Beneath her Pretence

chapter 3

KESTER

I shouldn’t have thought about her this much, but the connection we shared in just mere minutes was something I'd never experienced before.

"Will just a moment have the power to change everything in my life?" I wondered. I was so lost in thought that I couldn't focus on the puzzle in front of me. Someone like her shouldn't turn my world upside down so quickly.

She was so young, so quiet, so unpolished... yet there was a quiet fire inside her that I recognized long before she even said a word.

And now, I find myself burning for more—more of her, I couldn't explain the attraction.

"But why the media?" I kept asking myself. In just a few hours, it went viral like it was something drastic I did.

I feel like Luciana must have seen it. "That b***h" I hit my head in exhaustion. But she hasn't reached out to me, it was unlike her.

My mind was filled with so many thoughts. I promised myself I’d leave it alone—let the kiss stay where it happened, just in the shadows of that fitting room. It was obviously nothing, it just happened.

But deep down, I was only fooling myself.

The moment kept replaying in my mind, it felt like forever.

"She didn’t run away, she didn’t freeze or cry or slap me or scream." I kept pondering

Instead, she felt it—the same way I did. The same way I still do.

———

By morning, something inside me shifted. I wasn’t comfortable with letting the distance grow.

I don’t mistake silence for rejection, I need to do something effectively.

Since the rumors started, I’d been pretending I didn’t hear. I never planned to want her either way...

But here I was...

Staring at my phone, knowing it didn’t have her number in it—that was my first problem.

And the second?

There was a growing suspicion that someone was posting things just to make things difficult for her because of me. Because of what we did.

I leaned back against my bed, narrowing my eyes.

"Zoey…" I whispered.

Her silence felt so personal.

Her absence felt wrong.

I hadn’t done something like this in a long time, but I knew I had to reach out to her. So, I asked my assistant to take me down to Tessy's couture so I can figure out a way to manipulate getting Zoey's file.

My assistant was good at this. It wasn’t exactly professional or proper, but I wasn’t concerned about those standards, not when it came to her. I immediately instructed my assistant to take care of it while I waited in my tinted car.

After some time, he brought me her file, just as expected, and seeing the number was such a relief—I just stared at it and smiled.

I suddenly became concerned about Zoey and asked my assistant if he had seen her in there.

"Yes, she was a bit busy with work" he replied softly.

It was a number that belonged to the girl whose mouth I shouldn’t have touched, whose breath still lingered under my skin.

I typed a message immediately I got to my house.

> Good evening, Zoey. I hope you're well. We need to meet.

It wasn’t a question, but it still felt gentle.

I almost didn’t hit send.

Almost.

But something told me that if I didn’t act now, someone else would—someone who didn’t care about her feelings. Someone who might use her as a rumor, a threat, or a warning. I really didn't want any more drama.

A few minutes passed, and I got no reply. So, I messaged again:

> Tomorrow 7PM. Don’t ignore this.

I spent the rest of the day in my library, pretending to focus on contracts and budgets, dealing with dozens of meaningless messages, and a board I’d grown tired of entertaining. Ended up unproductive.

Yet, every so often, I found myself with my phone in hand, rereading the messages I had sent, as if I was the one waiting.

And I didn’t like how that felt., But it didn't matter at that point.

I’ve had so many women wait for me before. I’ve walked away from women whose names I’ve already forgotten.

But this time?

I was waiting for her."Zoey"

All night, I kept checking my phone, hoping for Zoey's reply—hoping for something I wasn’t even sure I deserved, because I went completely blank about her which felt unfair to me.

Then, suddenly, my phone chimed.

It was her response. God help me—I smiled and checked

It was a short message:

> Where?

That was it.

No greeting, no curiosity; but either way, it wasn't rejection.

I felt like a work in progress.

————

Zoey

"Maybe if I Pretend Hard Enough, my inner instinct would have convinced me enough to know if I felt a thing for him," I said this after replying to his annoying text.

I don’t even remember typing the word; I just felt some kind of relief when I got the text from an unknown number, my instinct tells me it was Kester.

"Where?"

Just five letters — a single word that was supposed to make me feel in control. But it didn’t.

Because right after I sent it… I continued staring at my screen like someone waiting for oxygen to arrive through text bubbles.

Hated the way my pulse climbed.Hated the urge. Hated the way my chest tightened as if I’d just handed him something unsafe and irreplaceable. Hated the way he made me feel humiliated.

"I should have just ignored the message." And just move on with my normal life.

That was the plan. Worry for a few minutes, though it's a lot to move on with.

Then apologize to myself. Sleep like my brain wasn't exhausted and the experience wasn't draining.

I have bigger and better things to worry about than a rich, frustratingly handsome politician who likes invading people's space and kissing strangers.

I’ve got a lot of bills to clear off, I’ve got a future I’m trying to rebuild from scraps of grief and designer threads that barely sell. I still have to worry about my name, which has been on everyone's lips lately.

And yet here I am, glancing at my phone every other second.

But on the second text I saw, his name appeared "Kester Moore", every angry sentence I had thought about dissolved like sugar in tea.

Like it had never existed.

And what returned instead was the feeling I had been avoiding: The feeling that my body remembered him, the feeling that my mouth was locked in his lips, the feeling that something wrong had felt too right to forget.

I took a deep breath, dropped my phone for a minute.

I begin to feel special.

What was I thinking?

But the wildest thing is—I don’t think he regrets it, his text speaks highly positive.

Part of me remembers the way he held my chin, looking straight into my eyes, it was charming that I couldn't resist, the way his eyes darkened—not with lust, but recognition. Like he wanted to drown in the moment with me.

My heartbeat betrays me, ticking like a drum.

Meeting him meant something would happen again? And I didn’t trust myself enough to say no a second time.

Because my reply gave out a positive vibe, like I'd already said yes.

Where?

"That was a yes."

> Maybe he just wants to talk. Maybe he wants to apologize. Maybe this is him clearing the air. Closure.

But none of that sounded like him.

Kester Moore didn’t look like a man who asked for closure. "Kester looked like a man who started things — then watched the world shape around his decisions," I began judging him like his personality.

And I was already shaping.

My heart was hammering. Then I opened his message:

> The rooftop — Disney Towers. 7 PM.

Not a restaurant?

Not a café?

Not a public place where strangers could wander around

He chose a rooftop — somewhere quiet, wide open, unprotected and lonely

Somewhere people don’t go when they want to talk.

"No." I wouldn't just give in.

I will have to stress this conversation to know where he is driving at.

I found myself typing again.

> I can’t stay long.

Not I can’t come.

Not I shouldn’t.

Not This is a bad idea, i guess it wasn't.

Instead, I gave him conditions.

Like someone who had already chosen her side, already on her way there.

Although I wanted everything on my own terms.

His reply was fast.

> You won’t need long.

I began jumping like I won a jackpot. "Yes! Yes!! Yes!!!" It was undeniably a perfect place to meet my prince charming. A place that wouldn't accommodate so many people.

And in that moment, it hit me: I was becoming the kind of girl I used to warn myself about. The kind who knew better — and went anyway. The kind who walked into fire with both eyes open. The kind who mistook danger for destiny. I didn't plan to fall in love this quickly, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to stop her.

<<Love equally doesn't wait for the perfect time for the perfect people.