Pretty

The mirror didn't lie, but for the first time in her twenty-two years, Nini didn't recognize the woman staring back at her. Usually, she was the girl in oversized hoodies and denim shorts, the one store clerks instinctively offered the "student discount" to without asking for an ID. Her petite stature and soft, rounded features often painted her as the "adorable" girlfriend of Germany’s golden boy, Jamal Musiala.

Tonight, however, the "adorable" girl was nowhere to be found.

Nini smoothed the fabric of the black silk dress. It clung to her curves like a second skin, the hem hitting the floor but featuring a daring slit that traveled up her left thigh, revealing a generous length of leg. Her long, dark hair had been styled into voluminous, vintage waves that cascaded down her back like a silken waterfall. But the real transformation was in her face. The sharp, feline flick of her eyeliner gave her gaze a predatory edge, and the deep, blood-red lipstick made her mouth look like a dangerous invitation.

She didn't look like a girl. She looked like a goddess who had just descended from a dark cloud.

"Nini? Are you ready? The car is—"

Jamal stopped dead in the doorway of their bedroom. He was dressed in a sharp, tailored black suit that made him look every bit the superstar athlete he was, but his usual cool composure evaporated the moment his eyes landed on her. He blinked, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard.

"Wow," he breathed out, his voice dropping an octave. "Nini, you look... you look incredible."

Nini smirked, a slow, deliberate tilt of her lips that she’d practiced in the mirror. She picked up her clutch and walked toward him, the slit in her dress flashing skin with every step. "Just incredible? Not 'cute'?"

Jamal shook his head quickly, his eyes tracking the way the silk moved over her hips. "No. Not cute. You look... dangerous."

"Good," she whispered, leaning in to brush her nose against his, careful not to smudge her makeup. "That was the plan."

The charity gala in Munich was teeming with the elite—footballers, models, designers, and the ever-present swarm of photographers. Usually, when Jamal and Nini arrived at these events, the cameras focused on Jamal’s shy smile or his sleek suit. Tonight was different.

The moment they stepped onto the red carpet, the air seemed to shift. The flashing lights became a strobe-like frenzy. Nini didn't hide behind Jamal’s arm as she usually did. Instead, she stood tall, her chin tilted up, her gaze icy and commanding. She looked like she owned the red carpet, and Jamal was simply the lucky man permitted to stand beside her.

By the time they reached the main hall, social media was already exploding. The "Nini Transformation" was trending within minutes. Pictures of her looking down the lens of a camera with that sharp, intimidating gaze went viral, with captions calling her everything from a "Femme Fatale" to "The Queen of Bavaria."

But inside the gala, the attention was becoming suffocating.

"You look absolutely breathtaking this evening, Nini," a high-profile sports agent said, lingering a second too long as he shook her hand. His eyes wandered down to the slit in her dress, his smile turning suggestive. "I didn't realize Jamal was hiding a diamond like you."

Nini offered a polite, clipped smile. "He isn't hiding me. You just weren't looking."

Jamal’s hand, which had been resting lightly on the small of her back, tightened. His fingers spread wide, pulling her an inch closer to his side. His expression remained neutral for the cameras, but Nini could feel the tension radiating off him.

It didn't stop there. Throughout the night, men found excuses to approach their table. A young actor tried to strike up a conversation while Jamal was briefly pulled away to speak with his coach.

"You know," the actor leaned in, his voice a low honeyed drawl, "a woman like you shouldn't be left alone for even a minute. If you ever get bored of the pitch, I’m filming in Berlin next month."

Nini felt a familiar presence behind her before she heard him. Jamal stepped into the space, his tall frame casting a shadow over the actor. He didn't say anything at first; he just placed a hand on the back of Nini’s neck, his thumb stroking the skin just below her ear.

"She’s not bored," Jamal said, his voice quiet but laced with an edge Nini had rarely heard. "And she’s not alone."

The actor cleared his throat, suddenly finding the floor very interesting. "Right. Of course. Just... admiring the dress. Have a good night."

As the man scurried away, Nini looked up at Jamal. His jaw was clenched so tight a muscle was pulsing in his cheek. He wouldn't look at her; his eyes were scanning the room, glaring at anyone who lingered a second too long on her silhouette.

"Jamal?" she whispered.

"We should go soon," he said shortly. "It’s getting late."

The ride home was silent. Jamal stared out the window of the chauffeured car, his hands folded in his lap. Nini watched him, feeling a mix of triumph and guilt. She had wanted to feel attractive, to prove she could be more than just "young-looking," but she hadn't anticipated it would turn her usually sweet, supportive boyfriend into a brooding statue.

Once they were inside their apartment, the heavy silence followed them into the foyer. Jamal kicked off his shoes and headed straight for the kitchen to grab a glass of water, his movements stiff.

Nini followed him, the heels of her shoes clicking sharply on the hardwood. She leaned against the kitchen island, watching him down the water as if he were trying to put out a fire.

"You’ve been quiet since the gala," she said softly.

Jamal set the glass down with a bit more force than necessary. "I’m just tired, Nini. It was a long night."

"Was it just the night? Or was it the fact that every man in that room was trying to get my number?"

Jamal finally looked at her, his dark eyes swirling with a mixture of frustration and something much deeper. "It wasn't just the men, Nini. It was everyone. The photographers, the people on their phones, the way the whole room stopped when you walked in."

Nini stepped closer, her confidence wavering. "I thought you’d be happy. I wanted to look good for you. I wanted to... I don't know, stop feeling like a kid next to you."

Jamal let out a sharp, dry laugh and shook his head. He stepped toward her, closing the gap until he was looming over her, his hands reaching out to grip the edge of the counter on either side of her, effectively pinning her in place.

"Nini, you always look good to me. I see you every morning with messy hair and my old t-shirts, and I think you’re the most beautiful woman on the planet," he said, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. "But tonight... you weren't just my Nini. You were everyone’s obsession. I hated the way they looked at you. Like you were something they could just... take."

Nini blinked, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Are you... are you jealous, Jamal Musiala?"

He looked away, a faint flush creeping up his neck, contrasting with the sharp lines of his suit. "I’m not 'jealous' in a way that I don't trust you. I just... I didn't like sharing. I didn't like that I had to stand there and watch them flirt with you, pretending I wasn't annoyed because there were cameras everywhere."

He looked back at her, his expression softening into something raw. "I like that you feel beautiful. You are. But I missed my girl. The one who doesn't look like she wants to step on everyone’s heart."

Nini felt a surge of affection so strong it made her eyes sting. She had spent all night trying to be this untouchable, intimidating version of herself, but all it took was Jamal’s honest, grumpy confession to make her feel like herself again.

"You’re adorable," she teased, a genuine smile breaking through the "goddess" facade.

Jamal groaned, leaning his forehead against hers. "Don't call me adorable. I’m trying to be serious here. I spent three hours wanting to throw my jacket over you and carry you out of there."

"Well," Nini whispered, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck, pulling him down. "The cameras are gone now. And the dress is probably coming off soon anyway."

Jamal’s eyes darkened, his hands moving from the counter to her waist, pulling her flush against him. "Is that so?"

"Mhm," Nini hummed.

She didn't give him a chance to respond. She pressed her lips to his, kissing him with all the pent-up energy of the night. Jamal responded instantly, his kiss hungry and possessive, as if he were reclaiming what was his.

Nini pulled back for a second, seeing the faint smudge of red on his lower lip. She giggled, the sound light and airy, completely at odds with her sharp eyeliner.

"What?" he asked breathlessly.

"Nothing," she said, before attacking his face with kisses again.

She kissed his cheeks, his jawline, and his forehead, laughing as he tried to catch her lips with his own. She was deliberate and messy, painting him with the expensive, long-wear lipstick she’d painstakingly applied hours ago.

"Nini, stop," he laughed, though his hands were holding her tighter, his fingers digging into the silk of her dress. "I’m going to look like a clown."

"A very handsome, very jealous clown," she corrected, pulling back to survey her handiwork.

Jamal’s face was covered in red smudges. His white shirt collar had a faint pink stain, and his lips were stained a deep, bruised crimson. He looked completely disheveled, his hair tossed from her fingers running through it, his suit jacket hanging open.

He looked at his reflection in the polished surface of the microwave and sighed, though a small, satisfied smile played on his lips. "You’re a menace."

"But I’m your menace," she said, wiping a stray bit of red from the corner of his eye with her thumb.

Jamal caught her hand, kissing her palm before pulling her back into his chest. The jealousy that had simmered all night had finally evaporated, replaced by a comfortable, heated warmth.

"Yeah," he murmured, his voice thick with affection. "You definitely are. But next time? Maybe a little less lipstick?"

Nini smirked, the sharp eyeliner still making her look like a queen, but the way she tucked her head under his chin was all the "adorable" girl he loved. "We’ll see, Jamal. We’ll see."