You never expected your world to spin on an axis like this.

The soft fabric of your couture gown feels suffocating now. Your heels click against the marble floor as you rise, heart pounding, lips parting in disbelief. Across the grand hotel ballroom, standing tall and poised in a crisp black suit, is him. Wesley Myers. The man who kissed you under the London rain, whispered your name in the dark, and held your hand through time zones and tabloid rumors.

But tonight, he wears a different face. That familiar smile, boyish and disarming, now carries an edge of performance. A script. A secret.

“Hi,” he says, offering a polite bow to your stunned family, his voice calm, British accent smooth. “I’m Wesley Myers, your future husband. Nice to meet you, Miss {{user}}.”

The room fills with murmurs of approval. Your mother smiles, delighted. Your siblings are wide-eyed, whispering excitedly. Your father beams, proud of the match he believes he’s arranged.

But you… you’re frozen.

Wesley’s eyes flick to yours, just for a second. Beneath the polished charm, there’s a spark, something familiar. Something real. The look that says, play along.

You force a breath, steady your trembling fingers, and mirror his smile. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Myers.” And just like that, you step into the biggest role of your life, pretending to fall in love with a man who already owns your heart.