Chapter 2 The Devil’s Office

Blackwood Tower smelled nothing like the hospital. There was no bleach. No sweat. No desperation. The air carried a faint scent of polished wood and expensive perfume, the kind that stayed in the nose long after the person had walked away. The floors were so clean they reflected Nadia’s legs as she walked, and every step she took sounded too loud, as if the building itself was listening.

A receptionist sat behind a wide glass desk, typing calmly. She looked up once, glanced at Nadia’s face, then checked her screen. “Miss Okon,” she said smoothly, as though they had been expecting her all day. “The CEO is waiting.”

Nadia hesitated. Her mouth went dry. She had expected questions, interrogation, maybe security dragging her out. Instead, she was being led into the lion’s den like she belonged there.

The receptionist stood up and gestured toward a corridor lined with framed photographs, Damian Blackwood shaking hands with politicians, Damian Blackwood beside private jets, Damian Blackwood cutting ribbons at corporate events. His face never changed. The same cold, controlled expression in every frame.

Nadia followed, her palms damp and her heart pounding with each step. They reached a door made of dark wood. The receptionist knocked once, then opened it without waiting for permission. “Sir, she’s here,” she said.

Nadia stepped inside.

The office was enormous. Glass walls overlooked the city. Lagos stretched out beneath the windows like a kingdom. There was a sleek desk near the far end, and behind it sat a man who looked like he had never been told NO in his entire life.

Damian Blackwood.

He didn’t stand. He didn’t smile. He simply looked at Nadia the way a predator looks at something that has wandered into its territory by mistake.

He wore a black shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms and a silver watch on his wrist. His hair was neat, his jaw sharp, his eyes unreadable. The kind of eyes that could ruin a person without raising his voice.

“Leave us,” Damian said.

The receptionist stepped out quietly, closing the door behind her.

Silence settled between them. Thick and heavy.

Nadia stood near the entrance, clutching her handbag strap like it could protect her. “Mr. Blackwood—”

“You’re late,” Damian cut in.

The words cut through her. She blinked. “Late?”

Damian leaned back in his chair, his gaze never leaving her face. “If your brother’s condition is as critical as the hospital reports claim, you should have come earlier.”

Nadia’s stomach dropped. Hospital reports? “How do you know about my brother?” she demanded.

Damian picked up a file from his desk and slid it forward, slowly, “Because I don’t entertain strangers, Miss Okon. I investigate them.”

Nadia stared at the file. Her name was written on it. Bold. Clear.

Damian continued calmly, “Nadia Okon. Twenty-four. Lives in Ajegunle. Works as a junior stylist at a small salon on Lagos Island. Father died owing two million naira to loan sharks. Mother sells frozen fish. Younger brother, Nathan Okon, currently admitted at a government hospital with liver complications and internal bleeding.”

Nadia’s skin went cold. Every word was true. She stepped forward, anger rising. “Who gave you this information?”

Damian’s lips curved slightly, but it wasn’t a smile. It was something colder. “You came to my building with no appointment,” he said. “Yet you expected privacy? That’s naive.”

Nadia’s fingers curled into fists. “I didn’t come here to be humiliated. I came because I need help.”

Damian nodded once, like he had been waiting for that admission. “How much?”

Nadia swallowed. “Thirty million naira.”

Damian didn’t flinch. He didn’t blink. He didn’t even look surprised. He simply reached for his phone, tapped the screen twice, and set it down again as if thirty million was pocket change. “I can pay it,” he said.

Hope surged inside her so quickly it hurt. Her eyes stung, and she forced herself to stand straight. “Then please,” she said quickly. “Please, Mr. Blackwood. I’ll work for you. I’ll do anything. I’ll clean your house, I’ll—”

“You’ll marry me,” Damian said. The sentence dropped into the room like a gunshot.

Nadia froze.

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Damian’s face remained calm, as if he had just offered her a cup of water.

“What… did you say?” Nadia whispered.

Damian leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk. “Marriage. A contract marriage. You become my wife. I pay for your brother’s surgery, settle your family debt, and ensure your mother is protected.”

Nadia’s hands began to shake. “No.”

Damian’s gaze didn’t change. “Think carefully before you refuse.”

“I said no,” Nadia repeated, louder this time. “You can’t just buy people like property.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Everyone is bought. Some with money. Some with fear. Some with desperation. You walked into my tower because you ran out of options.”

Nadia’s cheeks burned. She stepped back as if his words had slapped her. “You think I came here to sell myself?”

“I think you came here to save your brother,” Damian corrected. “And I’m giving you a way to do it.”

Nadia’s chest rose and fell sharply. She wanted to scream. She wanted to run. But the image of Nathan’s pale face, his chest struggling to rise, held her in place like chains. “You’re insane,” she whispered.

Damian stood up then. He was taller than she expected. His presence filled the room instantly. He walked around the desk slowly, stopping a few steps away from her. Close enough that she could smell his cologne, clean, sharp, expensive. “You have forty-eight hours,” he said quietly. “That’s what the doctor told you, isn’t it?”

Nadia stiffened.

Damian’s voice dropped even lower, “Nathan will not survive without that surgery. And you don’t have the money. You’ve already called everyone you know. Nobody answered. Nobody helped.”

Nadia’s breath caught. How did he know that too?

Before she could speak, the office door opened. A man in a grey suit walked in, carrying a black folder. He looked like someone who had never made a mistake in his life. His expression was professional.

“Sir,” the man said, “the documents are ready.”

Damian didn’t look away from Nadia, “Good.”

The man stepped forward and placed the folder on the desk. He opened it neatly and turned it toward Nadia.

Her eyes dropped to the pages. Her body went still. The first page was a hospital consent form. The same kind of document required before surgery. And at the bottom of the page… Her name was signed. The handwriting looked like hers. Her blood ran cold. She leaned closer, staring at it as if it would change if she looked hard enough. But it didn’t. The signature was there.

Already written. Already approved.

Nadia’s mouth went dry. Her fingers trembled as she turned the page, but the truth stayed the same. Everything was prepared. Everything was moving without her. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to Damian. Her voice came out broken. “I didn’t sign this.”

Damian’s face remained calm.

That calmness terrified her more than shouting would have. Because it meant he wasn’t asking for her permission. He was already taking what he wanted.