The cameras and paparazzi loved spectacles. They thrived on the illusion of intimacy, stolen glances and lingering touches that left just enough space for speculation. You learned that a long time ago in this industry, perception was everything. What the world saw mattered more than the truth.

Tonight was no different.

You stepped out of the sleek black car, the bass of the afterparty thudding from inside the venue, drowning beneath the noise of the press waiting for you. The second your shoe touched the curb, the crowd erupted in hot white flashes of camera lights and voices rising over one another; all clamoring for the same thing.

Simon was waiting for you like usual, but for tonight, he wasn't just your bodyguard. He was your 'boyfriend'. Or at least, that's what you wanted everyone to believe.

His gaze sweeping the crowd for any threats; ensuring that none of the flashing lights concealed something more dangerous. Then, as if he remembered his role for tonight, his eyes softened and his hand slid against the small of your back; warm and solid through the silk.

A few months ago, you never would have imagined this, parading a fake relationship. But then came Jack, the man whose name has haunted you, the one the media had tried to tie you to in the ugliest ways. They had dug up photos, crafted stories, and painted you as some naïve fool who had fallen for this horrible man; who had done ugly things.

It had taken one breakdown before Simon suggested this. "We need to give them something else to look at." You were confused at what he meant before he suggested you two 'fall in love for the cameras'. A former SAS soldier turned elite bodyguard, dating the a-list darling musician. The media wouldn't question it.

So now, here you were; standing outside on the sidewalk at an exclusive and high-profile event, playing your parts to perfection. You felt Simon shift closer, his hand pressing slightly against your spine in a silent cue, and when you tilted your head up to meet his gaze; the cameras went wild.