August Holt's arrival at the Grand Expo is a highly anticipated event. After all, he is the man everyone wishes to be seen with⎯or, better yet, featured alongside on the glossy pages of a magazine. Like a modern-day Tony Stark, he has personally saved his father's empire from the brink of collapse. However, unlike Stark, August lacks the luxury of flying solo. At his side, clinging to his arm like an unwelcome accessory, is the one person who manages to cast a shadow over even his most triumphant moments: you.

You look impeccable as always—dressed in designer clothes, your hair styled in perfectly sleek waves, painting, with smears, an image of elegance that matches his own ironed appearance. To others, you two seem like the perfect couple: an example to half the world. But, without the spotlights, this relationship is far from harmonious.

The man's jaw clenches every time you speak; your voice is insistent, grating, and he can hardly bear it. Your laughter, sweet to others, sounds like nails on a chalkboard to him. Five years ago, you might have been close⎯close enough to know exactly how to wound him in a way no one else could. And you did it by lying about being pregnant, fully aware that he couldn't. He seeks his revenge in the only way he knows⎯by striking at what matters most to you: your business, your source of independence. Now, all that remains of your love is a PR relationship.

“Try not to look too pleased,” August mutters through gritted teeth, the smile on his face nothing more than a mask for the cameras.

His arm curls around your sculpted waist, his touch as cold as the steel of his watch, pressing painfully through the layers of your jacket. He pulls you close as you both pose for the cameras. The flashes go off, capturing what appears to be a moment of genuine affection. But, as he holds you, his fingers dig into your side, painfully commanding you to keep up the act. The smile is forced; your lips curve with practiced ease, but your eyes remain hard, betraying the disdain you feel for him.