LOVE AND LIES

He Felt Like a World I Could Never Reach

There was something about Kiara that made him different from any other man I had ever known.

When I called, he answered.

When I texted, he replied.

There were no games, no silence, no wondering where I stood. He showed up in a way that felt… intentional. Steady. Certain. Like he had already decided that I mattered.

We started talking more, not occasionally, but constantly. Calls turned into routines, and texts became part of my day. I woke up to his good morning messages, and before I even realized it, he had become part of my life.

I pinned his number on w******p, so I would never miss a message from him. That is how much space he had taken without asking.

I have always liked men who are not consumed by social media, men who exist quietly, who are present in real life instead of performing for the world. Kiara was exactly that. He was not interested in social media, not even a little. I, on the other hand, was always there. Always aware. Always connected.

“I feel like you know everything happening in the world,” he once said, his voice carrying a quiet amusement.

“I do,” I replied, laughing softly. “I am there for both of us.”

“For both of us?” he repeated.

“Yes,” I said. “You live your quiet life. I will bring the world to you.”

There was a pause on the line.

Then he said, almost under his breath, “I like that.”

Something about the way he said it stayed with me.

He passed by for cake that evening. It was brief. Too brief. We barely spoke.

But something about that moment stayed with me. This time, he came driving a Bentley.

A Bentley.

I did not react the way I should have. I did not ask questions. I did not even look surprised. But inside, I was. Because Kiara was not the kind of man who did chauffeur duties. That much was clear.

So whose car was it? That question stayed with me long after he left. And slowly, I started putting the pieces together.

The Rolex watch on his wrist. The quiet, effortless way he dressed. The places he mentioned so casually. The way he carried himself like he belonged everywhere he stepped into and then there was the one detail he never tried to hide. He lived in Mayfair, London. Not just visited. Not just passed through. Lived there.

That alone told me everything I needed to know. Kiara did not come from an ordinary life. He came from a world I could not even pretend to understand.

“I like the cake,” he said. Then his eyes rested on me, and for a moment, everything else faded.

“And you looked beautiful today,” he added softly. “Like you were going on a date.”

I felt my heart shift.

I had not tried that hard. It was just a red silk dress from Zara. One of their new releases. I had bought it for myself as a small reward. I wore a simple pendant with my name on it. Lilly. My hair was tied up in a messy way, and I had on a pair of sandals.

Nothing special.Yet he noticed.

“You always look at people like that?” I asked, trying to sound light.

“Like what?” he said.

“Like you are trying to see more than what is there.” I replied

There was a small pause.

“I only look at you like that,” he replied.

And just like that, something inside me softened.

That night, we talked again. Longer this time. Deeper.

We drifted into childhood memories, and for once, I did not have to lie.

We talked about running around stores, playing in parks, dealing with mean children. Buying sweets from the corner shop on the way to school. Getting detention for making noise. It was simple. Real and because of that, it felt easy.

We laughed about Christmas clothes. About birthdays with cakes made by mothers who were not bakers.

“Those cakes were always too sweet,” he said.

“And very ugly looking,” I replied.

He laughed softly.

“I would still eat them,” he said. “Every time.”

“Of course you would,” I teased. “You look like the type who never wasted food.”

“And you?” he asked.

“I was the type who complained and still ate everything,” I said.

“I can see that,” he replied.

There was something in his tone. Something playful. Something warm.

The conversation shifted without warning. Favorite colors. Best cars. Nice food.

The small questions that are never small.

“Blue,” we both said at the same time.

There was a pause. Then we both laughed.

“That is suspicious,” he said.

“It is destiny,” I replied.

“Destiny?” he repeated, his voice softer now.

“Maybe,” I said, smiling even though he could not see me.

As much as I was lost in him, I was also noticing everything else. The background noise and the surrounding space. The life behind his voice.

He was working out in his home gym while we spoke. At one point, he paused to respond to his lawyer. Someone asked him which car he would take to work. There were people in his house. Servants. You could hear it. Feel it. His world was structured. Expensive. Different.

And then there was that word again. Mayfair. He lived there. That alone separated us.

My life was simple. My parents worked hard to give us stability. Dad paid a mortgage for years just to secure our home.

Mum ran a care home that had done well for over two decades. We were not rich. But we were not poor. We were… normal.

I realized something I could not ignore. I had not just met a man. I had met a world. One I did not belong to.

We talked for three hours. We only ended the call because we had to sleep. Even then, neither of us wanted to hang up.

“Hang up,” I said.

“No, you hang up,” he replied.

“You are the one who called,” I said.

“And you are the one keeping me,” he answered softly.

I went quiet because I did not know if he was joking anymore.

Tracy noticed everything. She always does. She told me we were falling in love.

I denied it. Said it was not possible. Said I did not want to hurt him.

The truth was…I was already there. I am not the kind of girl who has male friends. I am not the kind who talks to a man for hours.

Something about him was different, and I could feel it.Even if I refused to say it.

I went to bed but I did not sleep. I reached for my phone. He had texted. Thank you for your time. Then another message. Can I make it up to you with the pizza date?

I read the words slowly. Carefully and heard what he did not say. I want to see you. I enjoyed being with you. You matter to me.

That was his gift. Not money or status. Not anything loud. Time. His most valuable asset and he was giving it to me. Freely.

At that moment… I wanted him. Completely. Even though I knew, deep down, that I was building everything on a lie.