The decoy drive clattered across the sterile floor, spinning toward the lawyer's feet. For a split second, greed overcame his fear. He reached down, his fingers trembling as he snatched the plastic drive from the tiles.
That second was all I needed.
I lunged across my brother's hospital bed, ignoring the screaming pain in my injured shoulder. My weight slammed into the lawyer, sending us both crashing into the metal medical tray. Glass vials shattered, and the tray hissed as it scraped across the floor. I didn't care about the cuts on my hands. I only cared about the vial of poison he was holding.
"Get away from him!" I roared, my hands locking around the lawyer's wrists.
He was surprisingly strong for a man who spent his life behind a desk. He fought back, his elbow catching me in the ribs, but I didn't let go. I could see my brother's face just inches away—pale, peaceful, and completely unaware that a killer was standing over his IV line.
"The drive is empty!" the lawyer screamed, realizing the trick as we struggled on the floor. "You'll never get the original signatures! Catherine will destroy you both!"
"Catherine is done!" the Ice Queen's voice rang out.
I looked up just in time to see her. She wasn't standing back in fear anymore. She had grabbed a heavy glass water pitcher from the bedside table. With a look of pure, cold fury, she brought it down on the lawyer's head.
CRACK.
The pitcher shattered, and the lawyer went limp, his eyes rolling back as he slumped onto the floor. The vial of poison rolled away, harmlessly hitting the base of the cabinet.
I scrambled to my feet, my breathing ragged. I didn't even look at the unconscious man. I dove for my brother's bed, checking the IV line, the heart monitor, the oxygen mask.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The rhythm was steady. He was safe.
"Is he... is he okay?" the Ice Queen whispered, her voice shaking. She was still holding the handle of the broken pitcher, her knuckles white.
I pulled her into a hug, my heart hammering against my ribs. "He's okay. You saved him. Again."
She leaned her head against my chest, her sharp CEO persona finally collapsing into raw relief. "I thought we lost him. I thought she had finally won."
"She'll never win," I promised, looking down at the lawyer on the floor. "Because she underestimated the people she tried to break."
Just then, the hospital doors burst open. Chinedu, the head of security, rushed in with four armed officers. They took one look at the scene—the broken glass, the unconscious lawyer, and the CEO standing over him—and immediately moved to secure the room.
"Madam CEO, I am so sorry," Chinedu gasped, his face bruised from the earlier attack in the garage. "They blocked our comms. We only just got through."
"Take him away," the Ice Queen commanded, her voice turning back into the 'Ice' that the world feared. "And call the Commissioner. Tell him I want every lawyer, every guard, and every shell company associated with Catherine dismantled by noon. If a single kobo of my father's money is still in her name by the time the market closes, I'll have their badges."
The officers dragged the lawyer out, his heels dragging on the floor. The room fell silent again, save for the hum of the machines.
I looked at the window. The sun was fully up now. It was officially Monday morning. The day the contract was supposed to end. The day the 'Hidden Husband' was supposed to take his five million naira and disappear back into the shadows of the street.
I looked at the Ice Queen. She was staring at me, her eyes unreadable.
"The surgery is over," I said softly. "The company is yours. The enemies are in handcuffs."
"And the contract?" she asked, her voice a whisper.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my copy of the agreement—the paper that had started this entire journey. I looked at the fine print, the clauses about 'no love' and 'no interference.'
I didn't say a word. I simply tore the paper in half. Then I tore it again, until the pieces fell like snow onto the hospital floor.
"I think we need a new agreement," I said, stepping closer to her. "One that doesn't have an expiration date."
She didn't hesitate. She stepped into my arms, her lips meeting mine in a kiss that tasted like victory and a brand new beginning. The 70,000-word goal was just a number on a screen. This—this was the real story.