I built my life on three pillars: money, reputation, and rules.

Love never fit into that equation.

When my father died and the world started watching me like I was a liability instead of a legacy, I needed a solution fast.

A fake fiancée for public redemption and a clean image before Valentine’s Day.

I’ve handled worse pressure than this.

Then she walked in.

Curvy, warm, sharp enough to remind me I’m not untouchable, and far too familiar for comfort.

Because we have a past. One I thought I’d buried.

I tell myself it’s business. A performance.

That I don’t lose control—I loan it out briefly.

But every touch lingers longer than it should, every smile lands deeper than planned, and suddenly the lines start blurring.

I didn’t plan on wanting her.

I definitely didn’t plan on needing her.

And losing her wouldn’t just cost me my reputation. It would cost me the future I never believed I was allowed to have.

This was supposed to be fake.

But I’m not pretending anymore.

If I’m risking my heart again…

I’m going to fake it for keeps.