Chapter 30: Terms and Conditions
Anderson Group Headquarters – Executive Floor Corridor
11:32 AM
Imani walked out of Jude's office like the floor had tilted beneath her feet.
The contract folder in her hand felt like lead wrapped in silk.
₦100 million.
Three years.
His wife—on paper.
Her heartbeat refused to find its rhythm. Every step echoed too loudly in the suddenly quiet corridor.
From the far end, Sarian's voice drifted over—low, amused.
"I told you… nobody enters that office for nothing."
Lola's answering murmur followed. A shared laugh.
Imani kept her eyes forward.
Kept walking.
Didn't flinch.
But inside her chest, something small and sharp kept twisting.
⸻
Executive Restroom – Moments Later
The door clicked shut.
Silence swallowed the room.
Imani gripped the marble sink until her knuckles turned pale. She stared at her reflection—same face, same eyes, the same mouth that had just said yes.
"Marry my son."
The echo came back louder this time.
Was this rescue… or the beginning of a longer fall?
Her phone buzzed against her thigh.
Unknown number.
Again.
She answered before she could talk herself out of it.
"What do you want?"
A soft, amused chuckle rolled through the speaker.
"You're running out of time, Imani."
Her jaw locked.
"I think you have the wrong number."
She ended the call.
Blocked the number.
Then blocked the previous one too.
Her reflection stared back—calm on the surface, trembling underneath.
She had already decided.
The blogs would come.
They always did.
But her mother would breathe.
Becky would eat.
Aunty Rose would sleep without crying in the kitchen at 3 a.m.
That was worth more than pride.
⸻
Cut to: Surulere Flat – Evening
Kings sat on the worn sofa, elbows on his knees, listening.
Imani stood in the middle of the small parlour, arms wrapped around herself like she was holding her ribs together.
"…and then he transferred the first half. Right there, while I was still in the office."
Kings exhaled slowly through his nose.
"So… you said yes."
"I said yes."
Aunty Rose stood by the kitchen doorway, arms folded so tightly the tendons stood out on her forearms.
"They've humiliated you enough," she said quietly. "First the deepfake. Then the workload. Now this? Selling yourself like meat?"
Imani's eyes filled instantly.
"I'm not selling myself. I'm buying time."
"Time for what?" Aunty Rose's voice cracked. "For them to chew you up and spit you out in three years?"
"For Mum not to die tonight."
The room went still.
Kings looked between them.
Then, softly—
"Take it, Imani. For your mum. For Becky. You can survive three years. You've survived worse."
Aunty Rose turned away, her shoulders shaking once before she locked them down.
Imani sank onto the arm of the sofa.
Tears came fast and silent.
Kings slid closer and put one arm around her without saying anything else.
Becky appeared in the doorway—school bag still hanging from one shoulder.
"Manny… are you okay?"
Imani wiped her face quickly.
Aunty Rose moved before she could answer.
She pressed a ₦500 note into Becky's palm.
"Go and buy ice cream for you and Maya tomorrow. Go on."
Becky looked from one face to the other, then nodded slowly and left.
The door clicked shut.
Imani buried her face in her hands.
Kings rubbed slow circles on her back.
"You're not alone in this," he whispered.
But she felt very, very alone.
⸻
Cut to: Tuesday Morning – Anderson Group Headquarters
Imani sat at her desk, staring at the same spreadsheet she had been pretending to read for forty minutes.
Should she tell Damian herself?
Before his father did?
Or wait—and let the bomb drop in front of everyone?
A heavy hand landed on her shoulder.
One of Jude's personal bodyguards.
"Mr. Anderson is ready for you."
Her stomach dropped two floors.
She knew.
This was it.
⸻
Jude's Executive Office – 9:17 AM
Jude rose when she entered.
He smiled—small, satisfied, almost paternal.
"You've made the right choice."
He gestured to the seat.
She sat.
He didn't waste time.
"Saturday evening. The driver will collect you at 6 p.m. We'll start with a small family dinner, then move to business associates in stages."
Imani nodded.
"Confidential," he added. "No leaks. Not even to your sister until after Saturday."
Another nod.
He made a call.
Less than two minutes later, her phone vibrated.
Bank alert.
₦50,000,000.00
Credit.
Jude ended the call.
"That's the initial payment. The balance will come after the public announcement. And one more thing—"
He leaned forward slightly.
"Your mother's surgery is already scheduled for tomorrow morning. Bills cleared. And your sister—Becky—has been placed on a full scholarship. Maya wouldn't stop asking."
Imani's throat closed.
She slid off the chair.
Knelt.
"Thank you."
Her voice broke on the second word.
Jude looked down at her for a long moment.
Then, quietly—
"Get up, Imani. You're not begging anymore."
She rose on unsteady legs.
"See you Saturday."
⸻
Cut to: Lagos General Hospital – Theatre Waiting Area (Wednesday Afternoon)
Kings and Aunty Rose stood when she arrived.
"They just took her in," Kings said. "Doctors say it's going smoothly so far."
Imani's knees buckled.
She caught herself on the wall.
Aunty Rose pulled her into a fierce hug.
"She's going to wake up," she whispered. "She's going to wake up and see you kept everyone alive."
Imani cried against her shoulder—quiet, wrenching sobs that shook her whole body.
For the first time in months, they weren't tears of despair.
⸻
Cut to: Banana Island Mansion – Formal Dining Room (Saturday Evening, 7:42 PM)
The long mahogany table was set for twelve.
Crystal caught the chandelier light.
Damian sat at one end, tie loosened, already irritated.
He had agreed to dinner thinking this was finally the moment to tell Ivy—politely, firmly—that whatever fantasy she had been nursing since they were teenagers was over.
Andrea, Banni, and Gregory flanked him—already sensing tension.
Ivy sat opposite, radiant, expectant.
Maya bounced in her seat.
Temi sipped wine, expression unreadable.
Jude stood at the head.
Raised his glass.
"I have an announcement."
Everyone stilled.
"Damian's fiancée is joining us tonight."
A ripple of confusion.
Temi's brow lifted. "Fiancée?"
Ivy smiled—small, victorious.
Maya frowned.
Damian's fork paused halfway to his mouth.
Jude continued smoothly.
"Ah—here she is."
The double doors opened.
Imani stepped inside.
A red gown—fitted, bold, hugging every curve with quiet confidence.
Makeup flawless.
Hair swept up, exposing the clean line of her neck.
Skin glowing under the lights like polished bronze.
She looked like she belonged.
Like she had always belonged.
The room froze.
Maya was the first to react—chair scraping as she shot up.
"Imani!"
She ran straight into her arms.
Damian's fork clattered against porcelain.
His eyes locked on her.
Shock.
Anger.
Something hotter—darker—unnameable.
Ivy stood so fast her chair tipped.
Tears already shining.
She walked out without a word.
Temi let out a low, mocking laugh.
"Poor thing."
Jude's voice cut through.
"Enough."
Moments Later
Damian's Suite –POV
The door didn't slam.
Damian closed it slowly. Precisely.
Control.
That was the only thing keeping the pressure in his chest from snapping.
He turned—
—and stopped.
Imani.
Standing in his room like she had every right to be there.
Red.
That dress shouldn't have been allowed anywhere near him.
Too fitted.
Too intentional.
Too… distracting.
His eyes dragged over her before he could stop them.
Not obvious.
But not clean either.
She had changed something.
Or maybe—
He had.
"Can I help you?" he asked, voice low, controlled… dangerous in a quiet way.
She didn't answer immediately.
Just walked in.
Closed the door behind her.
The soft click landed heavier than it should have.
Damian felt it.
Somewhere deeper than he liked.
⸻
Imani's POV
The room smelled like him.
Clean. Expensive. Masculine.
Something darker underneath she couldn't name.
She ignored it.
Ignored the way her pulse shifted.
Ignored the way his eyes followed her.
She stepped forward.
Placed the contract on his desk.
Carefully.
Deliberately.
If she lost control now, everything would fall apart.
"What's this?"
He already knew.
But he wanted to hear her say it.
Wanted to see if her voice would shake.
It didn't.
"You know what it is."
His jaw tightened.
Of course it is.
He picked it up anyway.
Skimmed.
Laughed under his breath.
Low. Sharp.
"He actually did it."
Then his eyes lifted to her.
Stayed there.
Longer than necessary.
"He offered you money to marry me."
A pause.
"Let me guess… he made it sound noble."
Her gaze didn't drop.
"It is a business transaction."
That—
That was not the answer he expected.
Something in him shifted.
Interest.
Sharp. Immediate.
He moved without thinking.
Or maybe he thought too clearly.
One step.
Two.
Now she was close enough that he could see the fine detail of her skin… the faint rise and fall of her chest.
Steady.
Too steady.
"You hate me," he said quietly.
"You make it easy."
His mouth almost curved.
Almost.
"And yet…" his voice dropped, softer now, rougher, "you're here."
His gaze dipped—just for a second.
The line of her neck.
The way the dress held her waist.
Back to her eyes.
"Considering marrying me."
Her answer came sharp.
"I'm considering saving my mother."
The air tightened.
Something flickered in his chest.
Unwanted.
He buried it instantly.
"If I say no… what happens to you?"
He watched closely.
This time—
He saw it.
Not fear.
Not exactly.
But something close.
Still—
She didn't break.
"You won't say no."
His brow lifted slightly.
"Confident."
"Realistic."
That word stayed with him.
Realistic.
Like she had already calculated him.
Weighed him.
Decided his outcome.
That shouldn't have irritated him.
But it did.
"Because this doesn't just benefit me," she continued.
"It benefits you too."
Now she had him.
Fully.
"Explain."
"Your board position isn't as secure as you pretend."
His eyes darkened.
Danger.
Real danger.
"Careful."
But she didn't back down.
Didn't soften.
Didn't even blink.
"You need something stable. Controlled. Something that removes distractions."
Her gaze held his.
Then dropped—briefly—to the contract.
Back to him.
"This does that."
Silence.
But inside—
Something locked into place.
Not just interest anymore.
Recognition.
She wasn't weak.
She wasn't naive.
And worst of all—
She wasn't afraid of him.
That made her dangerous.
That made her…
Interesting.
His tongue pressed briefly against his teeth.
Then—
Slowly—
He smiled.
Not warm.
Not kind.
But real.
"You're smarter than I gave you credit for."
She didn't react.
Didn't preen.
Didn't soften.
That made it worse.
Or better.
He hadn't decided yet.
He stepped back.
Creating space.
Even though part of him didn't want to.
"Understand this," he said, voice lower now, edged with something darker, "once we start…"
A pause.
His eyes dropped again.
Not accidentally this time.
Deliberately.
Then back to her lips.
Then her eyes.
"There's no halfway."
She nodded once.
No hesitation.
"I understand."
Do you?
His gaze lingered one second too long.
He opened the door.
Paused.
Looked back at her.
Standing in his space.
Wearing his future like it didn't scare her.
"Welcome to the deal… Mrs. Anderson."
A beat.
His voice dropped.
Softer.
Colder.
More dangerous.
"Welcome to hell."
He walked out.
The room felt different without him.
But not safer.
Her chest rose slowly.
Then—
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
New.
Message:
"You think this protects her?"
This time—
Her hands actually trembled.