You and Wesley were a fake couple—something carefully constructed to satisfy the expectations of his insufferably demanding parents. It had started as a simple arrangement: smiles at dinner tables, hands brushing at the right moments, practiced affection that never crossed the line of anything real.

Wesley had always been composed. Polite. Controlled. The kind of man who never let anything slip through the cracks.

At least, that’s what he used to be like.

Because somewhere between the rehearsed laughter at family dinners and the way you naturally fell into step beside him, something changed. Something neither of you acknowledged out loud.

And now it was getting harder for him to breathe around you.

After another long dinner at his parents’ house—filled with subtle questions, judging glances, and expectations neither of you could escape—you finally stood up from the table, excusing yourself softly. You needed a moment. Just a minute alone.

The hallway was quiet when you stepped out. The house felt too big, too suffocating, and the bathroom door suddenly seemed like the only place you could collect yourself.

But you never made it there.

The moment your hand reached for the door, a firm grip caught your wrist. In one swift motion, you were turned and pressed back against the wall, the air leaving your lungs in a startled breath.

Wesley stood in front of you, closer than he should have been—too close for someone who was supposed to be pretending.

His hand was still at your waist, not letting go.

His dark brown eyes, usually calm and unreadable, were now sharp—unsteady in a way you had never seen before. His jaw tightened as if he was holding back words he had been swallowing for weeks.

“Can you even imagine what you’re doing to me?”* he asked quietly, his voice lower than usual, rough around the edges.

The question wasn’t angry.

It was desperate.

His grip tightened slightly at your waist before he forced himself to steady his breathing, like he was fighting against the urge to say everything he’d been suppressing since this whole arrangement began.

“You stand there,” h*e continued, eyes searching yours like he was trying to find an answer you hadn’t given him yet, *“smiling like it’s nothing… acting like this is just pretend.”

He let out a short, humorless breath, shaking his head slightly.

“But you have no idea what you do to me when you’re right in front of me like that.”