Borrowed Confidence

Three days passed.

Three days of meetings.

Three days of deadlines.

Three days of pretending the mysterious perfume didn’t exist.

The bottle remained on Zai’s dresser untouched.

Every morning she looked at it.

Every morning she considered wearing it.

Every morning she changed her mind.

The problem wasn’t the perfume.

The problem was not knowing who sent it.

And the more she thought about it, the more uncomfortable she became.

Friday afternoon arrived with the usual chaos of LuxeThread.

The South African buyers were finally visiting the studio.

Everyone was under pressure.

Design samples moved from one department to another.

Tailors rushed alterations.

Managers checked schedules every few minutes.

The entire building felt like it was holding its breath.

Zai stood beside a mannequin adjusting a sleeve when Raymond appeared unexpectedly.

He examined the garment.

“Nice adjustment.”

She looked surprised.

“You noticed?”

“I notice good work.”

Her stomach did something strange.

Before she could respond, one of the buyers approached.

A stylish woman in her forties.

Confident.

Sharp-eyed.

The type who missed nothing.

Raymond introduced them.

“This is Zainab.”

“The designer I told you about.”

The buyer smiled warmly.

“So you’re the one.”

Zai blinked.

“The one?”

The woman laughed.

“Don’t worry. That’s a compliment.”

For the next few minutes, they discussed design concepts and African fashion trends.

By the time the conversation ended, the buyer handed Zai her card.

“Call me when you’re ready.”

“Ready for what?”

“To stop hiding.”

The woman winked before walking away.

Zai stared at the card long after she left.

That evening, the office finally relaxed.

The buyers were happy.

The presentations had gone well.

People celebrated with soft drinks and takeaway food.

Funke sat beside Zai.

“You impressed them.”

“I was just answering questions.”

“No.”

Funke shook her head.

“You were speaking like somebody who belongs in the room.”

The words stayed with her.

Because for years she had felt like an outsider.

Someone peeking through the window while other people lived the life she wanted.

Now, for the first time, doors were opening.

And it terrified her how much she liked it.

The next morning was the private showcase.

The invitation sat on her bed while she debated whether to attend.

Most of the guests would be wealthy clients, celebrities, investors, and fashion insiders.

People who wore outfits that cost more than her family’s yearly rent.

She still wasn’t sure she belonged there.

Tobi looked up from his laptop.

“You’re going.”

She frowned.

“How do you know?”

“Because you’ve spent twenty minutes staring at that invitation.”

“I’m not sure.”

“You worked hard to get this opportunity.”

He pointed at the card.

“Stop acting like they invited you by mistake.”

By six o’clock, she arrived at the event venue in Ikoyi.

The place looked unreal.

Luxury cars lined the entrance.

Crystal chandeliers glowed overhead.

Servers moved gracefully through the crowd carrying trays of drinks.

Fashion journalists interviewed guests near the entrance.

Everywhere she looked, people seemed polished.

Expensive.

Important.

The old version of Zai would have shrunk into a corner.

This version stood a little taller.

Not because she felt equal.

Because she was beginning to believe she could become equal.

Inside the venue, Raymond was already entertaining guests.

When he spotted her, something softened in his expression.

“You came.”

“I almost didn’t.”

“That would have been a mistake.”

He guided her through introductions.

Investors.

Stylists.

Fashion editors.

People whose names she had only read online.

To her surprise, Raymond never introduced her as a junior employee.

He introduced her as a designer.

The distinction mattered.

A lot.

Hours later, the event was winding down.

Guests slowly began leaving.

Zai stepped outside for air.

The evening breeze felt cool against her skin.

She finally relaxed.

Until she heard a woman’s voice behind her.

“Beautiful event, isn’t it?”

She turned.

The woman standing there looked effortlessly elegant.

Simple black dress.

Diamond earrings.

The kind of confidence that couldn’t be bought.

Only earned.

“Yes,” Zai replied politely.

“I’ve never attended anything like this before.”

The woman smiled.

“I can tell.”

There was no insult in the words.

Only observation.

They stood side by side watching guests leave.

After a moment, the woman spoke again.

“You’re Zainab.”

Zai looked surprised.

“Yes.”

“We haven’t met.”

The woman extended her hand.

“My name is Adanna.”

The name meant nothing to Zai.

Not yet.

She smiled and shook her hand.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

Adanna’s smile remained perfectly composed.

“Likewise.”

Then her eyes briefly moved toward the entrance where Raymond was speaking with a group of guests.

Only for a second.

But it was enough.

When Adanna looked back at Zai, there was something unreadable in her expression.

Not hostility.

Not warmth.

Something far more dangerous.

Knowledge.

And for reasons she couldn’t explain, Zai suddenly felt cold.

Engagement Question

What was the first thing Adanna wanted to learn from meeting Zai face-to-face: her personality, her intentions, or her weakness?

To be continued…