PRETEND AFFAIR: FAKE BOYFRIEND, REAL DISASTER
1958 Words
Nylah stood outside Zavian’s office door, her arms crossed tightly, clutching her phone like it was a prayer bead. The hallway was quiet, but her mind was not. A part of her wanted to run back to the dressing room and pretend she never got the call. Another part—possibly the more masochistic side—was bracing for a termination speech.
She took a shaky breath.
This is it.
She knocked twice.
“Come in,” came Zavian’s deep voice from inside—cool, clipped, unreadable.
She opened the door and stepped inside.
Zavian Kane didn’t look up immediately. He stood behind his desk, flipping through a leather-bound folder, his profile framed by the skyline burning behind the windows. Cape Town’s light bounced off the expensive angles of his suit, but his expression was unreadable.
Nylah’s voice cracked the silence.
“You wanted to see me?”
Zavian glanced up at her, cool and sharp like a blade unsheathed.
“Close the door.”
Yup. Fired. Definitely fired.
Nylah shut the door behind her, anxiety knotting itself in her throat.
He gestured to the seat across from his desk.
“Sit.”
She sat, spine straight, legs crossed tightly.
“Look, if this is about the video—”
Zavian raised one hand.
“It’s not.”
She blinked.
He dropped the folder and leaned against the edge of his desk, arms folded.
“What’s going on between you and the other girl?”
“The… who?”
“The one with the too-tight dress and the smug smile—Alicia. That one.”
Nylah hesitated. Her heart picked up speed.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t tolerate friction on my set,” he said coolly. “I don’t care who dated who, or whose lip gloss is shinier. If there’s going to be a mess, I’ll clean it with a mop—and that mop will be your contract.”
Wow. Charming.
Nylah lifted her chin.
“We used to be best friends. That’s it.”
Zavian gave her a long, unreadable look.
“You’re leaving something out.”
“I don’t owe you my trauma.”
“Fair.”
Nylah was about to stand up when the words escaped her mouth before she could stop them.
“She slept with my boyfriend.”
Zavian tilted his head slightly.
“Back then,” Nylah continued, voice harder now. “She sabotaged me then, and she’s doing it now. But I came here to work, not to bleed.”
A long silence followed.
Zavian didn’t blink. Didn’t ask for more. Didn’t ask for names or timelines.
He didn’t care.
Instead, without warning, he reached down and grabbed her hand.
“Wait—what are you doing?” she stammered as he tugged her towards the door.
“You’ll see.”
“Zavian—this is kidnapping!”
“Technically, it’s HR intervention.”
“Let go of me—people are looking!”
“Let them.”
He marched her out of his office like she was a prized weapon and not a woman in the middle of a PR storm. Staff passing by stared and quickly looked away. No one dared interrupt.
They reached the elevator. Zavian pressed the button for the eleventh floor.
“Seriously,” Nylah hissed. “What is this? Are you about to fire me in front of everyone?”
Zavian didn’t answer.
The elevator dinged. Doors opened.
He still didn’t let go.
They entered the boardroom—sleek, glass, chrome and power. The campaign team was mid-discussion, Alicia laughing too loudly at something someone said, her stiletto dangling seductively off one toe.
The moment she saw Zavian’s hand wrapped around Nylah’s, her smile cracked like a mirror.
Silence fell over the room.
Zavian let go of Nylah’s hand but stepped forward, voice calm and commanding.
“I value one thing above all else in my business: loyalty.”
Eyes widened. Someone’s tablet clattered to the floor. Alicia stiffened.
“And nothing,” he continued, “pisses me off more than snakes pretending to be sisters.”
Nylah froze.
Alicia’s face tightened.
“If I find out anyone here is trying to sabotage the campaign I’ve invested millions in,” Zavian said, voice cool, “they’ll be out so fast their stilettos won’t hit the ground before the elevator does.”
The room was still.
Alicia flicked her hair.
“Is this about her?” she asked, voice syrupy and fake.
Zavian turned to the team—and then dropped the bomb.
“She’s with me.”
Nylah blinked.
What?
The team gasped, eyes darting between them like a tennis match.
“Wait,” Alicia breathed, voice cracking. “What do you mean with—?”
“I mean,” Zavian said, slowly turning back to Alicia, “that Miss Daniels and I are together. So if anyone here has a problem with her, they now have a problem with me.”
Nylah choked.
“Zavian—!”
Zavian leaned down, whispered in her ear so close she could feel the smirk.
“This means nothing.”
She flinched.
“I just needed to end the drama before it costs my company. Pretending to date you? That’s the fastest way to shut them up.”
Her skin burned.
“You’ll be safe,” he added. “They won’t touch you now. They wouldn’t dare.”
He straightened and clapped his hands.
“Alright, let’s get back to work.”
Nylah stood frozen as the room buzzed back to life—some whispering, some glaring, and Alicia—oh, Alicia—fuming in silence, her teeth practically grinding into powder.
And Nylah?
She didn’t know whether to slap Zavian…
…or kiss him.
***
It had been exactly seven days since Nylah last saw Zavian Blake.
Seven days without his brooding stares, his impossibly expensive cologne clouding her personal space, or that maddening way he always knew what to say to throw her off.
Seven days of peace.
And maybe—just maybe—she hated it.
Not that she’d ever admit that out loud. God no.
She’d been going in and out of the luxury hotel for photo shoots, interviews, fittings, makeup trials—you name it. Zavian hadn’t shown up once. Not even a passing glance or a stray sarcastic comment. The man had gone ghost.
But what bothered her more was why she kept noticing he wasn’t there.
Every time someone walked into the studio, she’d look up too quickly, hoping—no, not hoping, just curious—that it might be him. And every time it wasn’t, she brushed it off like it didn’t matter. But then she’d catch herself thinking about his jawline during lunch or zoning out in the makeup chair remembering the stupid way he said “this means nothing” right before announcing to an entire room that they were together.
And then, of course, came the second lie.
The one she told her parents.
It had slipped out with embarrassing ease.
“Yes, Mamma… Zavian and I are officially dating.”
Her mother shrieked like she’d won the lottery. Her father, ever the silent one, just raised his eyebrows like he now expected a wedding before Christmas.
She should’ve known something was up when her mother spent the entire afternoon prepping dinner like she was feeding royalty. A feast of lamb curry, basmati rice, roasted vegetables, and milk tart chilling in the fridge. It smelled like celebration.
But Nylah? She had zero intention of celebrating anything. She was curled up on the couch in her softest hoodie, cosy socks with tiny pineapples on them, a hair bun defying gravity, and not a single drop of makeup on. Her face was as bare as her social life. But still, she was beautiful.
She padded into the kitchen, sniffing the air.
“Mamma, why are you cooking like Beyoncé is coming over?”
Her mother, humming to herself while basting the lamb, didn’t even look up.
“No reason, my darling.”
Yeah, right.
Before Nylah could pry further, the doorbell rang.
Her mother didn’t miss a beat.
“Nylah, open for me, please!”
She trudged to the front door, muttering under her breath.
“If this is the pastor again trying to hook me up with his son—”
She swung the door open.
And froze.
Zavian. Freaking. Blake.
On her doorstep. In a crisp grey coat that screamed wealth, holding a bouquet of white lilies in one hand and a bottle of aged whiskey in the other.
He looked like a magazine cover. She looked like a potato.
Her jaw nearly hit the floor.
“You—what the—how—?!” she stammered, backing away like he was the IRS.
Zavian gave her an unamused once-over.
“You’re joking, right?”
“What are you doing here?” she hissed, stepping outside and shutting the door behind her before her parents could catch a glimpse. “How do you even know where I live?”
Zavian raised an eyebrow, lifting the flowers slightly.
“Your mother showed up at my office. Invited me. In person. Something about ‘finally meeting the man stealing her daughter’s heart.’ I thought I was hallucinating.”
Nylah felt all the blood drain from her face.
“Oh my God.”
“Oh my God is right,” he said, dryly. “I don’t do dinners. I don’t do relationships. And I definitely don’t do ambushes at my place of work.”
She folded her arms tightly.
“Well, excuse me for trying to get my mom off my back for five seconds.”
Zavian stared at her.
She continued, voice rising slightly,
“You’re mad that I lied to my mom, but you literally dragged me into a boardroom and announced to a full team of professionals that we were dating! So what, you’re allowed to lie for your reputation but I can’t lie for mine?”
Zavian’s jaw tightened.
“That was business.”
“Oh, and this is my business.”
They glared at each other for a full three seconds before the door creaked open behind them.
“Nylah?” her mother’s voice rang out, warm and far too excited. “Why are you keeping him outside?”
Zavian’s cold expression melted into a soft, award-winning smile as he turned to face her mother.
“Good evening, Ma’am. It’s such a pleasure to finally have dinner with you.”
He extended the bouquet with reverence. Nylah’s mother beamed like she’d just been proposed to.
“Come in, come in!” she ushered, taking the flowers. “My word, you’re even more handsome in real life!”
Zavian chuckled—actually chuckled—like he wasn’t a walking iceberg five seconds ago.
Nylah stood there frozen on the porch, watching her fake boyfriend charm her real mother while her father peeked from the living room and nodded in quiet approval at the whiskey bottle.
And in that moment, Nylah Daniels knew two things:
1. This was a complete catastrophe.
2. She was 100% going to kill her mother later.
Zavian turned back to her just before stepping inside, leaned close, and whispered out of the corner of his mouth,
“Smile, sweetheart. Your parents think we’re in love.”
She forced the fakest grin known to humankind and muttered through clenched teeth,
“I hate you.”
Zavian smirked.
“Glad we’re starting this dinner with honesty.”
And with that, he walked inside like he owned the place.
Nylah stayed on the porch for a beat longer, praying for a sinkhole to open up and swallow her whole.
- Writer
