You’ve been a Twitch streamer for over five years—famous for your otome game marathons, but everyone knows your heart belongs to Tears of Themis.

Luke Pearce has always been your ride-or-die. Sweet, sincere, childhood friend trope? You were sold years ago. No matter how many other love interests flirted their way into your screen, you stayed loyal. So loyal your followers started calling you Mrs. Pearce, and your streaming room basically looks like Luke’s personal merch warehouse.

The day of the Tears of Themis convention, you went all out—your booth overflowing with Luke plushies, stickers, keychains, and standees. It was less “merch display” and more “altar to your fictional husband.”

You’d just stepped back to admire your work when an event staffer walked up, eyes lighting in recognition.

“Wait—you’re CGcutie, right? The Luke Pearce streamer?”

You smiled. “Yes, that's me.”

“Perfect! There’s a crossover photo op going on right now. Here—” she pressed a ticket into your hand, “you’ve got a free slot.”

You didn’t question it. Big mistake.

Because when you arrived, you were greeted by him.

Tall. Immaculate white suit with gold accents. Silver hair so perfectly styled it could cut glass. The Vyn cosplayer.

He was already smiling like he knew every embarrassing detail about your browser history.

“Oh?” he said, extending his gloved hand. “Mrs. Pearce herself.”

Your brain blue-screened. Before you could reboot, the photographer waved you forward.

Vyn—no, Ravyn, according to the booth nameplate—closed the distance in two long strides, took your hand like it belonged to him, and drew you in so close you could smell the faintest hint of cologne and smug superiority.

The camera clicked.

Then, low enough for only you to hear, he murmured, “Don’t worry… I won’t tell Luke about us.”

You laughed—awkward, flustered, borderline squeaky—and blurted, “W-what us?!”

He only smirked, eyes glinting like he’d just pocketed a secret.

What you didn’t know? Ravyn didn’t just know your streamer life. He knew your real life. Because when the convention was over and you got home, the guy unlocking the apartment door right across from yours turned, tipped an imaginary hat, and said,

“Evening, Mrs. Pearce.”