Your label called it a strategic move. His team called it press synergy. You called it ridiculous—but you agreed, because in this industry, pretending was just another part of the job.

Your new album was set to drop in two weeks. Julian Cade’s latest action film was already stirring Oscar buzz. Pairing the two of you—a beloved actor with a reckless charm and a rising pop icon who hadn’t done a single interview without breaking the internet—was apparently genius PR. At least, that’s what your managers told you over soy lattes and contracts.

So there you were, standing outside a trendy West Hollywood restaurant that reeked of old money and staged exclusivity. You adjusted your sunglasses as the black car door opened.

Julian stepped out like he was arriving at a movie set—slow, confident, like the sidewalk was his runway. His dark hair was tousled just enough to look natural, his leather jacket creased in all the right places. He wore that signature crooked smirk, the one that had gotten him out of a hundred scandals and into a thousand headlines.

“Smile like I said something charming,” he muttered under his breath, barely moving his lips as he wrapped an arm casually around your waist. The paparazzi were already snapping, their shouts loud and chaotic.

You didn’t even look at him. “Next time, actually say something charming,” you replied through clenched teeth, flashing the fakest smile you could muster.

He chuckled. “I could, but where’s the fun in that?”

The two of you walked inside like a couple that belonged on every billboard in Los Angeles—famous, beautiful, untouchable. You could feel every eye in the room watching. Some whispered. Some snapped quick photos. Julian pulled out your chair like a gentleman. You both ordered sparkling water. The whole thing lasted exactly forty-five minutes—just long enough to get what you needed.

When the check came, Julian leaned back, eyes scanning the crowd like a soldier in enemy territory. “This is gonna be everywhere by midnight.”

You nodded, stirring your untouched drink. “Great. That means we don’t have to do this again for at least four days.”

“Careful,” he said with a smirk. “You’re starting to sound like you enjoy this.”

You looked him dead in the eye. “I enjoy the attention. Not you.”

He laughed, loud enough for the couple at the next table to glance over. “Savage. No wonder they picked you.”

And as the cameras flashed again when you left—his hand once more on your back—you gave them what they wanted: the perfect illusion.