could probably fit into two suitcases.

She reached for her phone again and opened her banking app.

Available balance: ₦12,400.

She stared at the number.

Then refreshed it.

₦12,400.

Still the same.

She laughed once.

Not because anything was funny.

It was the kind of laugh that came when crying felt too exhausting.

Her brother Tunde, 14, was in ICU after a danfo hit him crossing the road.

Fourteen.

He was supposed to be worrying about school assignments, football matches, video games, and whether their mother would let him stay outside an extra thirty minutes.

Instead, he was lying in a hospital bed with machines keeping track of his heartbeat.

And Zara had ₦12,400 in her account.

She pressed the phone against her forehead.

"God, please."

Her voice broke.

"Please don't let me lose him."

She sat there for another few minutes before forcing herself out of bed.

She had a shift that evening.

She couldn't afford to miss it.

Not now.

Not when every naira mattered.

She went to work anyway.

By 7pm she was at Eko Hotel, in a too-tight black waitress uniform, balancing trays of champagne.

The hotel looked like another world compared to the tiny room she had left that morning.

Crystal lights reflected across polished floors. Expensive perfume filled the air. Men in tailored suits laughed loudly while women dressed in beautiful gowns moved between tables.

Zara kept her eyes down.

She had learned quickly that people like her were supposed to be invisible in places like this.

She was there to serve.

Not to be noticed.

Her feet were already blistering.

She had spent most of the afternoon standing and travelling through Lagos traffic, and now she was expected to spend the next several hours walking around in uncomfortable shoes.

She shifted the tray carefully in her hands.

"Smile," her manager hissed.

Zara forced her lips upward.

"These people tip. And don't you dare break anything."

"Yes, sir."

"And Zara?"

She turned.

"Yes?"

"Try to look happy. Nobody wants to be served by someone who looks like she's attending a funeral."

Zara swallowed.

If only he knew.

She turned back toward the guests.

She smiled.

She served drinks.

She collected empty glasses.

She apologized when someone snapped their fingers at her.

She pretended everything was fine.

Because that was what she had become good at.

Pretending.

Pretending she wasn't terrified.

Pretending she wasn't exhausted.

Pretending she wasn't counting every naira in her head.

Pretending her little brother wasn't lying in a hospital bed.

That's when she saw him.

Daniel Okoye.

CEO of Okoye Holdings.

Forbes.

Cold eyes that could cut glass.

Zara had heard his name before.

Everyone had.

Okoye Holdings was one of those companies people talked about even when they had never stepped inside one of its offices.

Daniel was the kind of man newspapers described as brilliant, ruthless, and impossible to impress.

He was in the middle of a group of men in suits, but he looked bored.

Like he'd rather be signing papers than be here.

He stood with one hand in his pocket, listening to an older man speak.

He didn't laugh.

He barely smiled.

Every few seconds, his eyes wandered across the room as though he were mentally counting the minutes until he could leave.

Zara looked away quickly.

She had no business staring at rich men.

She had a brother to save.

She was walking past with champagne when a drunk man in agbada bumped her hard.

It happened so quickly that she didn't even have time to react.

Her shoulder jerked.

The tray slipped.

The whole tray tipped.

Time slowed down.

Zara's eyes widened.

"No—"

Glasses crashed.

Red wine.

All over Daniel's ₦2 million white suit.

His shirt.

His shoes.

The room went silent.

Music stopped.

For one terrible second, nobody moved.

Zara stared at the stain spreading across the expensive white fabric.

Her heart dropped.

She knew immediately.

She was finished.

"I'm so sorry sir, I- I didn't-"

Zara's voice shook.

Her hands were shaking too.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. He bumped into me and—"

"Save it," his bodyguard started, grabbing her arm.

Zara flinched.

"Please."

She looked at Daniel.

"I'll pay for the cleaning. I swear. I didn't mean—"

Daniel held up a hand.

The bodyguard stopped.

Daniel looked down at his suit.

Ruined.

Then at Zara.

She was 19.

Maybe 20.

Hair in a bun.

Eyes full of tears she was fighting not to shed.

About to lose her job.

She looked terrified.

Not because of the expensive suit.

Because there was something desperate in her expression that didn't belong in a room like this.

"What's your name?" he asked.

His voice was low.

Tired, not angry.

"Z-Zara, sir."

"Come with me."

Zara blinked.

She glanced at her manager.

He looked furious.

Then she looked back at Daniel.

"Sir?"

"Come with me."

He turned and walked away.

Zara hesitated before following.

Her heart hammered as they moved through the crowd.

People stared.

Some whispered.

She could feel their eyes following her.

She wondered if she was about to be arrested.

Fired.

Or both.

He led her to a private balcony.

Lagos lights below.

The breeze was cold.

For the first time that evening, Zara could breathe properly.

The noise from the ballroom faded behind the closed doors.

Daniel stood near the railing.

He didn't look at her immediately.

Zara stood several feet away, nervously twisting her fingers.

"I'm really sorry about your suit."

Daniel finally turned.

"You're fired," he said.

Zara's stomach dropped to her feet.

"Please, I need this job."

She stepped forward.

"My brother is in the hospital. I need—"

"How much?"

Zara stopped.

"What?"

"How much do you need?"

She stared at him.

For a second, she thought he was mocking her.

"₦500,000."

Daniel's expression didn't change.

"For what?"

"My brother's surgery."

Her voice cracked.

"By Monday. Or they discharge him."

Daniel studied her.

Really studied her.

No pity.

Just calculation.

Zara wiped quickly beneath one eye before the tears could fall.

She hated crying in front of strangers.

Especially rich strangers.

"I know it sounds like a lot," she whispered. "But I wasn't trying to ruin your clothes. I really wasn't."

"I believe you."

She looked up.

Daniel reached into his pocket.

"I have a proposition."

Zara frowned.

"Be my fake fiancée for 3 months."

Her mouth fell open.

"What?"

"Come to events. Hold my hand. Smile for cameras. Let my mother meet you."

He spoke as calmly as though he were discussing a business contract.

"₦1,000,000 when we're done."

Zara laughed.

Wet, broken laugh.

"You're joking."

"I don't joke."

He pulled out a black card.

He held it toward her.

She hesitated before taking it.

"This is my number."

Zara stared at the card.

It was heavy.

Black.

Gold letters.

It looked more expensive than anything she owned.

"Think about it."

Daniel's voice softened slightly.

"But decide by morning."

Zara looked up.

"Why me?"

For the first time, something shifted in his expression.

"My mother has cancer."

Zara's face changed.

"Stage 3."

He looked away toward the city.

"She wants to see me settled before..."

He didn't finish.

The silence between them grew.

Zara didn't know what to say.

Daniel turned back toward her.

"Three months. That's all."

"And you would pay me one million naira?"

"Yes."

"Even if your mother finds out I'm fake?"

"She won't."

Zara stared at him.

The offer sounded insane.

Completely insane.

But so did losing Tunde.

Daniel walked toward the door.

"Think carefully."

He paused.

"And don't agree because you're desperate."

Zara looked down at the card in her hand.

Too late.

Desperation was the only thing she had left.

He walked away, leaving Zara with wine on her shoes, a warning from her manager, and a million naira offer burning in her head.

Her manager was waiting when she returned to the ballroom.

His face was hard.

"Do you have any idea what you just did?"

Zara lowered her eyes.

"I'm sorry."

"You should be."

He looked at her uniform.

"Go finish your shift. And pray Mr. Okoye doesn't complain about you."

Zara nodded.

She picked up another tray.

Her hands were still trembling.

For the rest of the night, she kept thinking about the black card in her pocket.

One million naira.

Tunde's hospital bill.

Three months.

A fake engagement.

It sounded like the plot of one of those ridiculous romance stories she sometimes read on her phone before sleeping.

Except this wasn't fiction.

Her brother's life was involved.

On the bus home, she counted her tips: ₦2,800.

She stared at the crumpled notes in her palm.

₦2,800.

After an entire evening of carrying drinks for people who could spend more than that on dinner without thinking twice.

She put the money carefully inside her purse.

Then she checked her phone.

No new messages.

No miracle.

No money.

Just the same ₦12,400 waiting in her account.

She leaned her head against the bus window.

Lagos rushed past outside.

Streetlights.

Traffic.

People walking home.

Food vendors calling out to customers.

Cars honking.

Life continuing as though hers wasn't falling apart.

At the hospital, the nurse said again:

"ICU is ₦50,000 per day, Miss. Monday is the deadline."

Zara nodded.

"I understand."

She walked down the hallway toward Tunde's room.

The smell of disinfectant filled her nose.

Her footsteps were quiet against the hospital floor.

When she reached his bed, she stopped.

Tunde looked so small.

Too small for everything he was going through.

The machines beside him made quiet sounds.

Zara sat beside him.

She carefully took his hand.

His fingers were warm.

"Hey," she whispered.

His eyes opened slowly.

"Sis."

"I'm here."

"You went to work?"

"Yes."

He frowned.

"You should rest."

Zara smiled.

"You sound like an old man."

He gave a weak smile.

Then his expression became serious.

"Don't worry, sis. I'll be fine."

Zara looked away.

She didn't trust herself to speak.

Because she didn't know if she could keep that promise.

She looked at Daniel's card.

Heavy.

Gold letters.

She turned it over in her fingers.

One million naira.

Enough to pay Tunde's bill.

Enough to buy food.

Enough to breathe for a little while.

But what would three months as Daniel Okoye's fake fiancée cost her?

She didn't know.

And she didn't know why, despite everything screaming at her to walk away, she couldn't stop thinking about his tired eyes.

His mother's illness.

His strange proposition.

And the fact that he had given her a choice when everyone else had simply told her what she couldn't have.

She closed her eyes.

For a few seconds, she imagined what would happen if she said no.

Tunde's hospital bill would remain unpaid.

Monday would come.

And she would have nothing.

Zara opened her eyes.

She looked at her little brother.

Then at the black card.

She swallowed.

"Deal," she whispered.

And somewhere across Lagos, Daniel Okoye had no idea that the desperate young woman he'd offered a fake engagement to was about to become the biggest complication in his carefully controlled life.

Author's Note:

Hi loves! I'm Veronica from Lagos 🇳🇬 This is my first book!

Would YOU take Daniel's deal?? Comment "TEAM ZARA" 😭

Chapter 2 drops in 2 hours! Vote and follow ❤️