Chibuzor froze.
Should he tell her the truth, that she hadn't even made the list?
Would she get angry? Probably. But what was the point of lying? She deserved to know exactly where she stood.
"I made a list of women who fit my taste," he said finally, his tone blunt but steady. "You weren't on it. I asked my housekeeper to arrange meetings with them, but none showed up. Mostly because he didn't tell them who I was or what I wanted. If he had, I'm sure plenty would've come. With no other options, he came across your scandal, did a little research, and reached out to you. Surprisingly, you agreed to meet."
Silence.
Olaedo just stared at him, too stunned to respond. Who chooses a wife like this?
Yet… his honesty was oddly comforting. For days she'd wondered if he had some hidden motive, an obsession, a revenge plan, something darker. But this? This was just cold logic. Predictable. Manageable.
"Okay," she said simply, her tone light. "That's a relief."
Chibuzor blinked. "A relief?"
He'd braced for anger, maybe an argument, but not calm acceptance.
Olaedo tilted her head slightly, a small smile curving her lips. "Is everything a business to you? You made a list, came up with a catchy proposal, wrote a loophole proof contract, and arranged an entire marriage process that should've taken a month, in one day."
Chibuzor frowned slightly. "What's funny about that?"
To him, this was common sense. Efficiency wasn't strange, it was survival.
"It's normal to stay organized," he said matter of factly. "I've always wondered how people function without planning. It's probably why the top feels so spacious while the bottom stays overcrowded. People dream big but never plan for it."
Olaedo nodded, her amusement softening into thought. "True. I might look disorganized, but when it comes to work, I plan years ahead. If you're not consciously planning to succeed, you're unconsciously planning to fail, and fail hard."
"Exactly!" Chibuzor's eyes brightened. For once, he didn't feel like he had to explain his mindset. She understood, completely. Two CEOs, speaking the same language, their words clicking like gears in perfect motion.
It wasn't love.
But for the first time that day, it felt a little like understanding.
Olaedo packed quickly now, moving with the quiet urgency of someone trying not to think too much. Three boxes in total.
Chibuzor wordlessly carried two of them downstairs without being asked. She hesitated before murmuring a soft "thank you," grabbed the last box, and locked the door behind her.
The drive was mostly silent, save for the hum of the engine and the faint whoosh of passing wind. Olaedo's eyes stayed on the road ahead, her mind a storm she didn't want to confront.
Chibuzor, on the other hand, couldn't let go of one thought. "Olaedo," he began, glancing at her, "why was there a pile of ashes in front of your bedroom door?"
Her fingers tightened slightly on her dress. For a second, she looked like she might answer. Then she turned to the window and said nothing.
Chibuzor took the hint. Everyone had secrets, and this one, apparently, was hers.
The breeze from the half open window softened the tension in the car. Before long, the gentle motion lulled Olaedo into a deep, quiet sleep.
Chibuzor noticed. Her head had slumped to the side, her hair brushing against her cheek, her breathing steady. Without thinking, he eased off the accelerator and slowed down, driving carefully as the city lights faded into the distance.
When they reached his estate, the guards straightened immediately, greeting him in unison. He motioned for them to keep quiet and drove through the gates.
He parked in a large, polished warehouse, his private garage, where five luxury cars gleamed under bright front white lights. The air smelled faintly of new leather and wax.
Then came the problem.
He looked at the sleeping woman beside him.
What am I supposed to do now?
Leave her in the car and come back later? Carry her? That would be… a violation of the contract. And completely unnecessary.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You're not making this easy," he muttered.
Finally, he decided to wait. He opened his laptop, plugged in his earphones, and got back to work, pretending not to notice how her neck was twisted at an uncomfortable angle.
After a while, he risked a glance at her again. Her head had fallen further to the side.
He looked away quickly. No. Not my problem.
Still… the guilt lingered. He exhaled sharply and told himself, I'll just book her a massage tomorrow.
---
Five hours later.
Olaedo stirred, groaning softly as pain shot through her neck. She sat up slowly, blinking against the light.
Her eyes widened at the sight before her, sleek, shining cars lined in perfect symmetry, each worth more than her entire company's annual payroll.
Then came the sound, soft, rhythmic typing.
She turned to see Chibuzor still in the driver's seat, his laptop open, earphones in, completely focused as though the past five hours hadn't even existed.
For a moment, she just stared at him, equal parts irritated and impressed.
"What's happening?" She finally mumbled, her voice still thick with sleep.
Chibuzor looked up from his laptop, a tired smile playing on his lips, one that somehow managed to be both teasing and unsettling. "You sleep like a log."
Only then did she notice the darkness outside the warehouse windows. The night had long settled in. Her brows furrowed. "Wait… how long was I out?"
"Five hours," he said simply, shutting the laptop. "Five hours in that position, too. You must've been exhausted."
Olaedo's mouth fell open. "Five, what?! You saw me like that and didn't even—"
Realization hit her mid sentence, and her voice shot up in disbelief. "You knew the position was uncomfortable and still left me like that?"
Chibuzor didn't even blink. "Yes. I followed the contract. No touching, no unnecessary involvement."
The sound that followed was sharp and immediate.
Smash!
Her fist landed squarely on his arm. Chibuzor flinched, clutching it in shock. "Ouch! What was that for?"
"Have a taste of my pain, you heartless man!" she shot back, eyes blazing.
He winced, rubbing the spot. "What on earth are your hands made of? Iron?!"
Olaedo snorted, stepping out of the car and stretching her stiff neck. "Maybe. I trained in kung fu for years. Now you know."
For a moment, Chibuzor could only stare at her in disbelief. Then he muttered under his breath, "Domestic violence… unbelievable."
He packed up his laptop, muttering darkly to himself as he got out of the car.
If I had known she was this strong, I'd have marked her photo with a giant red X on my list, the "housekeeper must avoid at all costs" list.
But as the thought formed, another quickly followed, one much less comforting.
It's too late to end this marriage now. I still need her before the ball.
He sighed deeply, staring after her as she walked forward, her every step bold and unbothered.
"This woman might just be my biggest challenge yet," he muttered, half in awe, half in regret.