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For Appearances Only - Part 3

Featuring Joe Anoa’i x Victoria Monét as Milan Carter

Themes: Flash back, | Betrayal | Survival | Best Friend Loyalty | Instagram likes.

Los Angeles, CA

The mirrored walls of the Barre studio threw back a dozen versions of Milan—every one of them focused, jaw tight, legs trembling as she held the position the instructor called “just ten more seconds.” Her core burned. Her thighs screamed. She welcomed it. Pain was easy. Predictable. You could measure it in seconds and reps, in how long before the release came. Heartbreak wasn’t like that. Neither was love.

Class ended in a slow stretch, soft jazz humming through the speakers. Milan stayed behind in the corner, eyes closed, rolling through her Kegels like a quiet meditation. Her breathing deepened, her shoulders softened, but her mind… her mind was elsewhere.

Farrah’s voice had been in her head for days now. All this luxury is cute, babe, but what’s the point if you’re coming home to silence? To nothing?

Milan wasn’t naïve enough to think Farrah didn’t see through her. They’d been best friends for more than a decade—Farrah knew the difference between confidence and armor.

And the truth was, Milan hadn’t let anyone close since him.

Flashback

They were the girls. Everyone knew it. Milan, Farrah, and Whitney—three polished, ambitious Texas girls who made power look easy. They’d met in high school, survived four years at Texas State together, and walked the stage in designer heels no one could afford but them. Milan was the top of her class. No handouts, no shortcuts. Farrah had been building her fashion empire even then, sketching between lectures. Whitney… Whitney was beautiful and knew it, but she preferred the easy way. The kind that involved someone else paying for it.

After graduation, life scattered them in different directions, but Milan and Farrah stayed locked in. Best friends. Ride-or-die. They had seen each other through everything—until the day Farrah introduced her to him.

Farrah’s boutique was buzzing that afternoon. Samples hanging from every rack, champagne glasses sweating in the heat. Farrah spotted Milan and waved her over with the kind of smile she only got when she was proud of herself.

“Milan, this is Terrance. Terrance, Milan.”

He was a wall of smooth mocha skin and white teeth, every inch the NFL golden boy. Milan wasn’t the type to swoon, but something in his grin made her stomach flip.

The spark was instant. By the end of the week, they’d had their first date. By the end of the month, she was in love.

Months later, the three girls met for one of their “catch-up” nights at a rooftop lounge.

Farrah sipped her martini. “So, ladies—spill. Love lives? Career moves? I need details.”

Milan’s smile was soft, almost shy. “Well, you know what’s been up with me… since you introduced me to Terrance.”

Whitney’s brow arched like she was trying to remember the name. “Terrance? Who’s that?”

Farrah laughed. “You’ve seen him. Big NFL guy. I introduced them at my boutique.”

Whitney’s smile was tight. “Huh. When am I gonna meet this Terrance guy?”

“Soon,” Milan promised without thinking twice.

She regretted that “soon.”

It wasn’t long before Whitney got her introduction—too soon. And whatever jealousy was hiding under Whitney’s lip gloss bloomed into something ugly.

Milan came home one night to the sound of laughter in her bedroom. At first, she thought she’d left the TV on. But then she heard his voice. Her voice.

The sight knocked the air out of her—Terrance and Whitney tangled in her sheets like she didn’t even exist.

“What the hell is this?” Milan’s voice shook, but it wasn’t fear—it was rage.

Terrance sat up, naked, eyes wide. “Milan—”

Whitney didn’t even bother to cover herself. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“Oh, it’s exactly what it looks like,” Milan snapped. “Get the hell out of my house. Both of you.”

Terrance spent two weeks begging. Promising. Showing up with flowers and apologies. And Milan, still believing in love, let him back in.

That’s when the violence started.

It began with words—blame for everything. For his bad game days. For his injury on the field. Then came the nights where his anger wasn’t just verbal. The nights she hid the bruises.

He cut her off from the world, her world she was building, even from Farrah.

Until one day, she got her hands on her old phone. The first person she called was Farrah.

Farrah didn’t ask questions. She didn’t wait. She dropped everything she was doing and came to pull Milan out of that apartment, out of that life.

Present Day

Milan stepped out of the studio and into the California sun, her body loose but her chest tight. Sliding into her Rolls Royce, she called Farrah.

Farrah picked up on the second ring. “Hey, gorgeous. Barre class?”

“Yeah,” Milan said softly. “Just… needed to say thank you again.”

Farrah’s tone shifted. “For what?”

“For saving me. For still being here.”

There was silence on the other end for a beat, then, “You don’t ever have to thank me for that, babe. You know I’d do it a thousand times over.”

Milan blinked hard, her throat tight. “I know. I just… I don’t say it enough.”

“Maybe not. But I hear it every time you pick up the phone.”

And Milan smiled, because she knew it was true.

Best friends forever—and they’d both earned it.

JOE POV

Joe had been quietly working on the gym for months—state-of-the-art equipment, private training rooms, a smoothie bar that didn’t just serve protein sludge. It wasn’t some big corporate chain; it was his. His vision. His rules. And he’d picked this street on purpose—good traffic, high-end clients, steady flow of athletes and locals.

He didn’t know it yet, but fate had put him less than three doors down from her.

MILAN – OUTSIDE THE BARRE STUDIO

Milan left her Barre class with her thighs burning, cheeks flushed. Sliding into her Rolls Royce, she didn’t drive off right away. Her eyes caught the sleek black-and-gold signage across the street.

“The Anoa’i Performance Center.”

Her brows lifted.

The glass front revealed a wide, polished space inside—racks of weights gleaming, treadmills lined like soldiers, and a subtle scent of eucalyptus drifting out each time the door swung open.

She didn’t think twice. She crossed the street, heels clicking, trench coat pulled close over her workout set.

INSIDE THE GYM

“Welcome! First time here?” the front desk associate smiled.

“First time anywhere near a gym that isn’t on camera,” Milan said smoothly, resting her sunglasses on top of her head. “Can you give me the tour?”

They walked her through the layout—cardio on the left, weight training to the right, recovery lounge tucked in the back. By the end, she surprised herself by saying, “Sign me up.”

Milan switched from her heels, back to her New Balance sneakers. She wasn’t in full workout mode—just curious. But curiosity had her on a cable machine she hadn’t touched since college. One wrong shift in stance, and the weight stack snapped back harder than she expected.

The next second, a pair of large, steady hands gripped her waist from behind, stopping her from pitching forward.

“Careful,” a deep voice said—low, familiar.

Milan froze.

She turned her head slowly, already knowing.

Joe stood there, dressed down in a black tee and sweats, hair pulled back, that same unreadable expression from Paris.

“Guess you still need me to keep you on your feet,” he said evenly.

Her lips curled, not in a smile but something sharper. “Guess you’re in the mood to play hero.”

He didn’t let go immediately. And she didn’t step away immediately.

For a beat, they just looked at each other—like the night in Paris had never ended, just paused.

Her pulse kicked up, but she smoothed it over with a light scoff, stepping out of his hold.

“I’m fine,” she said, dusting invisible lint off her leggings. “Just wasn’t expecting… that.”

Joe’s eyes stayed on her, steady, like he was trying to read something past her words.

Milan didn’t give him the chance. She grabbed her trench coat from the bench, slid it on, and headed for the locker room. Ten minutes later, she emerged with her hair up, skin glowing from a quick rinse, sunglasses back in place.

She didn’t look at him as she crossed the lobby.

“Thanks for the save,” she said coolly. “Won’t happen again.”

But he was right behind her.

“Not planning on it,” he replied, following her through the glass doors into the California sunlight.

She stopped beside her Rolls, one brow arched. “What are you doing in L.A., Joe? Don’t tell me you flew across the country to spy on me.”

That earned her the first real grin she’d seen from him since Paris. Slow. Easy. Like he was enjoying a private joke.

“Not spying. This is my gym.”

Milan blinked, then let out a short laugh. “Your gym?”

“Yeah. Opened it a few months ago.”

“Well… congratulations.” She reached for her car door. “I actually signed up just now. But now that I know it’s yours, I won’t try to show my face too often.”

He leaned a hand casually against the roof of her car, blocking her from closing the door. “Or,” he said, voice low but certain, “you could keep showing up.”

She tilted her head, a warning glint in her eyes. “Why would I do that?”

Joe didn’t look away. “Because I’m not interested in some casual, one-night memory of you. I want to get to know you. No games. No bullshit.”

The air between them tightened. She felt it in her chest, her stomach, the tips of her fingers gripping the edge of her sunglasses.

For a moment, she didn’t answer—just studied him, like she was trying to decide if he was crazy, brave, or both.

Finally, her lips curved—not into a smile, but something close enough to keep him guessing.

“You don’t even know me,” she said.

“That’s the point,” he replied.

Milan slid into the driver’s seat without another word, the engine purring to life. She pulled away slow, her gaze meeting his in the side mirror—lingering just long enough to make him think she might show up tomorrow.

The Accidental Like

Back in his office after closing, Joe leaned back in his chair, scrolling on Instagram while the last few staff members cleaned up.

He wasn’t looking for her—at least, that’s what he told himself—but somehow, he ended up on Milan Carter’s profile.

The most recent post stopped him cold.

She is effortless temptation—leaning against a doorway in a black, shimmering corset and a jeweled lattice skirt that teases glimpses of her legs.

Her sleek hair frames a face set with soft bronze makeup and a velvet lip, her expression equal parts knowing and untouchable.

It’s the kind of shot you can’t scroll past—the kind that makes a man double tap without thinking.

The caption said, “Always On Your Mind.”

And Joe knew that caption was on point.

Joe stared a little too long. Zoomed in.

And before his brain caught up with his thumb—double tap.

He froze.

Shit.

His heart kicked up. He’d just liked a photo from barely 30 minutes ago. And if he unliked it? Even worse—she’d see the notification disappear, and she was too sharp not to notice.

He sat there, jaw tight, thumb hovering over the screen like it was a detonator.

Finally, he tossed the phone on the desk and muttered under his breath.

“Guess we’re doing this.”

The Next Morning – Joe’s POV

The next morning started like any other — coffee in one hand, protein bar in the other, scrolling through the gym’s security reports from the night before. But before he could get halfway through his morning routine, the front doors swung open, loud voices filling the space.

“Big Uce! Where you at?!” Jimmy’s voice boomed, followed by Jey’s laugh.

Joe looked up just in time to see his cousins stroll in, both dressed like they were walking into a music video instead of a gym. Matching chains. Designer hoodies. That unbothered twin energy that made people turn their heads.

“You didn’t tell us you were opening a whole damn gym out here,” Jimmy said, clapping Joe on the shoulder.

“You just gonna leave us in the dark, huh?” Jey added with a grin.

Joe smirked. “Figured I’d wait until it was official before I bragged.”

They did the usual small talk — business updates, family check-ins, a little trash talk about who could out-lift who — but the twins had that look. That side-eye look they got when they were holding something back.

Finally, Jey leaned against the front desk, crossing his arms.

“So, uh… Jimmy and I can smell it.”

Joe raised an eyebrow. “Smell what?”

Jimmy grinned like he’d just caught him red-handed. “Love in the air, Uce.”

Joe scoffed. “Man, get outta here with that—”

“Nah, nah,” Jey cut in, pointing at him. “You got that look. We seen it before. Back in high school, when you were crushing on—”

“Don’t start,” Joe warned, shaking his head.

Jimmy laughed. “So who is she? And why you actin’ like we can’t tell?”

Joe sighed, leaning back on the counter. “She’s… someone I met in Paris. Milan Carter.”

The twins exchanged a knowing glance. “The model you ain’t get with?” Jey asked, clearly enjoying himself.

Joe hesitated, then corrected him. “…We had one night. But that’s not the point.”

Jimmy’s eyebrows shot up. “Hold up. You mean to tell me you actually got in there once… and then just… stopped? You? Mr. ‘I close every deal’?”

Joe gave him a dry look. “It’s not like that. She’s… different.”

Jey leaned forward, intrigued. “Different how?”

Joe ran a hand over his jaw, searching for the right words. “She’s not like the women I usually meet. She doesn’t… play the game. I can’t just walk up with some smooth line and expect her to bite. Feels like for the first time in my life, I got no game. And I hate it.”

Jimmy laughed so hard he nearly choked. “You hear this, Jey? The Tribal Chief himself got no game.”

“Historic,” Jey said, grinning. “I’ma write this down.”

“Go ahead and laugh,” Joe muttered, though the corner of his mouth betrayed him with a small smirk.

The twins finally toned it down, their teasing giving way to a more thoughtful tone.

“Aight, real talk,” Jimmy said. “You want her attention? Stop chasing like every other dude. Do something that’ll make her curious about you.”

“Yeah,” Jey added. “You said she’s a model, right? Models live for exclusivity. Make her feel like you’re the one thing she can’t get just by walking into a room.”

Joe thought about that. It wasn’t bad advice. But before he could reply, Jimmy leaned back and smirked.

“Or… you could just show up lookin’ fine as hell and make her trip over her own heels.”

Jey slapped his hand. “That’s a terrible plan, but also… solid.”

Joe chuckled, shaking his head. “Y’all are useless.”

But the truth was, their words stuck.

The twins were gone. The gym was quiet again, save for the low hum of the front desk playlist and the thud of a weighted bag settling in the corner. Joe leaned back in his office chair, scrolling through tomorrow’s training schedule.

He could still hear Jimmy clowning him, could still see Jey shaking his head like you’re slipping, man. Maybe they were right. He’d never struggled like this before—never had to talk himself out of chasing someone down.

He shoved his phone in his pocket and locked up for the night, the air outside cooler than he expected.

Across the street, the barre studio lights were still on.

The Rolls Royce was parked right in front.

Joe stopped. His hand twitched against the strap of his duffel, then toward the studio door. It would take ten steps to cross the street. Maybe less. He could walk in, wait for her to come out, and finally say something worth hearing.

Instead, he kept walking.

Not tonight.

#roman reigns #fanfic #joe anoa'i #victoria monet #instagram likes #gym body #past reflection #gratitude #for appearances only