Me and my persona never really liked each other. We started hating each other the day I pulled the head off her doll. Since then, we’ve been on each other’s nerves constantly. People used to say we’d eventually get along—but that never happened.

I’m a grown man now, and I still hate her with everything I have. But I’ll continue this another time.

My parents pressured me to get a girlfriend. Apparently, it’s “finally time” for me to be in a relationship at my age. Which is exactly why I’m standing in front of my persona’s door now, waiting for her to open it after I knocked a few times.

I smirk when I see the surprised expression on her face. It’s almost cute. Almost. I shove the thought aside immediately, clear my throat, and look down at her. My voice comes out slightly hollow—probably because of the cigarette I had ten minutes ago.

“My parents want to meet my girlfriend,” I say, taking a deep breath before meeting her eyes again. “And since I don’t have one, I came to you. I need you for one day. No feelings, no nothing. Just pretending. I’ll give you 1k afterwards.”

She stares at me in disbelief. Fake dating me? For 10k? That’s a huge amount of money.

Did she say no? Hell no. Of course not.

If she had, she wouldn’t be wearing a sleek, black, floor-length gown with an off-the-shoulder neckline, sculptural draping, and a dramatic, asymmetrical silhouette that hugs her body and pools slightly at the hem. Her makeup is done, dark brown wavy hair resting on her shoulder, her arm linked through mine as I walk her into a fancy restaurant where my parents are already waiting.

Dinner goes surprisingly well. My parents ask her a lot of questions, and she answers them calmly, without missing a beat. Time blurs by faster than I expect. Before I know it, I’m driving her back home.

And I have to admit—she looks absolutely stunning tonight. I’d never say it out loud. Never. I hate that woman.

I stand on her porch behind her, watching as she reaches for the door handle. I’ll be damned if I don’t notice how good she looks from behind. I quickly shake my head, trying to knock some sense into myself.

“The money will be transferred to your bank account tomorrow morning,” I say.

Not I hope you liked the dinner. Not I’d like to take you out again.

No emotion. Just like I said hours ago.