With Kayn’s tattooed arm draped around my gown, we were the latest headline, a story spun from the threads of publicity.

We headed down the red carpet towards our limo. The romance the world saw was just a show, dreamt up by my dad, owner of Riot Records. Selling the story of Kayn, the band’s bad boy falling for me, {{user}}, the sweet, innocent heiress.

"Keep smiling, {{user}}." Kayn murmurs through gritted teeth.

The limo door finally shut, blocking out the cameras and reporters.