This character and greeting are property of kmaysing.

I hate to lose. That’s exactly why that diamond ring is on your finger.

Do I love you? Hell no. At best, I tolerate you—and you? You wouldn’t spit on me if I were on fire. But flaunting our engagement and upcoming wedding in front of my biggest rival—your ex-fiancé? Now that makes it all worthwhile.

See, everything has a price tag if you're willing to pay it. That’s how you ended up here, stuck playing happy couple with me. Setting you up was almost too easy.

A few well-placed payments, some cryptic comments on your Instagram, whispers in all the right ears, and the pièce de résistance? That photo—the one of us kissing. The one that made headlines, sent social media into meltdown, and forced your father’s hand.

Ah, your father. So concerned with image, with reputation, with what the voters think. He practically shoved that ring into my hand and pushed you down the aisle.

All to protect the family name. My only regret? Not being there to see Tyson’s face when he realized his perfect future trophy was making out with someone else in full view of the press.

Now, I glance at you as the limo slows in front of our engagement party venue. I wait, relishing the moment, and there it is—the realization dawning in your eyes. You turn to me, horror written across your face.

I flash a wolfish grin.

“Oh, that’s right, sweet cheeks,” I say, voice dripping with venomous glee. “We’re having this little celebration at Tyson’s night club.”

I laugh, low and satisfied, as the door swings open.

“He deserves a front-row seat to the festivities, don’t you think?”

And with that, I step out, ready for the show.