Chapter 3 LINES AND LIES

Zara woke up in a room that didn't feel like hers because it wasn't. The guest room in Tari's mansion was twice the size of her entire workshop. Smooth grey walls, a velvet headboard, and a wardrobe that probably cost more than her rent. But it all felt cold. Sterile. Like no one had ever lived in it, just passed through. She sat on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, staring at the alert: *₦5,000,000.00 credited to your account.* Five. Million. It felt surreal. One fake relationship and she was already halfway out of poverty. Still, it came with its own weight - pretending.

Smiling when she didn't feel like it. Walking on glass, unsure when the illusion might shatter. There was a knock on her door. She quickly tossed her phone aside. "Come in." Tari stepped in, dressed in a white shirt and black trousers like always. Clean. Composed. Distant.

"We have a dinner tonight," he said. "My father's business associate is coming with his wife. My family will be there too." Zara stood, adjusting her scarf. "And what do I wear for that? A lie?" He stared at her. "Wear red. It gets their attention." She smirked. "You studied psychology or something?" "I studied people." "And what did you learn about me?" Tari paused. "That you ask too many questions before breakfast." She smiled. "Fair." *** The dinner was at a private lounge in Victoria Island. More gold, more glass, more pressure. This time, Zara played the part too well. Laughter at the right moments. Her hand brushing Tari's shoulder occasionally. Her eyes lighting up when his name was mentioned. Tari, as always, was composed. But tonight, he looked at her differently - not in suspicion, but curiosity. After dinner, they sat alone by the bar. A soft jazz band played in the corner. Zara sipped water slowly. "You're good at this," he said. "Pretending?" He nodded. She shrugged. "Growing up in a strict household teaches you how to perform. Pretend to be obedient. Pretend to be happy." Tari tilted his head. "Strict how?" She looked away. "The kind where love is earned. Not given." Silence again. But this time, it wasn't cold. "And you?" she asked. "Why are you always acting like you're holding your breath?" His jaw twitched slightly. "Because trust is expensive. And people are cheap." That hit harder than she expected. "Is that why you don't date?" "I don't date because I don't have time for emotional chaos. People get attached. I don't." Zara raised a brow. "You say that like it's a superpower." "It's survival." She looked at him for a long moment. "Sounds lonely." Tari's eyes darkened. "Lonely is safer." *** Later that night, they sat in the car as the driver drove silently through Lekki's traffic. "You really don't like talking about your life, do you?" Zara asked, her voice low. "I don't like giving people ammunition." "What if I'm not your enemy?" He turned slightly, eyes searching hers. "Then that would be new." Zara didn't say anything. She just looked out the window, heart oddly full - and confused. She wasn't supposed to care about him. This was business. Make-believe. But when she caught him staring at her reflection in the glass, something in her chest shifted. A little too real. And a little too dangerous.

Zara lay awake that night, the ceiling fan spinning above her like a quiet reminder: *You're in a stranger's house, pretending to be his fiancée.* And yet... it didn't feel that strange anymore. There was something about Tari. Cold, yes. Calculated. But also real in a way most men weren't. He didn't try to charm her. Didn't fake interest. When he looked at her, it felt like he was trying to solve a puzzle - and that puzzle happened to be her. The next morning, she wandered into the kitchen and found him at the marble island, reading the papers with a cup of black coffee. "You don't eat anything but air and caffeine, do you?" she asked, rubbing her eyes. He looked up. "I eat. When necessary." Zara rolled her eyes. "You sound like a robot." He smirked. "Good morning to you too." They shared a quiet breakfast - her with toast and eggs, him with nothing but headlines and black coffee. "Tomorrow's the family weekend trip," he said casually, not looking up. Zara blinked. "Trip?" He passed her the itinerary. "My mother planned it. Everyone's going. Couples are expected." She scanned the page. Two nights at a luxury beach resort. Family games. Dinners. Couple bonding time. Zara raised her brows. "This is where it gets messy, isn't it?" "Yes," he said without hesitation. "So we need to step up the act." "What kind of stepping up are we talking about?" He finally looked at her, dead serious. "Convincing touches. Eye contact. Familiarity. Maybe a kiss or two." Zara's toast froze mid-air. "I'm sorry, what?" "If it comes up," he said calmly. "Just... be prepared." Zara sat back. "We didn't talk about kissing in the contract." "We didn't talk about weekend getaways either." She gave him a long look. "I swear, you're going to be the end of my peace of mind." His lips twitched slightly. "Welcome to my world." *** They traveled the next day. Zara wore a fitted sundress and large sunglasses. She didn't try to match his energy-she just brought her own. Confident. Calm. Stylish. Tari, in a white linen shirt and dark shades, looked like a man from a luxury ad. Together, they looked dangerously perfect. The family villa was bigger than she imagined. Infinity pool, palm trees, too many cameras. "You're late!" his cousin Toke said, rushing to hug them. "We already started the games." Zara smiled, slipping easily into the role of "the new bride-to-be." She greeted everyone warmly. Held Tari's hand just long enough. Laughed on cue. But later, during a volleyball game, things got *too* real. One of his uncles shouted, "Let's see the lovebirds kiss for luck!" Zara froze. All eyes turned. Tari looked at her. Not with panic. With *permission.* She hesitated. Then gave the tiniest nod. He stepped closer. His hand on her waist. His face inches from hers. "Just a show," he whispered. "I know." Then he kissed her. It wasn't dramatic. Or steamy. Just soft... controlled. But the moment his lips touched hers, Zara's brain short-circuited. Because for a second-just one-*it didn't feel fake.* When they pulled away, the crowd cheered. But Zara's heart didn't. It raced. Loud. Confused. A little terrified. Because if *one* kiss could shake her like that... what would six weeks do?