ZIZI

The One Where the Heat Stops Pretending

I didn’t even text K back.

I just showered, dressed, tied my hair in a slick bun that screamed I’m unbothered even though my soul was vibrating, and drank water like I was doing penance.

Imani stood by the mirror, watching me like a proud mom and an investigator combined.

“You’re glowing,” she announced.

I rolled my eyes.

“It’s moisturizer.”

“It’s K.”

I ignored her.

Outside, Abuja sun was already auditioning for hellfire.

Perfect weather for chaos.

K sent another message.

“I’m outside.”

I blinked.

Already?

I walked to the balcony and peeped.

His car.

Parked.

Engine running.

Tinted windows down just a little… enough for him to see the building.

My stupid heartbeat sprinted.

I grabbed my bag and stepped out.

K didn’t smile when I approached the car.

He just watched me quietly, eyes trailing me like he was checking for something beyond makeup and perfume.

“Get in.”

I slid into the passenger seat, shut the door, and exhaled.

He stared for three seconds that felt like thirty.

Then…

“You slept like a baby.”

I shot him a look.

“Don’t act like you didn’t leave me unconscious.”

He smirked slightly.

“That was your doing. Not mine.”

The heat between us had the audacity to spark again.

He drove off, smooth, calm, hands steady on the wheel like the world wasn’t on fire with our names.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

He didn’t answer immediately.

“Somewhere quiet.”

I raised a brow.

“Again?”

“This one is different.”

The way he said “different” made something in my stomach fold.

He took me to a hidden lounge in Wuse II, not the type influencers post for aesthetics, the type wealthy people use for meetings, deals, and silence.

Dim.

Expensive.

Soft AC humming like whispers.

A waiter greeted him with small-bow energy.

“Welcome back, sir.”

Back?

Meaning… this was his spot.

He led me to a booth tucked deep inside, far from ears and eyes.

We sat.

He watched me again, quietly.

Finally, I snapped.

“Okay, what’s going on? You look like you’re about to tell me I’m dying.”

K leaned back.

“Zizi… what did you see online this morning?”

I crossed my legs.

“I saw people chatting nonsense about me being chosen by one ‘Board’ like I’m auditioning for Illuminati.”

His jaw tightened just slightly.

“You think it’s nonsense?”

I froze.

That reaction… wasn’t normal.

“K,” I whispered, “what’s The Board exactly?”

He looked away for the first time since I entered the car.

That alone scared me.

“K?”

He rubbed his thumb slowly against his palm… a habit I’d noticed only when he was thinking too hard.

“Zizi… some people in this city are not playing social media games. They move things. They push narratives. They choose who becomes a face, who gets opportunities, who trends, who gets buried.”

“I’ve heard this beezillion time!”… I said while rolling my eyes

“And they just… put me on a list?”

He met my eyes again.

“You’ve been on their radar since last month.”

My heart dropped.

“Why?”

“You’re loud online. You trend easily. You’re unpredictable. They like chaos they can control.”

My voice went small.

“So they think they can control me?”

“That’s the problem,” he said softly.

“They can’t.”

Something in his tone made me shiver.

Not fear.

Recognition.

Like he knew because…

He’d been there.

“K… how do you know all this?”

He didn’t blink.

“Because I’ve worked around them before.”

My chest tightened.

“Are you part of The Board?”

He shook his head.

“No. But they know me. And I know their games.”

Silence pressed between us.

Soft.

Heavy.

Dangerous.

“So… I’m not safe?” I asked quietly.

K leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes locked on mine.

“You’re safe with me.”

My breath hitched.

Too quick.

Too warm.

Too honest.

He continued.

“But you need to be careful. This December? They’re watching you. People will try to attach themselves to you. Stories will fly. Deals will appear. Some sweet. Some poisonous.”

I stared at him.

“Why are you telling me all this?”

He leaned closer, voice low enough to melt my spine.

“Because last night proved something to me.”

I blinked.

“What?”

“That I care.”

Everything inside me stopped.

Heat crawled up my neck.

My chest throbbed again.

My legs crossed themselves without permission.

I swallowed.

“K…”

He reached out.

Took my hand.

Warm.

Steady.

Intentional.

No rush.

No game.

Just… truth.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured, “but you’re my kind of trouble.”

My heart flipped so violently it should’ve filed a complaint.

“And I’m not letting The Board, bloggers, or anybody decide who you get to be.”

His thumb brushed my palm.

Slow.

Dangerous.

Claiming.

The kind of touch that meant two things:

He wasn’t joking.

And this slow-burn?

It just became fire.

———————-

For a moment, the air between us didn’t move.

Like the whole lounge was holding its breath on our behalf.

K still holding my hand.

Me fighting every instinct to climb across the table and ruin the composure he was pretending to keep.

Then…

My phone started vibrating like it was trying to escape my bag.

I sighed, pulled it out, and saw Imani’s name flashing violently.

I picked.

Before I could say hello, she screamed:

“ZIZI! HAH! YOU DON GO HONEYMOON FOR DUBAI?!”

I blinked so hard K almost laughed.

“Honeymoon ke? I’m literally sitting….”

“Go online!” she shrieked.

“Bloggers are saying you and one ‘mysterious young sponsor’ don commot Nigeria together! They said the Board has shifted attention away from you because your sponsor whisked you out of the country! Zizi, what is happening?!”

I opened my mouth.

Closed it.

Looked at K.

He was staring at me with that annoying calmness only rich men with too much sense have.

I ended the call.

“K,” I said slowly, “why are blogs saying I left the country with you when I’m still in Abuja?”

He leaned back, unfazed.

“Because they will believe it in two hours.”

I blinked.

“Two what?”

He checked his watch like he was checking for flight time, not drama.

“Pack a small bag,” he said simply.

“Nothing serious. Just essentials. We’re leaving today.”

My brain froze.

“Leaving… to where?”

“Dubai.”

I swallowed.

“K, are you joking?”

He shook his head once.

Steady.

Deliberate.

“They are looking for a sponsor. Let’s give them one. Let them chase someone else. You don’t need to fight a rumor if I make it real.”

My chest did an Olympic-level somersault.

“So… you want to… sponsor me?”

He smiled the softest, deadliest smile.

“I’ve been wanting to spoil you. This just gives me an excuse.”

My legs crossed themselves.

I cleared my throat.

“K… people will believe you’re my….”

“I don’t care what they believe,” he cut in gently.

“What matters is keeping you out of their nonsense.”

I stared at him.

“And what if I don’t want to go?”

He leaned forward, eyes steady, voice low.

“Then say no, Zizi. But don’t pretend you don’t want a break. Don’t pretend last night didn’t shift something. And don’t pretend you don’t like the idea of leaving this chaos holding my hand.”

That last part destroyed my immune system.

I looked away.

My phone buzzed again.

A new blog post:

“BREAKING: Popular Influencer Vee accused of being the REAL Board target Zizi replaced by mystery Dubai sponsor.”

I exhaled.

“Well… looks like your plan is working already.”

K stood up.

“Let’s go get your things.”