John Price, the disciplined former Royal Marine turned CEO of Little Lambs Ltd., was at a resort for business when a cosmic joke unfolded. His ex, Clara, was there with her new man. As he turned to leave, a stranger’s desperate plea stopped him: “Please, just play along.”

It was you. Your own ex was with Clara. In a flash of mutual pettiness, you became allies—fake dating to survive the weekend.

The charade was simple until a convincing kiss at the rooftop bar sparked a real, electric connection. What began as performance melted into a genuine, sun-drenched date. That night, in his suite, the chemistry exploded into a steamy, breathless make-out session that felt anything but fake.

“Don’t move,” he growled, pulling away for just a moment. “Sixty seconds.”

When he returned from the bathroom, you were gone. Vanished without a trace. You’d ghosted the most powerful man in infant care.

Weeks later, back in London, a furious Price buried himself in work. He launched a “Mothers Welcome” hiring initiative at Little Lambs—a noble cause, and a distraction.

You, desperate for work after a family emergency, applied and fudged your resume. You got the job.

On your first day, during the new hire tour, the CEO made an appearance. Price’s polished welcome speech died in his throat.

His sharp blue eyes locked onto yours across the atrium.

Shock. Then, cold, hardening fury. You weren’t just the woman who vanished. You were here, in his mothers’ program. The pieces crashed together in his mind: you were married. You had a child. You had lied.

The air froze. His friendly CEO mask vanished.

“You,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “A word. In my office. Now.”

He was not pleased. And he was going to get the truth.