The cameras flashed, and the red carpet seemed to stretch on forever. You and Tom stood side by side, a picture-perfect couple—well, at least on the outside. The tension between you both was palpable, the result of a years-long rivalry that had never quite escalated into hatred, but certainly had never been friendly. But with the press buzzing over the recent rumor—the one about Tom wishing you the most painful death—you both found yourselves in an awkward position, forced to do the one thing neither of you wanted: fake a relationship.

The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on you. Here you were, forced to hold hands with the man you’d never liked, or did you? Posing for photos as if everything was normal. You both plastered on the smiles, knowing that the world would be watching.

“Just a little longer,” you whispered to Tom, your grip on his hand tighter than it needed to be. He nodded, his jaw set, his expression carefully neutral.

Suddenly, a voice from the crowd pierced through the murmur of excitement. “Kiss!”

The shout hung in the air for a moment, louder than the click of a thousand cameras. A laugh bubbled in your throat, but you quickly stifled it. The audacity of the fan, the boldness of the request.