CHAPTER 4
740 Words
Zara stopped mid-step, her breath catching as she entered the kitchen and froze.
Regan stood by the water dispenser, bare-chested, muscles taut beneath smooth, sun-brushed skin. Beads of water glistened on his collarbone, trailing down to where grey sweatpants sat low on his waist. His posture was relaxed—one hand braced on the counter, the other slowly filling a glass with water as if he had all the time in the world. Like he belonged there.
She didn’t move. Neither did he.
Their eyes met briefly—his calm, unreadable; hers wide with disbelief—before he looked away, unbothered, and took a sip. No greeting. No smirk. Just silence.
Zara backed away, confusion twisting into irritation as she turned sharply out of the kitchen and stormed down the corridor. Her feet carried her with purpose, fire rising with every step.
She flung open her mother’s door without knocking.
“Mummy,” she snapped, “why is Regan in our kitchen? Half naked?”
Mrs. Tunde looked up from folding a wrapper, expression annoyingly calm. “Because he’s staying here.”
Zara blinked. “Staying? As in… sleeping here?”
Her mother sighed like it was the most casual news in the world. “Yes. The Kareems are spending the weekend. Both families agreed. It’s an opportunity for everyone to connect, discuss engagement details, and—”
“Wait, wait—what?” Zara cut in, voice rising. “And nobody thought it was necessary to tell me that the stranger you’re marrying me off to is suddenly a house guest?”
“You’re being dramatic, Zara.”
“No, mummy, I’m being reasonable! This is my home. My space. And now I have to bump into him in sweatpants and pretend this is normal?!”
Her mother’s expression hardened. “Mind your tone.”
But Zara had already turned away, fury pounding in her chest like a war drum.
She stormed back upstairs, heart hammering as she entered her room and slammed the door shut. Her safe place—violated. Her walls—closing in. She didn’t even make it to the bed before a knock landed on the door.
She ignored it.
Another knock—firmer this time.
“What?!” she snapped.
The door opened slowly.
Regan.
Now clothed in a T-shirt, he stepped inside with the same quiet confidence that always set her teeth on edge. He didn’t wait for permission—just leaned against the door, arms crossed, as though he owned the moment.
“What are you doing in my room?” she demanded.
He didn’t flinch. “Relax. I’m not here to fight.”
“Then get out.”
“Not yet.” His tone was cool. “I came to offer you something.”
Zara narrowed her eyes. “Offer?”
“A deal.” He unfolded his arms slowly, voice even. “We both know this isn’t ideal. You don’t want this marriage. Neither do I. But our parents clearly do.”
Zara didn’t respond.
“So we play along,” he continued. “We pretend—for them. Smile when they’re watching. Say the right things. Do the family dinners. And once we’re married, we live separate lives. No expectations. No obligations. Just… freedom. Quietly.”
She blinked, taken aback.
“You think I’m just going to go along with that?”
“I think it’s better than rebellion with no escape route.” He paused, then added, “Unless you already have one.”
Zara’s silence gave her away.
A faint smirk curved Regan’s lips. “Modeling?”
Her lips parted slightly.
He tilted his head. “You should really close your door when making confidential calls. Walls have ears. So do corridors.”
Heat crawled up her neck.
He stepped back toward the door, hand on the knob, then turned to look at her one last time. That unreadable look was still in his eyes—somewhere between amused and intrigued.
“Oh, and don’t be late for your shoot with Kemi tonight,” he said lightly. “Would be a shame if anyone found out.”
Then came the wink.
Click.
The door shut behind him.
Zara stared after him, the silence in the room suddenly louder than ever. Something had shifted. Whatever invisible lines had existed between them were now blurred by secrets, power plays, and unspoken intentions.
And the game had only just begun.
- Writer
