THE FAKE FIANCÉ CLAUSE

The rain had no mercy that evening. Zara Oke sprinted across the soaked pavement, shielding her sketchpad under her handbag like it was her last meal. Her once-white sneakers were now stained brown with Lagos mud. She reached the rusted door of her workshop and slammed it shut behind her, breathless. Inside, everything looked exactly how it felt-tired. A sewing machine sat quietly on the corner table, half-covered with fabric. Her mannequin wore a half-finished gown, pinned clumsily in a moment of frustration. The overhead bulb flickered.

And on the tiny wooden table sat a red eviction notice. Zara tossed her soaked bag aside and stared at the notice again, like maybe this time it would read something else. But it didn't. *"You have seven days to vacate the premises."* She sat slowly on the floor, back against the wall, legs stretched out. Her bones ached, not just from the run in the rain, but from months of trying-trying to build her brand, trying to pay rent, trying to be someone. All the while, Lagos laughed in her face. Zara Oke wasn't the kind of woman who cried easily. But tonight, her eyes stung. Not because she was weak-but because she was tired of pretending she was strong. She was still on the floor when her best friend, Tara, barged in with a black nylon bag and soaked scarf. "You look like you just got hit by a danfo," Tara said, dropping the food on the table. "Eat. You need energy to overthink." Zara gave a weak laugh. "You're late." "I stopped to buy jollof rice. And also, you're welcome," Tara replied, unwrapping the nylon. "So... what's the plan?" Zara pulled herself up. "Same plan as always. Hustle. Pray. Repeat." Tara watched her quietly. "What if it's time to ask for help?" "From who? My parents? They don't even know I quit the tailoring job at Auntie Esther's to start this." She gestured around the workshop. "They think I'm still there, learning 'stability.'" "And you're sure struggling in silence is a better plan?" Zara turned away, biting back the lump in her throat. She wasn't ready to admit it, but something had to give. She just didn't expect it to come so soon. *** The next day, fate arrived in the form of a fashion gala. Zara had sewn a last-minute dress for a client who couldn't afford a high-end designer. The lady, a rising influencer, offered Zara two things: a discounted price... and one free ticket to the biggest industry event of the month. "You might meet someone important," she'd said cheerily. Zara had laughed. "Like who? A billionaire looking to adopt a broke designer?" Still, she went. The hall was golden. Not just in colour-but in class. Men in black tuxedos, women in shimmering gowns, photographers clicking at every corner. Zara stood near the wall, clutching a glass of water she hadn't sipped, wearing a gown she stitched herself the night before. She felt like a fraud in a fairytale. Then she saw him. Tall. Sharp suit. Brooding eyes. Alone, despite the crowd. He stood like someone who didn't come to mingle-but people mingled around him anyway. "That's Tari Amadi," someone whispered near her. "The tech guy. Multi-millionaire. Cold as ice, but rich like sin." Zara looked again. Tari's face was unreadable, like his emotions had been hidden and locked far away. But his eyes scanned the room like a man searching for an answer-or a way out. She turned away. He was not her world. She was not his class. But the universe had other plans.

Zara didn't believe in fairytales. But she also didn't believe in coincidences-at least not until the night she met Tari Amadi twice in one hour. The first time, they only locked eyes briefly across the ballroom. He had that intense stare like he could see through her clothes and her fears at once. She quickly looked away, feeling small under the shimmer of the chandelier and the weight of her cheap heels. The second time, they collided. Literally. It happened outside the main hall, near the restroom hallway. Zara, tired of the noise and fancy laughter, had gone to get some air.

Tari, apparently trying to escape too, turned a corner at the same time she did-and bang. Her clutch fell. His phone slipped from his hand. And for two seconds, they stared at each other like two strangers who were never meant to meet-but fate had other plans. "I'm sorry," she said first, kneeling quickly to grab her bag. "No, my fault," he replied coolly, crouching to pick up his phone. They rose together, a bit awkward. Silence stretched. "You're not like the others here," he finally said. Zara blinked. "What do you mean?" You're not trying to be seen. Most people in there are performing." He paused. "You're observing." She folded her arms. "How do you know I'm not just pretending to be mysterious?" That earned the faintest smile from him. "Are you?" "Maybe." There was something magnetic about his presence. Not in the obvious, flirty way. But in the way his calmness made you want to ask what he was really thinking. He wasn't flashy. Just... focused. He tilted his head. "What do you do?" Zara hesitated. "I'm a designer." "Successful?" "Trying." He nodded, as if he respected the honesty. "You're not one of those people who smile politely while dying inside." Zara laughed, and it felt foreign in her mouth. "Wow. You really don't know how to do small talk, do you?" "No. Waste of time." The silence returned, but it wasn't uncomfortable this time. Then came the question that changed everything. "Are you in a relationship?" Zara stared. "Excuse me?" Tari sighed, as if annoyed with himself. "That came out wrong. Let me explain." "You better," she said, narrowing her eyes. He stepped back, running a hand over his beard. "Look... I need someone to pretend to be my fiancée for a few weeks. Six to be exact." Zara choked on her breath. "You what?""I know how it sounds. But it's purely a business arrangement." She looked at him like he had lost his mind. "So, what... I become your handbag? Attend dinners? Smile for the press?" "And get paid. Handsomely." Zara folded her arms, stunned. "Why would you need a fake fiancée? Are you trying to make an ex jealous or...?" "No. It's complicated." His jaw tightened. "My grandfather left conditions for accessing his inheritance. One of them is that I must be engaged to someone he'd approve of. My family is watching." "And I'm supposed to play dress-up and fool your entire family?" "You'd be paid ten million naira. Half now. Half after." Zara's heart skipped. Ten. Million? Her brain screamed "yes" but her pride whispered "no." She wasn't a toy. But then again, she was a broke fashion designer facing eviction, with dreams and no fuel. She tilted her head. "Why me?" "Because you're not in my world. That makes you unpredictable-and believable. No one would expect me to choose someone like you." Zara arched a brow. "Wow. You really know how to flatter a girl." Tari gave a tired smile. "That wasn't meant to insult you. It's the truth." Zara looked at him for a long second, then laughed. "This is mad." "Yes," he agreed. "But are you interested?" She stared at him. Zara didn't answer right away. She left the gala that night with Tari's business card in her purse and chaos in her chest. Ten million naira was no joke. It wasn't just rent-it was studio space, equipment, new clients, a rebrand... a new life. But could she really fake a relationship? With someone like *him*? Tari Amadi wasn't just rich. He was intimidating. Controlled. Emotionless. She couldn't read him-and that alone was risky. The next morning, Zara stood in her workshop staring at the card like it was cursed. She hadn't told Tara yet. Her friend would either scream or call him a "demonic Yahoo CEO." But something inside her whispered: *Call him.* So she did. *** They met again two days later at a private lounge. Not public. No cameras. Just them. Tari arrived first-suit, quiet confidence, and a laptop bag. Zara came in jeans and a blouse, determined not to be intimidated. He nodded as she sat down. "No cameras," she said. "Good start." He passed her a document. "The contract." Zara blinked. "You drew up an actual contract?" "I don't do anything without structure." She flipped through the pages. Everything was there: timeline (6 weeks), roles (appear at two family events, a weekend trip, and some social media posts), and payment breakdown. "What's this clause about privacy boundaries?" she asked, raising a brow. Tari leaned back. "It means I won't pry into your personal life, and you won't pry into mine. We don't pretend when no one's watching." "No sleeping in the same room?" "Only when necessary-and with boundaries." Zara folded her arms. "And what if your family wants us to kiss? Or act all couple-y in public?" "We'll do what's needed for the illusion. Nothing more." She closed the file slowly. "Why not just hire an actress?" "Too polished. You're authentic. And less likely to leak this to the press for attention." Zara stared at him. "You really don't trust people, do you?" "I trust contracts," he said simply. For a moment, silence hovered between them. Zara broke it. "Fine. I'll do it." Tari didn't smile. He simply nodded. "We begin tomorrow. My driver will pick you up at 8 a.m." *** Zara didn't sleep much that night. She packed three outfits, two heels, and a nervous heart. She told Tara everything-well, almost everything. "You're mad," Tara said. "But if he wires even one million first, I'll personally escort you to all family functions." "Half first. Five million," Zara whispered. Tara clutched her chest dramatically. Zara laughed, but inside, she still wasn't sure she had made the right decision. But she needed that money-and something inside her was ready for this chaos. *** Day one began with a black SUV and a silent driver named Kunle. Zara dressed in a smart white dress, minimal makeup, and her boldest perfume. When she stepped out of the car in front of Tari's mansion in Ikoyi, she suddenly felt very small. Marble floors. Tall glass windows. A gate that looked like it had its own security system. Tari opened the door himself. "You're on time." "You don't say hello?" "Hello." She rolled her eyes. He led her into the living room. "We have two hours before the family brunch." Zara nodded. "Okay. So what's the plan?" He handed her a document labeled *Relationship Profile.* It contained a whole fake backstory: how they met, how long they've been dating, favorite memories, favorite songs, even a fake fight they "recovered" from. Zara blinked. "You're joking." "No." "You gave us a playlist?" "Yes. Memorize it." She dropped the file on the couch. "You're insane." "You agreed to this." "I didn't know I was signing up for a screenplay." Tari didn't argue. He just sipped his black coffee. Zara walked to the window. "What happens if someone finds out?" "They won't." "And if they do?" Tari turned. His eyes locked with hers. "You walk away with your money. I handle the rest." His voice was calm-but there was something final about it. *** The brunch was hosted at Tari's uncle's house. When they arrived, his entire extended family was already present-around fifteen people, all dressed like it was a wedding. Zara gripped his arm. "Relax," he whispered. "Smile. Remember the playlist." She elbowed him lightly. His aunt-a plump, cheerful woman-spotted them first. "Ahh! Tari! And this must be the *fiancée*?" Zara smiled warmly. "Yes, ma. I'm Zara." Everyone turned. She became the center of attention. Cousins whispered. His grandmother-stern-faced and eagle-eyed-stared like she was scanning for hidden sins. Tari didn't flinch. He held her waist gently. Played his part perfectly. He introduced her as his heart, his "quiet peace," and the woman who changed his life. Zara almost choked on her wine. But she played along-laughing at his dry jokes, letting her head rest slightly on his shoulder, even holding his hand under the table. When one of his cousins asked, "So when did you know he was the one?" Zara smiled and said, "When he sat through an entire Nollywood movie with me and didn't complain once." The table erupted in laughter. Tari leaned in and whispered, "That was smooth." "Thank you. I improvise well under pressure." * Later, as they drove back to his house, silence filled the car. Zara finally said, "That grandmother of yours scares me." "She scares everyone," Tari replied. "You lied smoothly back there." "So did you." Zara smiled, then sighed. "I still can't believe I'm doing this." "Are you regretting it?" She paused. "No. Not yet." He turned his head slightly, watching her. "Good. Because we've only just begun."

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?