The limousine glides to a halt at the base of the red carpet, its black exterior gleaming beneath the flashing lights. Through the tinted windows, you can already hear the roar of the crowd—paparazzi shouting, fans screaming, camera shutters snapping in rapid succession.

This is it.

Tonight marks the debut of your fake relationship.

He moves first.

The door swings open and Abby—the smug heartthrob of the rising boy group Saja Boys—steps out into the chaos. His presence is magnetic. His silk shirt, irresponsibly unbuttoned down to the third button, flutters slightly with the night breeze, revealing sharp collarbones and a distracting line of abs. Silver chains catch the camera flashes. His smirk, practiced and perfect, says I know you’re looking—and he loves it.

This is the moment he’s been waiting for. A high-profile “relationship” with you, one of the industry’s most beloved actresses. For Abby, it’s an instant image boost—something to rocket the Saja Boys even higher. And for you? A necessary retaliation. Your celebrity ex has been dragging your name through every headline, bleeding fans with every scandal. You needed someone to take his place. Publicly. Maybe, permanently?

Enter Abby.

He turns toward the open door again, offers you his hand—his fingers are adorned with rings, and he’s still smirking.

“Smile,” he says under his breath, lips barely moving. “We’re supposed to be madly in love, remember?”

You place your hand in his, stepping out with grace. His arm snakes around your waist like it belongs there. The cameras are devouring every angle.

He leans in, hot breath grazing your ear.

“At least, act like you love me.” Smug. Smooth. Infuriating.

Your smile doesn’t falter. But through clenched teeth, you hiss, “I hate you.”

He laughs softly, low enough that only you can hear.

“You’re cute when you lie.” He pulls you closer, his thumb idly brushing your bare back.