APPEARANCES AND OTHER DANGEROUS GAMES
1613 Words
The shoot was already running late.
The sun was ruthless against the polished marble of the rooftop terrace where Nylah stood draped in a silky emerald gown, camera flashes popping like fireworks. Behind her, Table Mountain loomed regal in the distance—just like the creative director wanted. Luxury. Prestige. Power.
She channelled all of it. Chin tilted, eyes fierce, arms resting loosely at her sides like she was born to own this hotel, not just model for it.
But internally?
She was fraying at the seams.
The whispers hadn’t stopped all morning. Her cheeks still burned from a passing stylist who muttered “social climber” too loud to be accidental. Alicia strutted around in smug silence, shooting dagger-glances every chance she got. And Jason? He lingered too close, too long, whenever the crew adjusted her hair or the hem of her dress.
It was all becoming too much.
So when a low murmur rippled through the staff and heads began turning toward the entrance, Nylah braced herself for yet another passive-aggressive dig.
What she didn’t expect was him.
Zavian Blake.
Sharp black suit. Open-collared shirt. Designer sunglasses and a presence that seemed to pull all the oxygen from the rooftop.
He didn’t speak.
He didn’t need to.
His steps were deliberate, slow, confident as hell. And somehow, the chaos of the shoot stilled—like everyone instinctively knew the real boss had just walked in.
Nylah’s heart? Went straight into her throat.
What the hell is he doing here?
She glanced at the creative director, who looked like he might melt from equal parts panic and arousal.
Zavian’s sunglasses came off slowly. His eyes met Nylah’s. Unreadable. Intense.
He didn’t smile, but he didn’t have to. His gaze told her everything.
Play along.
The next thing she knew, he was striding straight towards her in front of the crew. Without hesitation, he reached out, pulled her gently but firmly by the waist, and leaned in to press a kiss to her temple. His lips lingered there. Warm. Possessive. Disorienting.
“Pretending,” he whispered against her skin, voice low enough that only she could hear. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
Too late, she thought, frozen in place.
Outwardly, she smiled—a flawless, practiced model smile.
Inwardly, she was imploding.
Everyone was watching now. Cameras had stopped clicking. Even Alicia had frozen mid-step.
Zavian turned smoothly to the creative team.
“Hope my girl’s not giving you too much trouble,” he said casually, one hand still at Nylah’s waist like he had every right to touch her.
“No, sir. She’s a pro,” the director said, practically bowing.
Zavian turned back to Nylah.
“I came to see how things were going. We should have dinner after this. Your place.”
Nylah’s pulse tripped over itself.
“Dinner? My place?” she echoed, trying to keep her tone neutral.
“Keeping up appearances,” he murmured again, brushing a hair from her face. “And yes, your place. The apartment your mother spoke about.”
She swallowed, nodded, and stepped back slightly—because if he didn’t stop looking at her like that, she was going to forget every boundary they set.
And that… was dangerous.
He stayed for another five minutes, offered a few polite nods to staff, then walked away just as smoothly as he came. Leaving behind stunned silence, a flustered creative team, and a Nylah who couldn’t remember what the hell her next pose was supposed to be.
Zavian didn’t turn back once.
But she felt it—his storm still in the air.
***
ALICIA
From the far side of the rooftop, Alicia stood with her arms folded tightly across her chest, her jaw locked so hard it hurt.
Jason leaned in, eyes narrowed behind designer frames.
“Well, well,” he muttered. “Didn’t expect that stunt.”
Alicia didn’t respond. Her glare was fixed on Nylah—who, for some reason, had Zavian Blake’s full, undivided attention.
That wasn’t just a visit.
That was a statement.
The way he held her, kissed her temple, touched her waist like she belonged to him… And the fact that he did it right there in front of everyone?
He wasn’t protecting the campaign anymore.
He was protecting her.
“She’s got him wrapped,” Jason whispered with a slow shake of his head. “And if that happens, we’re out.”
“No,” Alicia snapped, voice low but venomous. “She’s not going to win this. You hear me?”
Jason lifted a brow.
“You got a new plan?”
Her eyes didn’t leave Nylah.
“I’ll find one,” she said. “Something that finishes her without tying it back to us. We’ll drop the kind of poison no fake relationship can survive.”
Jason exhaled.
“You’re starting to sound a little obsessed, babe. If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you think it rather be you with him than Nylah,”
She shot him a deadly glare.
“She was nothing. Trash. She still is. I just need to remind everyone of that—Zavian included.”
Jason tilted his head.
“And what if he already knows, and still doesn’t care?”
Alicia paused. For one second, her confidence cracked.
Then her lips curled into a smile, cold and sharp.
“Then I’ll make sure he does care.”
Jason stood supportive by Alicia, although he was doing it for himself. He wanted Alicia to do everything in her power to take Nylah out of the campaign.
Although he’ll never admit it; he was jealous that Nylah was becoming a big thing. He once told Nylah she will never find and date someone like him. Nylah made sure she upgraded from a guy like him ten times more from what he is.
That hurt him.
That bruised him.
And that angered him.
Nylah was supposed to be depressed and begging Jason for his love back. She was supposed to be crying for her best friend, but like, what the hell!
If Nylah is not with him, Nylah cannot be with anyone.
***
Later That Evening.
Nylah stared at her reflection for the third time, adjusting the neckline of her off-the-shoulder top. She’d gone for understated: jeans, gold hoops, minimal makeup. Anything too dressy might suggest she was putting effort into a dinner that meant absolutely nothing.
Still… her palms were sweaty.
Why did I agree to this again? she thought, pacing near her front door.
Dinner at her apartment with Zavian. Freaking. Billionaire. Blake.
To “keep up appearances.”
The lengths she went to make her apartment that was left alone for months look alive again in a short time were beyond her strength.
She rolled her eyes at herself. Yeah, sure. That’s the only reason I’m here, obviously. Not because his voice does things to me. Not because he walked into that shoot today and ruined my mental clarity for the rest of the week.
Just then, the knock came.
And so did the flutter in her chest she couldn’t quite rationalise.
Zavian stood at the door looking like temptation incarnate—black trousers, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair tousled in a way that didn’t seem intentional but felt illegal. He held up a bottle of wine like it was nothing.
“Relax,” he said. “This isn’t a real date.”
Nylah stepped aside with a dry look.
“Good. Because I didn’t shave my legs.”
He smirked.
“Pity. You usually come so prepared.”
She glared.
“Are you always this annoying, or is it a full-time job?”
He walked past her into the apartment like he owned it.
“You invited me. Technically.”
She didn’t correct him.
The table was already set—thanks to her mother, who’d insisted Nylah at least “plate the food nicely” even if it was just pasta and garlic bread. Nylah felt awkward. Vulnerable. Like she was letting too much of herself be seen.
Zavian, on the other hand, looked maddeningly comfortable.
“Smells good,” he said. “Did your mom cook?”
Nylah rolled her eyes.
“No. I cooked. And if you don’t like it, there’s peanut butter in the cupboard.”
They sat opposite each other at the tiny kitchen table. It wasn’t like the lavish dinners he probably had with models and business moguls. This was homely, real, intimate.
And it scared the hell out of her.
“So,” she said, forcing casual. “What was that at the shoot today?”
He tilted his head, chewing.
“Keeping up appearances. Remember?”
“Right. Of course.” She poked her food, not meeting his eyes. “You really threw me under the bus with that fake relationship thing in the boardroom, you know.”
His gaze hardened just a fraction.
“And you didn’t? When you told your mother we were dating? Who, by the way, ambushed me at my law firm?”
Nylah blushed.
“Touché.”
Silence followed.
But not the awkward kind.
The dangerously charged kind.
Then he leaned back, sipping his wine slowly.
“You know this isn’t sustainable, right?”
She glanced up.
“What?”
“Us pretending. Eventually, this is going to blow up. You’re not safe as long as Alicia’s around. And we both know it.”
Nylah hesitated.
“Then why not end it now?”
His eyes locked on hers.
“Because I’m not done protecting you yet.”
Her breath caught.
And suddenly, the garlic bread didn’t matter.
- Writer
