Chapter Three – The Photograph
1052 Words
Bey did not believe in fate.
She believed in strategy.
Which is why she refused to admit that her heart was beating faster than normal over a man she had known for less than a week.
“Dinner is just dinner,” she muttered to herself, adjusting her earrings in the mirror.
Her phone buzzed.
Smith:
Don’t let him impress you with motivational quotes and cheap cologne.
She laughed.
Bey:
Relax. I’m the intimidating one, remember?
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Then nothing.
She frowned slightly, but brushed it off.
Michael was already seated when she arrived at the rooftop restaurant overlooking the city skyline.
Simple black shirt. No luxury watches flashing. No security detail in sight.
Just him.
He stood when she approached.
“You look,” he paused, searching for the right word. “Like trouble.”
She smirked. “You look like you practiced that line.”
“I did not,” he said, smiling. “But I might start.”
Dinner was effortless.
They talked about ambition. Failure. Why do people confuse success with happiness?
He listened when she spoke.
Really listened.
Halfway through the evening, Bey studied him carefully.
“You dodge questions about work like a professional,” she said.
He lifted a brow. “Am I being questioned?”
“I’m observant.”
He leaned back slightly. “I am invested. Build. Solve problems.”
“That’s vague.”
He smiled. “It’s intentional.”
Something about the way he said it felt layered.
Not dishonest.
But incomplete.
Before she could press further
A camera flash exploded near their table.
Both of them turned.
A man with a long lens camera stood near the railing.
Michael’s body shifted instantly.
Not panicked.
But alert.
The photographer snapped again.
Michael stood abruptly. “Excuse me.”
He walked toward the man.
Bey watched confusion settle into her chest.
She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she saw Michael’s posture change.
Calm dominance.
The photographer lowered his camera reluctantly.
Michael returned to the table, jaw slightly tight.
“Friend of yours?” she asked lightly.
“No.”
“Ex?”
“Worse.”
She arched an eyebrow.
“Persistent media,” he said evenly.
Media?
Her stomach flipped.
“Are you famous?” she asked, half-joking.
A beat.
“Not in a way that matters,” he replied.
That answer didn’t sit well.
But before she could question further, the photographer disappeared.
Michael signaled for the check.
Dinner ended earlier than expected.
The next morning, Spark Wave’s office was unusually quiet.
Until Smith stormed in holding his phone.
“Bey.”
She looked up from her laptop. “Good morning to you, too.”
He didn’t smile.
He placed the phone in front of her.
Her face drained of color.
There it was.
A photo from last night.
Her.
Michael.
Close.
Intimate.
The headline read:
Mystery Woman Spotted with Reclusive Billionaire Michael Knight
Billionaire.
The word echoed louder than thunder.
Her pulse quickened.
She looked at Smith.
“You knew?”
His expression was complicated. “I had suspicions.”
“You suspected and didn’t tell me?”
“I wasn’t sure,” he said defensively. “He keeps his profile private. But Bey, this isn’t small.”
She scrolled.
The article speculated wildly.
“Is this the woman who finally captured the heart of Nigeria’s youngest tech billionaire?”
Her chest tightened.
“He didn’t tell me,” she whispered.
Smith watched something shift in her eyes.
Not excitement.
Not greed.
Hurt.
“He should have,” Smith said firmly.
Her phone rang.
Michael.
She stared at it.
It rang again.
Smith’s jaw tightened.
“Answer it.”
She did.
“Bey”
“You’re a billionaire?” she cut in.
Silence.
Then: “Yes.”
The honesty was immediate.
But late.
“You didn’t think that was important?”
“I didn’t want it to be the reason you looked at me differently.”
Her voice sharpened. “You didn’t give me the chance to choose that.”
Across the office, Smith felt something dangerous rising in his chest.
Anger.
Opportunity.
“I was going to tell you,” Michael continued. “I just.”
“Just what?” she demanded.
“Wanted something real first.”
The words hit her unexpectedly.
Real.
She closed her eyes briefly.
“This is messy,” she said quietly.
“I can explain everything.”
“Then explain why I had to find out from a blog.”
Silence again.
Smith stepped closer, not touching her, but present.
Protective.
Michael heard the shift in her tone.
“Are you with someone?” he asked carefully.
Bey glanced at Smith instinctively.
Wrong move.
Smith’s heart pounded.
“Why does that matter?” she replied.
“Because if someone’s influencing you right now.”
“No one influences me,” she snapped.
The room felt smaller.
Charged.
Finally, she said, “I need time.”
“Bey”
She ended the call.
Silence swallowed the office.
Smith exhaled slowly.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“For what?”
“For him to think he could hide something that big.”
Her eyes flashed. “You’re enjoying this.”
That hit him like a slap.
“I’m not,” he said quietly.
She studied him.
And for a split second
She saw something in his eyes.
Something she had ignored for years.
Longing.
Possession.
Fear.
Her heart skipped.
“Smith”
He almost said it.
Almost let everything spill.
But the moment passed.
Instead, he said, “I just don’t want you hurt.”
Her voice softened. “You’re my best friend.”
There it was again.
Best friend.
He nodded.
But inside, something cracked.
Across the city, Michael stood in his penthouse staring at the same headline.
He had tried to keep her separate from his world.
But his world had found her anyway.
And now
The game had changed.
Because it wasn’t just about romance anymore.
It was about trust.
About pride.
About whom would fight harder?
The billionaire who hid his truth?
Or the best friend who had never spoken to him?
And somewhere beneath the headlines
A new question formed.
If Bey had to choose.
Whom would she believe?
Which route do you want?
- Writer
- chap_listContents
- likeADD