CHAPTER 3
919 Words
The living room pulsed with quiet pressure, cloaked in rehearsed politeness and false smiles. Chief Kareem’s voice rolled through the space like velvet smoke—measured, composed, laced with legacy and power. He and Mr. Tunde sat across from each other, discussing the union like two seasoned businessmen closing a deal. Phrases like “strategic alliance” and “strengthening both families” floated through the air, weightless to everyone but Zara.
She sat perched on the edge of a couch, hands pressed into her lap, knuckles white from the effort of holding herself together. Across from her, Regan sat in silence. His posture was impeccable—back straight, hands folded, gaze flickering now and then toward her, unreadable. As always. He looked like he belonged here. She felt like a trespasser in her own life.
The walls felt like they were closing in.
“I’ll be right back,” she said suddenly, her voice polite but thin. Without waiting for a response, she stood and walked out of the room. The air grew lighter with every step she took up the stairs.
By the time she reached her bedroom, her hands were shaking.
She locked the door, leaned against it for a beat, then sank onto the bed and reached for her phone. Her heart picked up speed as the email stared back at her—her lifeline in a sea of control and compromise.
Congratulations, Zara Tunde.
You’ve been selected as one of the finalists for the House of Aramé Model Search. The final showcase will take place in three months. Finalists who qualify will be flown to Paris for the Elite Global Runway program.
Her breath caught again, just like it had the first time. The words still shimmered with possibility, with escape. Three months. That was all she needed. Three months to prove she belonged on a runway—not in a marriage contract.
Her thumb hovered, then tapped Kemi’s contact.
“Zara?” Kemi’s voice came on the line in seconds. “Are you okay? You sound like you just got kidnapped.”
“Kemi…” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “They picked me. House of Aramé. I’m a finalist.”
A moment of silence.
Then, an explosion. “OH MY GOD!”
Zara laughed—a real, bubbling laugh that caught her off guard.
“Zara Tunde! Are you being serious right now? They picked you?!”
“Yes! It’s real! I got the email last night. I’m one of the finalists. If I get through the final round, I’m going to Paris!”
Kemi shrieked again, this time lower and more emotional. “Girl, this is it. This is what we prayed for. Manifested. Cried over. And you did it. I’m so proud of you!”
Zara smiled, pressing the phone tighter against her cheek. “I want to scream, Kemi. But they’re downstairs planning my engagement. To Regan Kareem.”
Silence again—this time heavy.
“He’s there?” Kemi asked.
Zara closed her eyes. “He’s downstairs with his father. Sitting in my living room like it’s already his home.”
“I don’t get it,” Kemi said, voice sharp. “They’re talking about weddings when your dreams are finally coming true? What is wrong with these people?”
“I don’t know,” Zara whispered. “But I’m not giving this up. Not after everything. I want to start working now—seriously. I need to build my portfolio, my online presence, everything. I want them to know I’m more than just a pretty face trapped in someone’s business plan.”
“Say no more,” Kemi said instantly. “Lola still has that professional camera. We can use it. I’ll put together a mood board, we’ll plan a concept shoot. Just tell me when.”
“This weekend,” Zara said firmly. “Before they find more ways to lock me down.”
A knock jolted her.
She froze.
“Someone’s at my door,” she whispered.
“Go. And Zara?”
“Yeah?”
“You were born for that runway. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
Zara ended the call and slid the phone beneath her pillow. She stood, took a breath, and opened the door.
Regan.
She blinked, caught off guard. His silhouette filled the doorway—tall, casual, unfazed. He leaned one arm against the frame, his shirt sleeves rolled just enough to reveal a watch that probably cost more than her entire closet.
“You left the meeting like the air was poisoned,” he said smoothly.
Zara raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t it?”
A smirk tugged at his lips. His eyes flicked toward the room behind her—toward the edge of the bed where the glowing phone screen had just dimmed.
“Modeling, huh?”
The words landed softly, but they hit hard.
Zara’s chest tightened. “Were you eavesdropping?”
He shrugged, unbothered. “I was coming to check on you. Heard enough to get the gist.”
Her jaw clenched. “Are you going to tell them?”
Regan tilted his head, considering her. Then, a slight, almost playful curve lifted one corner of his mouth.
“Your secret’s safe… for now.”
Then he turned and walked away, his footsteps light on the hallway tiles.
Zara stared after him, stunned.
The balance had shifted. He knew something he wasn’t supposed to. And just like that, the game had changed—again.
- Writer
