CHAPTER 6: THE JEALOUSY GAME

Zara hated red. Too loud. Too much. Too "look at me".

But the dress Damian sent was red. Silk. Slit to the thigh. Back out.

“Ma’am,” the stylist said. “Turn.”

Zara turned. The mirror hated her. Her bump wasn’t showing yet—just seven weeks. But the dress hugged her stomach anyway.

I look like bait.

Marcus knocked once, then walked in. He stopped. Sunglasses in hand. Gun under his jacket.

His eyes went from her shoes to her face, then back down.

“You’re wearing that,” Marcus said. Flat.

“Damian said I have to,” Zara said, picking at the strap. “It’s for the gala.”

Marcus’s jaw ticked. “It’s for him.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Marcus said. “We’re leaving in five.”

Eko Hotel. Victoria Island.

Chandeliers. Champagne. Women in diamonds. And Damian—black tux, no tie. Like he owned the air.

The moment Zara walked in on Marcus’s arm, the room turned. Whispers. Phones. *Who’s that?*

Damian’s eyes found her. Went cold. Then hot. He crossed the room in four steps.

“Took you long enough,” Damian said to Marcus. Then to Zara, taking her hand: “Ms. Bello. You clean up well.”

“I clean up okay,” Zara said.

Damian smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“Play nice tonight,” he murmured, only for her. “We’re dating.”

“What?”

“Fake dating,” Damian said louder, for the cameras. “Smile.”

Flash. Zara’s stomach flipped.

*This is a trap.*

“Why?” she whispered as he led her through the crowd.

“Because Obasi is here,” Damian said. “And he needs to think you’re mine.”

Zara looked around. Didn’t see Obasi. Did see Marcus standing by the wall. Watching. His hands were in fists.

“Champagne?” A waiter asked.

“No,” Zara said. *Pregnant.*

Damian took two glasses anyway and handed her one. “Hold it. Look like you’re drinking.”

“You’re an asshole,” Zara said.

“I’m your boss,” Damian said. “And tonight, your boyfriend.”

He pulled her closer, hand on her waist. Low. Too low. Zara tried to step back. His grip tightened.

“Don’t,” Damian said. “Smile.”

More flashes. Across the room, Marcus saw. He didn’t move, but Zara saw his throat move—like he was swallowing something bitter.

“Is he okay?” Zara asked.

“Who?” Damian said.

“Marcus.”

Damian’s hand moved up to her back. “Stop looking at him.”

“Then stop touching me like that,” Zara snapped.

Damian leaned in, lips near her ear. “You wanted to come out. This is the price.”

Zara’s phone buzzed in her clutch. Unknown number.

*Cute dress. Won’t save you. - O*

She almost dropped the glass. Damian saw. “What?”

“Nothing,” Zara lied. She deleted it.

An hour later.

Speeches. Boring. Zara’s feet hurt in the four-inch heels.

“Let’s dance,” Damian said.

“I don’t dance.”

“You do tonight.”

He dragged her to the floor. One hand on her back, one holding hers. The song was slow. Too slow.

“Relax,” Damian said.

“I’m not relaxed,” Zara said. “There’s a man trying to kill me.”

“And I’m keeping you alive,” Damian said. “By pretending you’re mine.”

His thumb brushed her side, right over her ribs. Zara shivered. Not from cold.

“Don’t do that,” she said.

“Do what?” Damian asked, innocent.

“Touch me.”

“I’m your boyfriend,” Damian said. “Boyfriends touch.”

From the corner of her eye, Zara saw Marcus. He’d moved closer to the exit, talking into his earpiece. But his eyes were on them.

He looks pissed.

The song ended. Another started.

“Again,” Damian said.

“Damian—”

“One more dance,” he said. “For the cameras.”

He pulled her in again. This time closer. Her chest to his. Zara could smell his expensive cologne and the anger beneath it.

“Let me go,” Zara whispered.

“Not until I say,” Damian whispered back.

The music swelled. Damian’s hand went to her jaw, turning her face up. And he kissed her.

Not soft. Not sweet. Possessive. For the cameras.

Zara froze for two seconds. Then she kissed back.

Because what else could she do?

When he pulled away, her lips were tingling. The room was clapping. Across the room, Marcus turned and walked out.

Parking lot. 11pm. Rain.

Zara was shaking—from cold, from adrenaline. Marcus was leaning on the G-Wagon, smoking. He didn’t smoke.

“You left,” Zara said.

Marcus exhaled smoke. “Yeah.”

“Damian kissed me.”

“I saw.”

Zara hugged herself. “It was fake.”

“Looked real,” Marcus said.

“It was for Obasi,” Zara said, louder. “He’s here. Watching.”

Marcus flicked the cigarette. “I know.”

Silence. Then: “You okay?” Marcus asked.

Zara nodded. “Are you?”

Marcus looked at her—really looked. At the red dress. At her mouth. At the way her hands were shaking.

“Get in the car,” Marcus said.

Damian appeared behind her. No jacket. Wet.

“Car’s for me,” Damian said. “She’s riding with me.”

Marcus didn’t move. “She’s with me.”

“She’s with me,” Damian said.

Zara stood between them. Rain in her hair.

“I’m going with Marcus,” she said.

Damian stared at her. Something broke in his face. “Fine,” Damian said. “But tomorrow you’re in my office. 8am.”

He walked away.

Zara got in the car. Marcus drove. No music.

Ten minutes of quiet. Then: “You didn’t have to do that,” Marcus said.

“Do what?”

“Kiss him back.”

Zara looked out the window. “I panicked.”

Marcus nodded once. At a red light, he reached over and wiped rain from her cheek with his thumb. His hand was warm.

“Don’t wear that again,” Marcus said.

Zara laughed, watery. “Why? Jealous?”

Marcus didn’t answer. The light turned green. But before he drove, he said:

“I don’t share, Zara.”

And then he pulled off.

Penthouse. 12am.

Zara couldn’t sleep. Her lips still tingled.

There was a knock. Damian. With a towel.

“You’re wet,” Damian said, handing it to her.

“Thanks,” Zara said.

Damian didn’t leave. Just stood there.

“Did he say anything?” Damian asked.

“Who?”

“Marcus.”

Zara shook her head.

Damian nodded. “Good.”

He turned to go. Stopped.

“The kiss,” Damian said. “It wasn’t just for Obasi.”

And he walked away.

Zara dropped the towel. Put her hand on her stomach.

What the hell is happening to me?

Her phone buzzed. Unknown number.

Picture. Her and Damian kissing.

Text: Next time I’ll aim for his head. - O

Zara deleted it. And threw up in the bathroom. From fear. Or from the baby. She didn’t know.

Down the hall, Marcus was awake. Damian was drinking. And Obasi was watching.