Naya Robinson always believed that some people were born with freedom stitched into their destiny—like the rich girls in sparkly dresses who never had to think before they spoke, who never had to worry about electricity bills or skipping dinner so their siblings could eat. Freedom was a luxury she had never tasted. Instead, she had responsibility—heavy, suffocating responsibility—wrapped around her like chains.
The day her parents sold her future, the autumn wind cracked dry leaves across the pavement like brittle bones. Naya's home, a tiny, peeling one-story house on the edge of a forgotten town, smelled faintly of old coffee and desperation. Her mother couldn't meet her eyes; her father paced as though movement alone could shake off shame.
"Naya... baby," her mother whispered, "This will save us. Your brothers... they'll have schooling. We'll finally be able to pay off the debt to Mr. Donnelly. You'll be—taken care of." The last words trembled in the air like a lie.
Taken care of.
Naya swallowed, because she loved them. Because she hadn't known anything else. Because poverty had taught her that choices were a privilege.
She had heard of Malaki Bennett long before her parents slid the contract toward her. He wasn't just rich—he was one of those unreachable names people used in jokes about wealth.
"He's so rich he probably uses gold bars as paperweights."
"He's so rich he could buy the moon."
And maybe he could. Malaki had inherited a global real estate empire with skyscrapers glittering across continents. He didn't attend charity galas—he owned them. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a jaw carved like a sculptor wanted to show off—yet his eyes were rumored to be colder than a snowstorm, always calculating. Women chased him like a fantasy, but he remained untouched—distant.
Then he announced he would marry. Not for love. For investment.
He offered one million dollars to whichever woman became his wife—paid up front to her family.
A prize for capturing a heart that might not even beat.
But he had demands.
His bride must be:
• Beautiful—hair like the sun itself
• Eyes bluer than the summer sky
• A pure heart untouched by greed or selfishness
The world scrambled. Blondes with ocean eyes flooded his estate gates, flashing smiles and designer clothing. Every woman he met, he dismissed. Too vain. Too shallow. Too—everything.
Malaki believed perfection existed, and he was determined to find it.
When Naya arrived at the Bennett estate, she was a storm in the wrong sky.
The limo doors opened, and she stepped out wearing a simple floral dress that had been ironed three times to look crisp. Her hair—dark as midnight—fluttered softly in the breeze. Her eyes, warm brown like melted chocolate, darted around with uncertainty.
She expected opulence—but not this.
The mansion was a kingdom: towering white columns, polished marble steps, fountains spraying diamonds into the afternoon light. Guards in black suits stood like statues. Cameras watched every breath.
A butler with silver hair looked her over, confusion flickering in his eyes.
"You are... Miss Naya Robinson?" he asked, double-checking his clipboard.
YOU ARE READING
His unwanted wife (Bwwm/SLOW UPDATES)
RomanceMalaki bet a million dollars for witchever woman became his wife. Naya Robinson had to take the role. Her parents made her because their poor. Malaki is not pleased. She only Fits one of his standards, heart pure as an angel.
