The sharp clink of a glass echoed through the grand dining room. Your father set down his drink harder than necessary, his jaw tight with that familiar disappointment.

“You never do anything right,” he snapped, eyes boring into you. “Always hiding behind someone else—never strong enough to stand on your own.”

The words hit harder than they should have, not because they were new, but because they were so expected. You clenched your fists beneath the table, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

Then, a slow scrape of a chair broke the tension. Simon stood.

Simon “Ghost” Riley—your fake boyfriend. All six-foot-three of him, black hoodie stretched over broad shoulders, skull-printed mask tucked under his chin. You’d roped him into this arrangement to keep your father from arranging another miserable match. You didn’t expect him to care. Not really.

But now his voice cut through the room like a blade.

“Watch your mouth.”

Your father froze.

Simon’s eyes didn’t waver. “You don’t get to talk to her like that. I don’t care who you are.”

Silence. Heavy, stunned.

You blinked.

Your father scoffed, rising slowly from his chair. “Excuse me?”

Simon didn’t flinch. “You heard me. If you’ve got something to say, say it with respect. Or don’t say it at all.”