ZAVIAN’S OFFICE
1564 Words
Zavian stood with his back to the door, hands in his pockets, once again staring out over the Cape Town skyline like he ruled it.
Which, in many ways, he did.
When the door clicked open and Nylah entered, he didn’t turn immediately.
But he felt her.
The way the air shifted.
The electricity in the silence.
“I suppose congratulations are in order,” she said, voice even. “You’ve officially terrified every man in this city into submission.”
Now he turned — slow, deliberate.
His gaze swept over her like a slow caress, unreadable but intense.
“You did well today,” he said, walking toward her. “Exceptionally well.”
Nylah arched a brow.
“Was this meeting to tell me something your HR department could’ve emailed?”
“No,” he said, stopping just in front of her. “This is me telling you, face to face, that you’ve been chosen as the lead for the campaign.”
Her breath caught — not from the news, but the way he looked at her when he said it.
Not like a boss.
Like something else entirely.
“I appreciate the opportunity,” she said carefully.
“But?”
He always heard the ‘but.’
“But I’m not here to flirt with the CEO.”
He smirked, amused.
“You think this is flirting?”
“I think this is danger dressed in a tailored suit.”
Zavian stepped closer, voice low.
“You have no idea.”
The moment stretched.
Tension curled between them like smoke. Then, he stepped back.
“Report to wardrobe tomorrow. You’ll be briefed for the campaign rollout. Dismissed.”
Just like that.
As if he hadn’t just thrown gasoline on her neatly built walls.
***
Meanwhile: Alicia & Jason — The Bitter Corner
“What do you mean she got it too?” Alicia hissed, pacing in Jason’s living room later that night.
Jason sat back on the couch, nursing a drink.
“I said you both got it. There’ll be a secondary campaign, and the board will decide who leads.”
Alicia’s eyes blazed.
“That wasn’t the plan.”
“She wasn’t even supposed to be at the audition, Alicia. You said she was done.”
“Well clearly, she’s not!” she snapped. “And now she’s got Zavian wrapped around her little—”
Jason stiffened.
Alicia folded her arms.
“He called her into his office today. Privately. Right after the shoot.”
Jason’s jaw tightened.
“Don’t tell me she’s going to sleep her way into this.”
“Oh, please. Nylah can’t even flirt without moral panic.” Alicia scoffed. “But that doesn’t mean he won’t chase her.”
They sat in bitter silence for a beat.
Alicia’s mind raced. She needed to discredit Nylah. Poison her reputation just enough to push the board towards her.
“I have a plan,” she finally said, her lips curling.
Jason didn’t ask. He never did.
They didn’t need love. Just shared grudges.
***
The next day.
Nylah arrived early.
She always did. Early meant prepared. Early meant calm.
Well, as calm as one could be when walking into a prep room filled with high heels, body tape, steamers hissing like angry cats, and enough hairspray to ignite the entire 11th floor.
“Morning, darling!” sang one of the stylists, flashing a brilliant grin while pinning fabrics to a board. “You’re in glam chair one. Zavian requested you get started first.”
Of course he did, Nylah thought, schooling her face into neutral professionalism.
She nodded politely, moving towards the chair with her name card on it. She was halfway into her seat when a saccharine voice slithered in behind her.
“Oh wow,” Alicia said. “Front of the line already? Must be nice having powerful friends.”
Nylah turned slightly.
“Or maybe they just liked my face.”
Alicia smiled — all teeth, no warmth.
“Sure, honey. Keep telling yourself that.”
Her makeup artist rolled her eyes and whispered under her breath,
“Don’t feed the snakes.”
Nylah bit back a laugh.
.
An Hour Later In The Wardrobe Room
Nylah stood in front of a rack of custom looks, all marked with name tags.
Her tag was gone.
Her outfit — the ivory silk jumpsuit with the gold chain halter and matching cape — nowhere in sight.
“Um…” she said to the assistant running wardrobe, “I was told I’d be in Look #2.”
The assistant frowned.
“We already gave Look #2 to Alicia. She said the tags were mismarked.”
Nylah’s jaw locked.
“Of course she did.”
The assistant flipped through her clipboard.
“You’ll be in Look #6 now. The red latex dress.”
The what?
She turned just in time to see Alicia strut past in her jumpsuit — perfect, regal, camera-ready.
Alicia winked.
“Hope you don’t mind. Ivory washes me out.”
Nylah narrowed her eyes, then turned to the assistant.
“Is there a backup Look #2? Anything similar?”
The assistant glanced around.
“We have a cape. That’s it.”
Nylah inhaled deeply, voice steel under honey.
“Fine. I’ll make it work.”
.
Back in the Makeup Chair — Ten Minutes to Show Time
“You are literally the classiest woman alive,” the makeup artist muttered, touching up Nylah’s highlight. “I’d have snatched that outfit off her bony ass in front of HR.”
Nylah smirked.
“Tempting. But I like having a clean record.”
“You’re about to have a glowing one,” the stylist chimed in, adding final touches to her look. “That red latex? With the gold cape? You look like vengeance in designer heels.”
“I feel like a superhero in a murder mystery,” Nylah muttered, staring at herself in the mirror. “But hey. Let’s give them a show.”
.
Meanwhile: Alicia’s Desperation Rises.
Alicia preened in her mirror, grinning at her reflection.
She’d won this round.
She stole Nylah’s look, she looked flawless, and she even had Jason waiting in the lobby with a gossip blogger just in case something went down.
It was fool proof.
Until she walked into the prep hall and saw everyone — stylists, interns, even Zavian’s assistant — pausing to stare.
And not at her.
They were staring behind her.
At Nylah.
Nylah in a blood-red sculpted latex dress with an outrageous gold cape that moved like molten royalty. Hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. Eyes smouldering.
She didn’t just look good. She looked dangerous.
Alicia’s stomach dropped.
“What the actual—” she whispered.
Even Zavian, watching silently from the shadows behind the stage cameras, stood a little straighter.
His eyes never left Nylah.
And Alicia saw it.
All of it.
The way he tilted his head just slightly.
The way his lips twitched — not a smile, but approval.
And just like that, Alicia knew she had lost this round.
But she wasn’t done.
Not yet.
***
The click of the camera echoed like thunder in the cavernous shoot hall.
Lights blazed. Music pulsed.
Nylah moved through poses like liquid gold, her red latex catching every shimmer, the gold cape cascading behind her like a royal decree. Her face—intense, calm, captivating—was the kind of shot photographers dreamed of.
"Yes! Hold it! Hold—God, that's it!" the lead photographer moaned from behind his lens. “This girl is a problem. Someone get me a fan for the cape!”
Zavian leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, watching from behind the monitor.
Unmoving. Unblinking.
His jaw ticked slightly.
Every time she turned her face toward the camera, he felt it. That pull. That strange, magnetic tension.
The kind of pull that made logic whisper run, but instinct growled closer.
She was a distraction. A threat. A red flag in stilettos.
And yet here he was, watching every move, drinking in her presence like it was his own personal sin.
He stepped away from the monitor just as she turned towards his direction.
Their eyes locked.
Nylah’s lips quirked ever so slightly — a challenge, or maybe a dare.
Zavian’s eyes narrowed, the corners of his mouth twitching into something sharp.
Not a smile.
An invitation.
Then he walked. Right onto the set.
The entire team went still.
Stylists paused. Makeup artists froze. The camera crew looked up like the king had entered court.
“Keep shooting,” Zavian said coolly, but his eyes were on Nylah alone. “I just want a closer view.”
He circled her slowly.
“I don’t bite,” she said, not even looking at him.
“That’s unfortunate,” Zavian murmured.
She turned to face him.
“You’re distracting me.”
“You’re distracting everyone.”
The photographer cleared his throat nervously.
“Shall I continue—?”
“Absolutely,” Zavian said, stepping back just enough, but his gaze never wavered. “She’s perfection from this angle.”
Nylah turned back toward the lens, a spark of mischief in her eyes now, giving the camera a look that could burn cities.
Zavian smiled to himself.
He didn’t believe in fate. But he was beginning to believe in her.
- Writer
