Zoey had never thought she'd see her name trending on social media.
Yet there it was Hastag #ZaynAndZoey# sitting bold at the top of the UK trending list like it owned the internet.
She scrolled through the posts over her morning coffee, equal parts horrified and fascinated.
Power Couple Goals.
She's glowing.
Finally, Zayn Maddox has met his match.
Paparazzi photos from yesterday's luncheon plastered her face beside Zayn's, both of them smiling in carefully staged perfection.
In one shot, his hand rested at her waist like it had been molded there. In another, he was leaning down, whispering something in her ear that made it look like she was blushing.
"They make it sound like we're engaged for real," she muttered to her empty kitchen, tossing her phone onto the counter.
Her phone immediately buzzed again, as if mocking her. She glanced down. Him.
Zayn: Dinner tonight. 7 PM. Be ready.
She let out a laugh, thumbs tapping before she could think better of it.
Zoey: Bossy.
The reply came instantly. He must have been staring at his screen, waiting.
Zayn: You like it.
Her stomach gave the most traitorous little flip. She set the phone down like it was toxic before she could admit, even to herself, that maybe she did.
By 6:59 PM, the Bentley was outside again.
Zoey smoothed the hem of her dress a crimson number she had almost talked herself out of wearing three times before slipping into the car.
Zayn was already inside, lounging in a black shirt with the top two buttons undone. It was a dangerous choice for a steamy hot man.
"You're punctual," he noted, eyes dragging briefly from her red heels up to her neckline.
"You threatened to drag me if I wasn't," she shot back, settling into the leather seat.
His mouth quirked. "Still might."
She rolled her eyes so hard it nearly gave her whiplash, but her pulse betrayed her, thumping louder than it should have.
The restaurant was one of those exclusive London spots that didn't bother with signage because everyone who mattered already knew where it was.
Inside, the air hummed with low jazz, candlelight against crystal glasses, and the waiters moved with so much grace.
"This place is not lowkey," Zoey whispered as they entered, acutely aware of how many heads turned their way.
"That's the point," Zayn replied smoothly, steering her with a hand at her back toward a private table near the window.
For the first twenty minutes, it was all performance. Polite laughter at things that weren't particularly funny.
Leaning in just close enough for the photographers loitering outside to snap shots through the glass.
Zayn introducing her to the waiter as his fiancée, like the word slid too easily off his tongue. Each time, Zoey felt her pulse skip in a way she absolutely refused to analyze.
Between courses, she glanced at him over the rim of her wine glass. "You've done this before."
"Done what?"
"Played perfect."
His smirk was maddening. "Practice makes perfect, cupcake."
She bit back a retort, though she couldn't stop her lips from twitching.
By the second glass of wine, something shifted.
The laughter didn't feel as staged. His gaze lingered longer, searching, almost studying her. At one point, he reached across the table to brush away an invisible crumb near her mouth, his thumb barely grazing her skin. The contact was fleeting, electric.
"You're staring," she said, a little breathlessly.
He didn't look away. "You've got this little furrow between your brows when you're trying to figure me out."
"I'm not trying to figure you out." It was a lie, and she knew it.
His smirk deepened. "Liar."
Her cheeks warmed, and she quickly reached for her glass again, trying to drown the moment in a swallow of wine.
Halfway through dessert, the night veered sharply.
At the next table, a couple's voices rose first in sharp whispers, then in outright argument. The woman's shoulders curled inward, eyes darting toward the floor, while the man's words turned sharper, threatening.
Zoey flinched, instinctively wanting to intervene but frozen by the scene unraveling beside her.
Zayn, though… he went still.
His gaze locked on the man, and for just a heartbeat, his eyes glinted with that strange golden hue she had seen before. His jaw tightened, muscles shifting like a predator holding itself back. Heat radiated off him in a way she could feel from across the table.
"Zayn..." she began, but he was already rising to his feet.
He didn't raise his voice, He simply leaned down, spoke one quiet, razor sharp sentence she couldn't hear.
The other man's face drained of color. He recoiled as if struck, then mumbled a stammered apology to the woman he'd been berating. He stood so quickly his chair scraped the floor and ran for the exit.
Zayn returned to his seat calmly, as though he'd only excused himself to wash his hands. He lifted his wine glass again, unbothered.
Zoey gaped at him. "What was that?"
"Just persuasion," he said smoothly, taking a sip.
"Persuasion doesn't usually make grown men shrink like they've seen a ghost."
His lips twitched in what might have been the shadow of a smile. "Depends who's doing the persuading."
A chill ran down her spine, equal parts alarm and fascination. She wanted to push, to demand an answer but something in his eyes warned her not to.
When they finally stepped out into the London night, the air was crisp, cool enough to raise goosebumps along her bare arms. Zoey shivered before she could stop herself.
Without a word, Zayn shrugged off his coat and draped it over her shoulders.
The fabric was warm, smelling faintly of him clean, woodsy, and something darker she couldn't name.
"You didn't have to"
"Don't argue," he said quietly, almost gently. "You're freezing."
She looked up at him then, caught in the glow of the streetlamps.
His gaze held hers, steady and unflinching, like he was trying to memorize her face.
For a moment, the world narrowed to just them, the hum of traffic, the distant click of cameras, all fading into background noise.
He watched her like she was both trouble and temptation, a puzzle he wanted to solve and a fire he wanted to touch.
Her breath caught.
And then
A camera flash shattered the spell. She flinched, stepping back instinctively.
Zayn's jaw tightened, his arm subtly guiding her toward the waiting Bentley.
The photographers stayed back, respectful but relentless, their lenses glinting under the streetlight.
The car ride back was unusually quiet.
Zoey sat angled toward the window, watching the blur of city lights streak by. Her heart hadn't quite slowed down.
Finally, she broke the silence. "For a fake relationship, we're doing a very convincing job."
Zayn's gaze stayed fixed on the passing cityscape. "Convincing is the point."
"Right. Totally. Nothing more to it."
The corner of his mouth curved, just enough for her to see it in the reflection of the glass. "If you say so, cupcake."
Her stomach did that treacherous flip again. She hated how much she liked it.
When the Bentley pulled up outside her building, Zoey expected the usual him staying in the car, dismissing her with a curt goodnight.
Instead, he stepped out too, following her to the door.
The night was quiet, the streetlamps buzzing faintly above them.
"You'll need to be ready for a charity gala this weekend," he said, voice low, smooth.
"Of course," she replied lightly. "Wouldn't want to disappoint the fans."
He didn't smile. His gaze dipped for the briefest second to her mouth.
Her breath hitched. The air between them seemed to pulse, heavy and electric, like the world had tilted closer. For one dizzy heartbeat, she thought he was going to kiss her.
But then he stepped back, putting just enough space between them to leave her off balance.
"Goodnight, Zoey." His voice was soft, threaded with something she couldn't name.
She fumbled her keys, unlocking her door with fingers that weren't entirely steady.
"Goodnight," she whispered, though he was already turning away.
Upstairs, Zoey leaned against her door, heart pounding like she'd just sprinted a mile.
This was supposed to be fake. A deal. A performance.
But it didn't feel fake anymore. Not the way he looked at her. Not the way her pulse raced when he was near.
She pressed her palms against her face, groaning into the quiet of her flat.
"I am so screwed."
Sleep didn't come easily that night. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the flicker of gold in his gaze, the warmth of his coat around her shoulders, and the almost kiss that had nearly unraveled her.
The deal was supposed to give her everything she wanted.
Now, it was threatening to take something she hadn't been prepared to give.
Her heart.