Beneath her Pretence

ZOEY I didn’t come to this city to find love. I didn’t come to chase company owners, or build someone else's company, or let my guard down I came here for one thing: To build a name no one could erase. That’s what I told myself in the taxi taking me down to my location. As the taxi smoothly wound its way through town, I felt a rush of excitement, eager to reach my destination after dreaming about this moment all night. When the driver finally yelled, "Na the place be this," I was so thrilled that I couldn’t help but smile. Ignoring his tone, I pulled out some cash, stepped out of the worn-looking taxi, and headed toward a stunning glass building that shimmered under the sunlight, wrapped in beautiful, eye-catching fabrics. The bold sign read "Tessy Couture" in shining silver letters at the top of the store, facing the busy road. You're not just stepping into a brand. You’re stepping into a standard. A different world. I was ready. —or I thought I was. The moment I walked in, the air changed. It smelled of starch, steam, and expensive perfume. Different mannequins wore elegant dresses displayed on them. Walls of ivory silk, glass tables with pattern books, and women in tailored outfits threading, cutting, pinning, and creating magic with their hands. No one looked at me. They were all focused, but I didn't feel welcome in a way. By the front desk was a woman, dressed in a fitted orange dress looked up from her desktop "New intake?" She asked, disinterested. "Yes. My name is Zo—" "No need. We don't care about names for the first three weeks. Just keep up." She interrupted rudely. Just like that, I was swallowed by motion. There are fabrics to sort. Threads to arrange. Buttons to match, keep your belongings on the shelf. She was just acting so weird, like she was certain I could do all of what she asked me to do. I just followed her order, I didn't know who the boss was, so I was trying to be careful. I was given a corner table and told to baste a sleeve mock-up without spilling blood on the material. "Welcome to the dream, Zoey." So I whispered to myself. I just knew I wasn’t here to just learn fashion. I was here to reclaim it. Because this building, this company — this empire — belonged to someone who had stolen what wasn’t theirs. And I was going to do the same. They didn’t know that yet. I barely knew it myself. I was beginning to get cold from the air coming out of the Air conditioner as I began to work on a dress. I was so focused on not pricking my fingers that I didn’t notice the shift in the room. Not until later, silence dropped, even the sewing machine seemed to pause as if air itself became aware of someone entering. I looked up. And saw him. A man walking in with the kind of presence that didn’t ask for permission —calm, confident—and then a deep voice. It owned the silence. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a deep charcoal jacquard suit that fit like it was made on his skin. His expression was calm, unreadable. His eyes swept the room like they already knew what they wanted. He walked in behind Mrs Tessy — The lacquer queen herself who ran all this. She looked exactly how my friend described. Elegant, well spoken with impeccable English and controlled. She wore her tape rule over her neck as if she were set to work. Her eyes, framed by square glasses, were the color of polished steel. They were both having a conversation as they both walked into the hall room I tried to look away, but I felt a connection from afar, admiring his look. It was embarrassing how I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Then someone tapped my shoulder, a colleague of mine, and I guess she had been watching me closely. "She whispered". “Be careful with Mr. Moore.” I turned, curious. “How do you mean? And why?” She hesitated, looked around, and leaned in. “Because he’s not available. And because you can't survive here when you forget the rules.” My heart paused, trying to process her words. "He is not available?" I wondered if it meant he had many women. "Is the new intake here?" Mrs. Tessy asked the receptionist. "Yes, ma'am." I stood up to meet her, but she instructed a senior apprentice to give me some fabric. Just as I was about to look away, she bumped into me from behind, handling the packaged fabric roughly. “Oh, sorry,” the girl muttered, but I knew she didn't mean it—her tone revealed it. “Zoey,” Mrs. Tessy’s voice cut sharply. “Fitting room. Now.” Wait! What? I hadn’t even received my apron yet, and I didn't know where the fitting room was. I hurried to follow her so I wouldn't miss her. She instructed me to assist Mr. Moore. My heart sank. So I wasn’t imagining it. That man... that presence... that voice... And I was about to be alone with him. In a fitting room. Fate can be quite tricky. I grabbed the tape measure hanging on the closet, along with some chalk for marking. The room was quiet, cold, with full-length mirrors and an overhead track light. Up close, he seemed even more intense—dangerous, not in violence but in gravity—like he effortlessly drew people in. His shoulders were bare beneath a crisp white shirt, his suit jacket off. I entered with my chalk and tape. I marked the shoulders, the sleeves, the length—clinging to professionalism like a vital shield. “Good afternoon, sir,” I managed. His voice responded, “You’re the new apprentice.” I paused. “Yes.” “Your name?” “Zoey,” I replied. “Hmmm, pretty name,” he said before I could catch my breath. I focused on pinning the jacket sleeve. Everything was going smoothly—until I needed a closer measurement. “Lift your arm,” I said, reaching to mark the side seam. That’s when it happened. His breath softened. His body shifted slightly—not by accident or mistake. Suddenly, my hand brushed him, and instead of stepping back... He held it. Not roughly, not hurriedly. It felt suspicious, so I moved closer—too close. His hand brushed mine again as I reached for the shoulder seam. I jerked back, and he moved forward. Our bodies collided, and I almost lost my balance. Before I could fall, his hand gripped my waist. And my mouth landed on his jaw. I started to feel scared and anxious. It was soft, warm, electrical. He kissed me, and it felt deliberate. I pulled away immediately, already apologizing before I could even think. “I—I didn’t—” “Don’t,” he said softly. “You didn’t start it,” he continued quietly, “but you didn’t stop it either.” I swallowed hard. “It was wrong. I'm very sorry.” “No,” he said gently. “It was real. And that’s what makes it worse?” My heart was pounding everywhere—throat, fingertips. I should’ve stepped back. I should’ve spoken. But I didn’t. Because something inside me — something buried, quiet, forbidden — didn’t want to. His thumb brushed my waist again, almost like a question only my body could answer. My answer was silence and curiosity. Footsteps neared. I stepped back, straightened my spine, and wiped the tremor from my hands. And he buttoned his blazer like nothing had happened. Mrs. Tessy pulled back the curtain. Her eyes— sharp like she saw something but not everything. “Are we ready for the review?” she asked. “Yes,” he answered, gaze still fixed — not on her. On me. Just once. But once was enough to ruin the balance in my chest. "What just happened?" On my first day in Tessy's couture, I'm about to ruin my goal," I muttered quietly as I found my way out of the fitting room. ——— Not long, he was done with his session. The fitting went smoothly—at least, I told myself it did. All I could really hear was his voice, low and thoughtful, like every word was meant to be remembered. And every now and then, I felt it again… his eyes. When it was over, Mrs. Tessy shook his hand. “I’ll send the final set tomorrow.” “I trust your judgment,” he said, then his gaze found me once more. “You’ve got a dedicated team,” he added, almost to her but not really. Mrs. Tessy smiled faintly. “Discipline is our priority.” I offered a small, awkward smile, and he nodded politely, then left with his team. The silence after was almost a relief. ——— By the day, my hand ached while tacking buttons on a dress. A senior apprentice walks up to me, "Mrs Tessy's asked she called me" My heart skipped for a bit. "Not again" I just told her to direct me to her office. She pointed her hands toward a narrow pathway leading to Mrs. Tessy's office. “Last door to your right,” she said and left me to my fate. Every step I took was heard because of how quiet the place was. The whole place smelled of nice fragrances until I walked closer to her office " I was wowed." There was a room full of quality and expensive fabrics, the door of the room was glass, so I could see through. It was so beautiful, this was me doing a mini tour. Everywhere was full of ambition. I knocked on the last door as directed, “Come in,” she answered quickly. "Sit down" "I obeyed" With sweat rolling down my thighs. She didn’t smile. “Miss Zoey, Right?” “Yes, ma’am,” I answered, looking straight into her eyes. I'm quite sure she could sense fear. She flipped through my file already on her desk. “You studied fashion design at Ocean Lake Vocational?” “Yes, ma’am.” “Experience?” “I worked under a local tailor for five years, and I’ve been freelancing—custom-made dresses, mostly.” Her gaze lifted. Okay, "So why Tessy Couture?” I swallowed my saliva. Because from my research, this is where the best work is, I also want to learn discipline, I want to make modern dresses, and lastly, I want my hands to create something that lasts and tell a meaningful story. “Because I believe this is where I’ll become the ready-made designer I have always wanted”. There was silence. But just with the look on her face it screamed approval. But I couldn’t tell. “You speak like someone who still believes passion is enough,” she said finally. “It isn’t. Here, precision is passion.” “Yes, ma’am.” She closed the file. Okay! “You’ll start fully tomorrow," I just tested your speed on the last fitting session, "You’re under my watch.” "Do not make me regret this." She said this faintly. I stood up immediately and left her office. ≤Today my moment changed And it tasted like Kester Moore.