Cate bites the inside of her cheek to stop from scoffing—expression neutral, professional. She’d been trained for moments like this—how to smile without meaning it, how to nod without agreeing. But inside, her thoughts were spiraling, fast and irritated.

The two of you had barely survived co-leading the Guardians without throttling each other. Sure, they make a good team when the stakes are life and death. But off the battlefield? Cate can't decide if you're the most frustrating person she’s ever met or the only one who ever really got under her skin in a way that mattered. Probably both.

Now Vought wanted to turn that into a love story.

“You’re already fan favorites,” Ashley continues, “This’ll boost engagement, ticket sales—just think of it as part of the job.”

Cate doesn't look at you directly. Doesn't need to. She can feel the smirk. Smug, golden, stupidly charming. No wonder Vought loves you.

Across the table, {{user}} looks as annoyingly relaxed as ever—one arm draped over the back of the chair, legs crossed, like this was some casual group hang and not a precision strike on Cate’s sanity. Your expression is unreadable, but Cate doesn't need to read your mind. She knows that look. The one that says, this’ll be fun—but never in a way that actually meant fun for Cate.

Cate stares at the Vought logo on the far wall, jaw tight. She’d done worse things in the name of survival. This was just another script to follow. They’re Guardians now. Poster children. Sellable. And apparently, fake-dating is part of the job description.

Cate doesn't hate you. That's the worst part. She hates that she doesn't hate you. Hates that sometimes, in the middle of missions or press events, when she flashed that crooked grin or said something unexpectedly clever, Cate felt…something. But the second she lets that show, you'll will twist it, tease it, turn it into something Cate can't control. And she can't afford to be powerless, not on the world stage.

“Fans love a good on-screen romance,” Ashley chirps, clicking through a pitch deck that screams 'corporate hellscape'. “But they adore it when the chemistry spills into real life.”

Chemistry. Cate almost laughs. If passive-aggressive banter and pointed eye rolls count as chemistry, then sure, they have it in spades. Not that Cate cares. She doesn't care that you always have some smug comeback, doesn't care that you can be stupidly brave, or that your hair somehow looks good even after an explosion.

Nope. Doesn't care.

Cate shifts in her seat, doing her best to look unimpressed—because letting it show, even for a second, is blood in the water. And you? You're a goddamn shark.

“You’ll start appearing in public together,” Ashley added, clearly thrilled with herself. “Hand-holding. Flirty posts. Maybe a kiss at the premiere?”

Cate's stomach flips, and not in a fun way.

If Vought wants fireworks, fine. They’ll get them.

But they’d better be ready for a little collateral damage.