Signed To Be His Wife - Chapter 24: Chapter 24
You are reading Signed To Be His Wife, Chapter 24: Chapter 24. Read more chapters of Signed To Be His Wife.
Three months later…
Amara stood before a panel of digital screens in the heart of the Cole Foundation headquarters—now buzzing with new staff, tech experts, and legal investigators. Geneva’s cold wind howled faintly against the tall glass windows, but Amara didn’t flinch. She was built for this now.
The past was no longer just a memory—it was a weapon, and she was wielding it with precision.
Dominic entered the office, removing his gloves and brushing snow from his coat.
“You’re here early,” he said.
She looked up, smiling faintly. “Didn’t sleep.”
“Trouble?”
“I got a ping on one of the Victor ghost servers. Someone tried to re-encrypt the old surveillance data.”
Dominic frowned. “I thought we locked those down.”
“We did. But there’s always someone who thinks they’re smarter.”
He moved beside her, resting a hand on the back of her chair. “You sure you want to keep going with this? We’ve already exposed the worst. You could walk away.”
Amara leaned back, eyes heavy with determination. “And what if someone else doesn’t get that chance because I stopped?”
Dominic nodded. He didn’t argue. He knew her too well now.
The Foundation had grown beyond anything Amara imagined. In a short span, it had opened regional hubs in Nairobi, Berlin, and São Paulo, each targeting a different sector of abuse—financial fraud, digital surveillance, and political suppression.
She had become a symbol. A reluctant one, but powerful.
Reporters called her “The Girl Who Exposed the Machine.”
But Amara didn’t care for labels. She cared about results.
Tamara stepped into the room, a folder in hand. “We’ve got a new whistleblower case. High-priority. West Africa. Oil magnates laundering money through luxury property chains. Looks familiar.”
Amara flipped through the file. Her eyes darkened. “It’s Hart-linked. Before Dominic took over.”
Dominic’s face tightened.
“I’ll handle this,” he said, quietly.
Amara touched his hand. “We’ll handle it.”
Later that day, Nolan arrived with troubling news.
“One of our satellite server farms in Argentina got wiped. Total blackout. Whoever did it knew our encryption style.”
Amara stood. “Victor had lieutenants. We only caught the king. The board is still hiding pieces.”
Nolan nodded. “I’ve begun tracking their movements. But they’re quiet. Smarter. Like they’re waiting.”
Amara paced the room. “Then we won’t give them time. Start proactive sweeps. Tamara, I want every flagged company monitored—especially those with Swiss or Singapore accounts.”
Dominic raised a brow. “You’re turning into me.”
She looked at him with a smirk. “Let’s hope not entirely.”
That night, Amara and Dominic returned to their Geneva apartment—minimalist, warm, filled with books and glowing amber lamps. A contrast to the world they’d once lived in.
As they curled on the couch, Dominic handed her a steaming mug of tea.
“You okay?” he asked.
She sipped, thoughtful. “I should feel proud. But I feel like I’m fighting shadows I can’t name.”
Dominic leaned closer. “That’s the truth. The shadows don’t end. You just get stronger in the dark.”
Her fingers brushed his. “What if I lose myself?”
“You won’t,” he said. “Because I’ll always find you.”
A week passed.
Then, a breach.
A whistleblower en route from Nigeria disappeared mid-air on a flight to Paris. No crash. No signal. The plane landed, but the seat was empty.
Interpol opened a case.
Amara was furious.
“They’re testing us. Trying to scare us into backing off.”
Dominic’s voice was hard. “Or baiting us into overstepping.”
She looked at him. “Then we move quiet. But we don’t stop.”
They activated GhostNet—a secure intel-tracking system Nolan had designed in secret. It let them trace movements without exposing assets.
Within two days, the signal of the missing whistleblower pinged in Marseille. Buried under alias data.
Tamara’s voice cracked in the war room. “He’s alive.”
Amara didn’t wait. She, Dominic, and Nolan boarded a jet immediately.
In Marseille, they followed the signal to a rusted dockyard outside the city. Old boats. Empty warehouses. The air smelled like fuel and wet iron.
They split up.
Amara entered the storage unit where the signal had spiked.
And there he was—handcuffed, malnourished, but alive. The whistleblower: Efe Ajayi, a data auditor from Lagos.
She rushed forward, unlocking the cuffs. “You’re safe now.”
He shook. “They knew I was coming. Someone leaked it.”
Nolan stepped in. “We’ll handle that later. Right now, let’s get you out.”
Outside, shots rang out.
Dominic’s voice roared over comms. “We’re compromised!”
Amara grabbed Efe’s hand. “Run!”
They bolted through the back door, cutting through crates, dodging the gunmen. Nolan covered their rear, firing precise shots to slow the attackers.
A van screeched around the corner—Tamara at the wheel.
“Get in!” she screamed.
They dove inside.
Bullets dented the rear doors, but Tamara hit the gas.
They were safe.
Barely.
Back at a hidden safehouse, Amara debriefed Efe.
“They told me they’d kill my sister,” he said. “They were watching her school. I had no choice.”
“You did the brave thing,” she said. “You survived.”
He handed her a chip. “Everything’s here. Every transaction. Every false permit. Names of politicians. Journalists. CEOs.”
Amara accepted it, breath shallow.
This was another Victor-level exposé.
And this time, she would not let fear dictate the narrative.
That night, as Dominic held her close, Amara whispered, “They’ll keep coming.”
He kissed her forehead. “Then we’ll keep standing.”
Her eyes fluttered closed. “With you, I’m not afraid.”
Outside, the world spun on. Enemies regrouped. Allies watched from the
shadows.
But Amara Cole—the girl who once signed a marriage contract in desperation—was now the most powerful unknown name in global justice.
And she wasn’t done yet.
Amara stood before a panel of digital screens in the heart of the Cole Foundation headquarters—now buzzing with new staff, tech experts, and legal investigators. Geneva’s cold wind howled faintly against the tall glass windows, but Amara didn’t flinch. She was built for this now.
The past was no longer just a memory—it was a weapon, and she was wielding it with precision.
Dominic entered the office, removing his gloves and brushing snow from his coat.
“You’re here early,” he said.
She looked up, smiling faintly. “Didn’t sleep.”
“Trouble?”
“I got a ping on one of the Victor ghost servers. Someone tried to re-encrypt the old surveillance data.”
Dominic frowned. “I thought we locked those down.”
“We did. But there’s always someone who thinks they’re smarter.”
He moved beside her, resting a hand on the back of her chair. “You sure you want to keep going with this? We’ve already exposed the worst. You could walk away.”
Amara leaned back, eyes heavy with determination. “And what if someone else doesn’t get that chance because I stopped?”
Dominic nodded. He didn’t argue. He knew her too well now.
The Foundation had grown beyond anything Amara imagined. In a short span, it had opened regional hubs in Nairobi, Berlin, and São Paulo, each targeting a different sector of abuse—financial fraud, digital surveillance, and political suppression.
She had become a symbol. A reluctant one, but powerful.
Reporters called her “The Girl Who Exposed the Machine.”
But Amara didn’t care for labels. She cared about results.
Tamara stepped into the room, a folder in hand. “We’ve got a new whistleblower case. High-priority. West Africa. Oil magnates laundering money through luxury property chains. Looks familiar.”
Amara flipped through the file. Her eyes darkened. “It’s Hart-linked. Before Dominic took over.”
Dominic’s face tightened.
“I’ll handle this,” he said, quietly.
Amara touched his hand. “We’ll handle it.”
Later that day, Nolan arrived with troubling news.
“One of our satellite server farms in Argentina got wiped. Total blackout. Whoever did it knew our encryption style.”
Amara stood. “Victor had lieutenants. We only caught the king. The board is still hiding pieces.”
Nolan nodded. “I’ve begun tracking their movements. But they’re quiet. Smarter. Like they’re waiting.”
Amara paced the room. “Then we won’t give them time. Start proactive sweeps. Tamara, I want every flagged company monitored—especially those with Swiss or Singapore accounts.”
Dominic raised a brow. “You’re turning into me.”
She looked at him with a smirk. “Let’s hope not entirely.”
That night, Amara and Dominic returned to their Geneva apartment—minimalist, warm, filled with books and glowing amber lamps. A contrast to the world they’d once lived in.
As they curled on the couch, Dominic handed her a steaming mug of tea.
“You okay?” he asked.
She sipped, thoughtful. “I should feel proud. But I feel like I’m fighting shadows I can’t name.”
Dominic leaned closer. “That’s the truth. The shadows don’t end. You just get stronger in the dark.”
Her fingers brushed his. “What if I lose myself?”
“You won’t,” he said. “Because I’ll always find you.”
A week passed.
Then, a breach.
A whistleblower en route from Nigeria disappeared mid-air on a flight to Paris. No crash. No signal. The plane landed, but the seat was empty.
Interpol opened a case.
Amara was furious.
“They’re testing us. Trying to scare us into backing off.”
Dominic’s voice was hard. “Or baiting us into overstepping.”
She looked at him. “Then we move quiet. But we don’t stop.”
They activated GhostNet—a secure intel-tracking system Nolan had designed in secret. It let them trace movements without exposing assets.
Within two days, the signal of the missing whistleblower pinged in Marseille. Buried under alias data.
Tamara’s voice cracked in the war room. “He’s alive.”
Amara didn’t wait. She, Dominic, and Nolan boarded a jet immediately.
In Marseille, they followed the signal to a rusted dockyard outside the city. Old boats. Empty warehouses. The air smelled like fuel and wet iron.
They split up.
Amara entered the storage unit where the signal had spiked.
And there he was—handcuffed, malnourished, but alive. The whistleblower: Efe Ajayi, a data auditor from Lagos.
She rushed forward, unlocking the cuffs. “You’re safe now.”
He shook. “They knew I was coming. Someone leaked it.”
Nolan stepped in. “We’ll handle that later. Right now, let’s get you out.”
Outside, shots rang out.
Dominic’s voice roared over comms. “We’re compromised!”
Amara grabbed Efe’s hand. “Run!”
They bolted through the back door, cutting through crates, dodging the gunmen. Nolan covered their rear, firing precise shots to slow the attackers.
A van screeched around the corner—Tamara at the wheel.
“Get in!” she screamed.
They dove inside.
Bullets dented the rear doors, but Tamara hit the gas.
They were safe.
Barely.
Back at a hidden safehouse, Amara debriefed Efe.
“They told me they’d kill my sister,” he said. “They were watching her school. I had no choice.”
“You did the brave thing,” she said. “You survived.”
He handed her a chip. “Everything’s here. Every transaction. Every false permit. Names of politicians. Journalists. CEOs.”
Amara accepted it, breath shallow.
This was another Victor-level exposé.
And this time, she would not let fear dictate the narrative.
That night, as Dominic held her close, Amara whispered, “They’ll keep coming.”
He kissed her forehead. “Then we’ll keep standing.”
Her eyes fluttered closed. “With you, I’m not afraid.”
Outside, the world spun on. Enemies regrouped. Allies watched from the
shadows.
But Amara Cole—the girl who once signed a marriage contract in desperation—was now the most powerful unknown name in global justice.
And she wasn’t done yet.
End of Signed To Be His Wife Chapter 24. Continue reading Chapter 25 or return to Signed To Be His Wife book page.