Chapter Three – Dinner with Shadows
By the time evening came, Zara was standing in front of her mirror, adjusting the cream-colored jumpsuit Tasha had brought. It fit like it was made for her—snug at the waist, flowing at the legs, with a neckline that suggested elegance without shouting for attention. She paired it with a gold-plated necklace she had bought for ₦2,000 at Balogun market but always claimed was imported from Italy.
She smiled at her reflection, but it didn't reach her eyes. No matter how polished she looked, she couldn't shake the weight of the bank alerts from that morning.
Her phone buzzed. Daniel was outside.
Zara grabbed her bag—an imitation Dior that could fool anyone from a distance—and hurried down. Daniel's car was parked by the curb, his familiar grin lighting up as soon as he saw her. He stepped out, opened the door for her like a gentleman, and kissed her cheek.
"You look beautiful," he said warmly.
"Thank you," Zara replied, forcing brightness into her tone. "You're not looking bad yourself."
Inside the car, Daniel began talking about his day—his projects at the architecture firm, his new ideas, his colleagues who kept stressing him. Zara nodded, laughing at the right places, but her mind was elsewhere, calculating how much cash she had left.
They arrived at a cozy restaurant tucked away in the city center. Daniel had chosen it because it wasn't too loud or flashy. For Zara, though, it was almost a nightmare. The place was simple—no golden chandeliers, no photo-worthy décor, just warm lighting, wooden tables, and a quiet charm.
Her heart sank. How would she take pictures here?
Daniel must have noticed her hesitation. "I thought you'd like it. It's… normal, unlike the places you always go. But sometimes, simple is better, don't you think?"
Zara swallowed the lump in her throat. She nodded slowly. "Yeah… simple is good."
They ordered—Daniel went for jollof rice and chicken, while Zara picked the most expensive dish on the menu, a seafood platter. She didn't even like seafood, but she couldn't risk looking "ordinary."
As the meal arrived, Daniel reached across the table, his hand brushing hers. "Zara, can I ask you something?"
Her stomach tightened. "Of course."
He looked at her, his eyes steady. "How do you do it?"
Zara blinked. "Do what?"
"Your life. The trips, the clothes, the events. You're always shining, always at the top. I mean… I'm not saying it in a bad way, but it must cost a fortune."
Her fork froze halfway to her mouth. For a second, the restaurant seemed too quiet, the clinking of cutlery around them suddenly too sharp.
Zara forced a laugh. "Oh, you know… brand deals, fashion consulting, a few family investments here and there. It's not as crazy as it looks online."
Daniel smiled softly. "I believe you. But I hope you know you don't have to impress me. Even if you had none of those things, I'd still…" He trailed off, his gaze lingering on her with something tender, something honest. "…I'd still be here."
Zara's throat tightened. She wanted to believe him, to let the walls crumble and tell him the truth. But the fear of losing him was stronger. So she smiled, lifting her glass to hide the storm in her eyes.
"To us," she whispered.
Daniel clinked his glass against hers, but as he looked at her, she could see he was still curious, still wondering about the mystery of her life.
Zara chewed her seafood mechanically, her mind miles away. One slip, one wrong move, and Daniel would see everything—the debts, the lies, the expensive fake life she had built on fragile ground.
And she wasn't ready for him, or the world, to know the truth.