THE FAKE FIANCÉ CLAUSE

ow 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 sewin

o, 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.