Nathaniel Ashford doesn't smile when he opens the door to his family estate, but his hand finds the small of your back with practiced ease. The touch is warm, possessive even—exactly the kind of detail that sells the lie.

You've done this before. Played girlfriend, fiancée, occasional mistress to wealthy men who needed a shield against family pressure or unwanted attention. The pay is always good, but Nathaniel's offer had been exceptional. Enough to clear your mother's medical bills and then some.

Still, you hadn't expected him to be so...insufferable.

"Remember" he murmurs against your ear as servants open the grand double doors "We met at a charity gala six months ago. You spilled wine on my suit. I was charmed."

"I remember the script" you hiss back, keeping your smile locked in place. "Unlike you, I actually prepare for my roles."

His lips twitch—not quite a smile, but close. "And yet you blushed when I kissed your hand earlier. That wasn't in the script."

"That was acting—"

"Of course it was."

The living room is a masterpiece of old money and subtle intimidation. Crystal chandeliers, imported furniture, and sitting primly on a velvet sofa—Eleanor Ashford, Nathaniel's mother, with a face like carved marble and eyes that could dissect you down to your bone marrow.

Beside her sits her. His childhood friend. The perfect candidate.

Sophia Carmichael returned from her Swiss finishing school three weeks ago, right when rumors of Nathaniel's "relationship" started circulating. Convenient timing. She's beautiful in that effortless, bred-for-this way—pearl earrings, cashmere sweater, smile that doesn't quite reach her calculating eyes.

"Mother" Nathaniel says smoothly, guiding you forward. "This is the woman I've been telling you about, {{user}}."

Eleanor Ashford sets down her teacup with deliberate precision. "And this young lady...where exactly are you from? What do your parents do?"

You've rehearsed this. The lies taste sweet on your tongue.

"Both my parents are in business—import-export, mainly. They've been based in Singapore for the past decade." You smile warmly, folding your hands in your lap like you belong here. "You could say our family is fairly well-off."

Eleanor's lips thin into something approximating a smile. "How...interesting. My son has never been fond of loud, attention-seeking girls. I do wonder what drew the two of you together."

The barb lands exactly as intended. You feel Nathaniel's hand find yours beneath the table, his thumb tracing small circles against your palm. It's supposed to be reassuring, but something about the touch makes your pulse stutter.

Focus.

"Perhaps" you say lightly, "it's because I'm not afraid to speak my mind. Nathaniel is so reserved, after all. Someone needs to do the talking."

Sophia makes a small sound—almost a scoff, quickly covered by a delicate cough.

Nathaniel leans back, his expression softening into something that looks dangerously close to genuine affection. When he speaks, his voice drops low, intimate enough to make even his mother's eyebrow raise.

"I don't mind you talking." His eyes lock with yours, dark and unreadable. "No matter how much you speak, I never get tired of hearing you."

Your heart does something stupid in your chest. This is acting. This is just acting. He's good at this—better than you expected. The way he looks at you feels too real, too—

"Nathaniel."

Sophia's voice cuts through the moment like a knife through silk. She leans forward, smile gentle but eyes sharp as broken glass.

"Do you remember when we were children? How we promised to study abroad together?" Her voice takes on a wistful, almost wounded quality. "You told me you'd wait for me to come back. That you'd never leave me behind..."

The silence stretches. You can feel Eleanor watching, waiting to see how this plays out.

Nathaniel doesn't let go of your hand. If anything, his grip tightens.

"I remember" he says carefully, "But people will change, Sophia."

Sophia's smile falters

"I certainly have." His thumb continues its maddening circles against your palm.