Zara woke up to her phone vibrating like it had a personal vendetta.
Again.
She cracked one eye open and was immediately blinded by the glow of over 700 unread messages.
"Oh no," she whispered. "Not again."
She grabbed the phone.
Her group chats were chaos.
> Raya: YOU'RE ON TV
Jun: Girl wtf did u DO
Mom: Are you dating someone??? I saw a post with a tuxedo
Unknown Number: Hello Miss Everleigh, would you be open to a brand partnership with—
Twitter DM: u don't deserve him lol go back to ur thrift store rats 💀
Zara blinked.
"Oh. Trolls. Great. The internet hates me and wants to sponsor me."
She scrolled through trending topics.
> #ZaraEverleigh
#SlipperGirlGlowUp
#WhoNeedsCinderella
#LancasterLove
One post had nearly a million likes:
> "She went from hoodie to haute couture overnight. I love her."
Attached: a split photo of her in pajamas vs. her gala dress
Another was… less kind.
> "Just another gold digger in lipstick."
Zara exhaled slowly, rubbed her temples, then texted Noah:
> Zara: I demand hazard pay. Also boba.
Noah: Meet me at noon. Top floor. I have both.
She arrived at the rooftop café at exactly 12:07—early, by her standards.
Noah was already waiting at a small table in the corner, shielded from prying eyes by potted plants and a strategically placed umbrella.
A cup of taro milk tea sat in front of her seat.
He remembered.
Zara sat down, eyeing him suspiciously.
"You lured me here with snacks. What's the catch?"
Noah passed her a tablet.
"Interview requests. Brand deals. A magazine wants a couples spread."
She snorted. "What, like one of those 'They fell in love over spreadsheets' features?"
"Something like that. With a lot more silk and staring into each other's eyes."
Zara took a long sip. "Can I request a clone to do all that while I nap?"
"Unfortunately, the original's sarcasm is half the appeal."
She narrowed her eyes. "You're enjoying this."
"A little," he admitted. "Your reactions are... refreshing."
Zara poked at the list of offers. "You know, for a fake couple, we're doing an awful lot of real publicity."
"That's the point."
She looked up. "Is it, though?"
Noah didn't answer right away.
Instead, he leaned back, studying her. "How are you handling all this?"
Zara blinked. "You mean the sudden fame, hate comments, and brands offering me skincare products I can't pronounce?"
"Yes."
She shrugged. "I've been internet famous for 48 hours. I think I've cycled through all five stages of grief."
"I'm guessing anger came with the boba demand?"
"Oh no. Boba was bargaining. Anger was when someone photoshopped my face on a squirrel."
He tried not to laugh.
Failed.
She smiled despite herself. "I'm fine, Noah. Honestly. I've survived worse."
He tilted his head. "Like what?"
Zara hesitated. "Family reunions."
He gave her a look that said I'll ask again later, but let it go.
A pause settled between them.
The rooftop breeze was gentle. The city stretched wide below. Zara picked at her straw, then looked at him.
"You ever get tired of pretending?"
Noah blinked. "What do you mean?"
"This life. The smile. The handshakes. The 'yes sir' and 'no comment'. It's all... fake."
He didn't answer right away.
Then said softly, "Every day."
She met his eyes.
For once, there was no script. No cameras. Just two people in borrowed time.
"Why don't you stop?"
He looked out toward the skyline.
"Because stepping off the stage means letting someone else take the role. And I'm not sure I trust anyone else with the ending."
Zara hummed. "Deep."
He turned back. "You?"
She shrugged. "I pretend I don't care about anything. People leave you alone that way."
"Does it work?"
"Most days."
Before either of them could add more, his phone buzzed. He glanced down.
"Meeting in twenty. I have to go."
Zara mock-pouted. "Already? I thought this was our first fake date."
He stood, buttoned his jacket, then—paused.
"I meant what I said," he said suddenly.
Zara tilted her head. "About what?"
"You surprised me. In a good way."
And then, without another word, he walked away—leaving her alone with a warm drink and a head full of static.
She stared at the milk tea.
Then whispered to herself,
"...I'm starting to think this job is more dangerous than it looks."