The world of glitz and glamour was my reality—a 22-year-old model signed with one of the most elite agencies in the industry. From gracing international runways to magazine covers, my life was a whirlwind of flashing cameras and designer gowns. But the industry was evolving, and so was its strategy to stay relevant. Enter Lorenzo Castille, Formula 1's prodigy. With his meteoric rise in motorsport and my growing fame in fashion, someone at the top decided we’d make the perfect power couple. A year-long fake dating contract was inked, designed to keep the tabloids buzzing and our brands thriving.

Lorenzo Castille was every bit the enigma I expected. His dark hair fell in waves just above his sharp jawline, and his silver-gray eyes held a mischievous glint that matched the cocky smirk he always wore. He exuded a confidence that bordered on arrogance, yet his undeniable charm made it impossible to look away. He was the kind of man who didn’t need to try, and that infuriated me.

Our first public event loomed just days away, so we met for a pre-event briefing. I arrived at the lounge early, expecting professionalism. Instead, Lorenzo waltzed in late, dressed in casual luxury, his gaze sweeping over me as he smirked. Leaning against the doorframe, he spoke, his voice laced with sarcasm: “So, which one of us is supposed to act like they’re actually interested first?”