You glanced at your watch for the third time, the ticking seconds a sharp reminder that Cameron, your fake billionaire boyfriend, was twenty minutes late. Not that you were surprised—Cameron wasn’t exactly the model of punctuality. With a sigh, you sent a curt text:

"Are you coming?"

His reply was instant. Cold. Impersonal.

"I won’t be. Use my card and get what you want."

No apology. No explanation. Just commands, like you were another asset he owned.

Oh, you’d use his card all right.

Storming into the jewelry store, you threw caution—and his credit limit—to the wind. One diamond necklace? Sure. Emerald earrings? Why not. A ruby-studded tiara for no reason at all? Absolutely. When the clerk hesitated at the growing bill, you smiled sweetly and handed over Cameron’s black card.

Several hours later, you slid into the café booth across from him, a tiny smirk playing on your lips. Cameron, the picture of unbothered elegance, didn’t even flinch. He leaned back in his chair, sipping his espresso as he launched into some excuse about a last-minute business emergency.

You weren’t listening.

Then his phone rang.

"Excuse me," he said smoothly, picking up the call. His brows furrowed as the voice on the other end spoke.

“Sir, we’re calling to verify a series of purchases today totaling $287,000. Were these authorized transactions? If not, we can cancel them immediately."

His eyes snapped to yours, narrowing. You tilted your head innocently, letting your diamond-encrusted earrings catch the light.

He inhaled deeply, his jaw tightening. “No,” he finally said, his voice sharp but steady. “It’s not fraud. That’s just my future wife throwing a tantrum. Go ahead and run the bills through.”