But that only made things worse. Chibuzor's face now resembled a cow being led to slaughter as he cautiously glanced at Olaedo's dark expression.
He hesitated before placing his hands awkwardly at the back of her waist, barely grazing her dress, like touching her might activate some kind of trap. Both of them wore the same lifeless expression, the kind that said, we've just closed a multi million naira deal, not a marriage.
Oh wait… they actually had.
The photographer gawked at them, hands on his head. "How do you expect me to make this look believable? Who marries and stands like colleagues at a conference?!"
Defeated, he snapped the photo anyway, muttering under his breath, "May I live long enough to never photograph another couple like this again."
Outside the court, Olaedo folded her arms, lips twitching with amusement. "Afraid to hold a woman, huh? You almost sold us out in there."
"I almost sold us out?" Chibuzor's tone sharpened. "Your face was so terrifying I didn't even dare touch your clothes! How do we convince anyone we're in love with that kind of expression? We looked like enemies signing a peace treaty."
Seeing he was genuinely frustrated, Olaedo sighed and relented. "Fine. We'll practice some poses later. I didn't think we'd need it when I saw it written in your ridiculous contract, but clearly, I was wrong."
Chibuzor nodded stiffly, already shifting back into his calm, businesslike mode. "Good. I'll take you to your place to pick up your things, then we'll go home. Everything else is arranged."
Home.
The words echoed in her chest, familiar, painful. Maduabuchi used to say that, voice soft and warm, like he actually meant it. But from Chibuzor's lips, it felt clinical, like a statement of logistics rather than love.
She turned toward the window, eyes fixed on the city lights rushing by. No man is ever going to deceive me with those words again.
When they reached her apartment, the silence between them felt heavier than before. They climbed two flights of stairs, their footsteps echoing, before stopping at the door on the right.
She lives in a rented house?
Chibuzor blinked in disbelief. For a billionaire, that was… unexpected. He guessed it was a modest two room apartment, living room, guest room, kitchen, two toilets, and a master bedroom. Neat. Practical. Almost humble.
But the moment Olaedo unlocked the door and stepped in, all his quiet assumptions collapsed.
Chibuzor froze on the threshold, staring like he'd just witnessed a crime scene.
The living room was chaos. Clothes sprawled across the sofa, rugs thrown about like they'd been in a wrestling match, and, was that a blanket draped over the television? But none of that prepared him for what lay ahead.
What in the world is that pile of ashes by the bedroom door?!
He didn't even want to imagine what the kitchen or bedroom might look like.
How can anyone live like this? Much less a woman? Aren't women supposed to be more organized? He frowned, trying to reason it out. Maybe she doesn't have cleaning tools yet. Yes. That must be it.
Comforted by his own hopeful theory, he stepped gingerly inside, his shoes crunching over what might have been paper, or something far worse.
Then he spotted a vacuum cleaner. Behind the sofa. Fully functional.
His eye twitched. If it's right there and working… why not just use it?!
This was no longer a surprise visit. It was a psychological endurance test.
Olaedo, meanwhile, noticed the stiff look on his face and felt heat creep up her neck. She tried to maintain her pride. It's my home. I'll keep it how I want. There's no need to feel ashamed.
But seeing him standing there, frozen like a statue, her confidence crumbled. Even she had to admit, the ashes were a bit too much.
With a reluctant sigh, she grabbed the vacuum cleaner and began tidying up.
Chibuzor watched her red ears and flustered movements, a low chuckle escaping him. Shaking his head, he finally moved forward. Even if this marriage was fake, for better or worse apparently started now.
He picked up bits of trash one by one, holding each like it was radioactive.
"Hey! What are you doing? Just wait outside. I'll be done soon," Olaedo protested, clearly mortified.
Chibuzor glanced up, a teasing smile pulling at his lips. "If I wait for you, we might still be here five days from now. Seriously, Olaedo, how can your house be this dirty?"
Olaedo's face flushed an even deeper red as she waved him off. "Fine, sure. Do whatever you want."
But to her surprise, he actually did.
Chibuzor kept collecting the trash, still using his ridiculous two finger technique, though somehow managing to move fast despite his clear disgust. When he was done, he calmly turned to the mountain of clothes on the sofa, folding and stacking them with almost military precision.
Five hours later, the entire house looked like it had just been renovated. They'd cleaned the living room, kitchen, and both bedrooms. Even the toilets, though Olaedo had firmly handled those herself. Chibuzor's two finger technique clearly had its limits.
Finally done, he collapsed onto the clean sofa with a sigh, pulling out his laptop and diving straight into work as if he hadn't just fought a domestic war.
Olaedo quietly packed her things, but her mind wasn't still. A question kept circling, stubborn and sharp.
Out of all the women in the world, why me?
She wanted to ask, but something about it felt too personal. Then she remembered her mother's advice, kindness and communication were free, even in a loveless arrangement. She didn't plan on falling for him, but a little friendship wouldn't break the contract.
"CEO Arinze," she began hesitantly, her voice softer than usual. "There's something I need to know."
Chibuzor looked up immediately, frowning. That formal tone again. If anyone overheard her calling him CEO Arinze in private, their act would crumble.
"Don't be so formal," he said, leaning back. "In public, call me something that fits the part, honey, dear, hubby, whatever doesn't make you cringe too much. In private, just call me Chibuzor. It'll help you get used to it. If you slip in public, it'll still sound natural. But please, let's save the mushy nicknames for emergencies."
Olaedo rolled her eyes but couldn't hide a small smile. "Alright then… Chibuzor," she said, testing the name. "Why did you pick me out of all the eligible women in the world?"