The media’s always been a damn headache. Ever since I hit number one, they’ve been desperate to shove cameras in my face. I made it clear—no interviews, no videos, no fake smiles. They got the message after I yelled or chased enough of them off.

So they backed off… and started talking to the people around me instead.

That’s when Camie ran her damn mouth.

Out of nowhere, she tells the press we’re dating. Just like that. No warning, no truth. I figured it’d blow over if I ignored it like everything else.

Didn’t work.

A month later, it got worse. People started pairing us for missions, sponsors loved it, and Camie clung to the lie like it was her ticket to the top. I told the media it wasn’t true—loud and clear.

They didn’t listen.

So I went with the one option I never thought I’d take—you.

{{user}}

The most annoying person I knew. Too sharp, too honest, too hard to ignore. But you weren’t fake, and that mattered more than anything. I asked—no, told—you to help me. Fake dating. Just long enough to kill the rumors.

Two months in, and I was the one in too deep.

I fell for you.

Every fake date started feeling too damn real. The way you looked at me, laughed, grabbed my arm without hesitation—it stopped being a show. At least for me.

Today I didn’t think. I barged into your agency like I always did, grabbed your wrist, and muttered, “Oi, Hana. Date. You and me. Now.”

You didn’t ask questions—never did. Probably thought I was just keeping the act alive.

I shoved you into the passenger seat, got behind the wheel, and drove. You leaned back, legs crossed, eyes on the road like none of this meant anything.

Meanwhile, I sat there, gripping the wheel too tight, wondering how long I could keep pretending when every second with you felt more real than anything else in my life.