The Playboy's Fake Girlfriend

It was almost time. Just a minute left until the clock struck three—the end of school. I shoved my loose papers into my binder without much care. Finally, the weekend had arrived. When the bell rang, I didn’t rush out like everyone else. Instead, I stayed seated, waiting for the chaos of stampeding students to fade. Only after the hallway quieted did I rise, wave half-heartedly at the teacher, and step into the dim corridor. Friday—the sweetest word in the English language. Nothing felt better than knowing school was behind me, at least until Monday. Honestly, though, school wasn’t just dull. For me, it was survival. A nightmare endured in silence. I let out a weary sigh and spun my locker open. Tossing books inside, my gaze drifted to the little mirror taped to the inside of the door. A ponytail pulled my brown hair back, leaving my face in plain view. My eyes, wide and brown, stared back at me—expressionless, unimpressed. I exhaled again at the obvious lack of effort I put into my appearance every morning. “You can keep staring, but nothing’s gonna change.” The mocking voice made me stiffen. I turned sharply and met the smirk of Bianca Sanders—the girl who had made my life miserable for as long as I could remember. I despised her… but I couldn’t deny it: no matter how artificial she looked, she carried the kind of beauty people noticed. Bianca’s blonde hair fell in perfect waves over her shoulders, framing her sculpted jawline. A floral blouse and pencil skirt hugged her thin frame, ending neatly at her ballet flats. Her skin glowed with a sun-kissed tan. She looked like she’d walked straight out of a magazine spread. A goddess with sharpened claws. “What are you staring at?” she snapped, though her lips curled into a knowing smile. Of course she knew. She could read the envy in me as easily as a headline. And she thrived on it. My envy wasn’t a deterrent—it was her fuel. “You’re pathetic,” she squeaked, brushing at her nails like I was nothing. The words stung, but I held my ground. Students drifted past, glancing at us, most ignoring the scene, a few sending me pitying looks. No one interfered. No one ever did. But I didn’t cry. I had sworn to myself long ago: I would never give them the satisfaction of seeing me break. Tears were weakness. I couldn’t afford weakness. Bianca’s scowl deepened when I didn’t react. Frustrated, she suddenly swatted the books from my arms. Pages scattered across the floor. Satisfied, she strutted off, her shoes clacking against the tile. As always, the audience dispersed. The show was over. Relief settled in my chest as their eyes shifted elsewhere. I bent to gather my things, and when I glanced up to see what had caught everyone’s attention, I rolled my eyes instantly. Striding down the hallway came the school’s so-called golden boy. On his right walked Rupert, tall and broad-shouldered, with an easy grin and the kind of muscles that made girls practically trip over themselves. Every time a girl called his name, he flashed a flirty smile and laughed, his brown eyes sparkling. On his left, Travis dragged his feet with perpetual boredom, his black hair falling into stormy gray eyes. Unlike Rupert, he ignored every girl that tried for his attention, swatting them away with a glare before returning to his phone. And at the center—leading them effortlessly—was Sam Matthew. Sam walked like the hallway belonged to him, laughing with his friends, his tousled black hair falling perfectly out of place. Girls melted under his grin. Guys greeted him like he was everyone’s best friend. His pale blue eyes glimmered with mischief, scanning the crowd like it existed for his amusement. I sighed inwardly. Yes, I knew he was good-looking—gorgeous, even. But sitting beside him in class had made one thing clear: Sam was arrogant to the core. He dated girls like they were seasonal trends, tossing them aside the moment he got bored. And yet somehow, the entire school still worshiped him. I stuffed the last of my books into my bag and slammed my locker shut. When I turned around, my heart nearly leapt into my throat. Sam Matthew was standing directly in front of me. Hands in his pockets. Smile on his lips. Eyes fixed on me. I blinked once. Twice. He was still there. His smile shifted into a look of mild impatience, as if I should have been the one to start talking. What was I supposed to say? He was the one who had approached me, but Sam Matthew didn’t follow normal rules. He was the type who expected people to earn the right to speak first. I straightened my posture, forcing myself to meet his gaze. Up close, his eyes weren’t just blue—they were sharp, almost icy, rimmed with faint gray. I looked too long, and when I finally tore my eyes away, he was smirking, clearly amused. I cleared my throat. “Can I help you?” My tone was clipped, edged with irritation. If he noticed, he didn’t care. But before he could respond, I realized a crowd had gathered around us again. My stomach twisted. I hated being on display. Sam’s jaw tightened, and he gave the crowd a pointed glare. One by one, people drifted off—everyone except Bianca. She lingered at the edge, her eyes burning holes into me. I glared back, refusing to flinch. Sam glanced between us, his foot tapping impatiently against the floor. Finally, he cleared his throat loudly, breaking the tension. Bianca tore her gaze away from me and plastered on a bright, sugary smile for him. He grinned in return, soaking in the attention. “Uh, look… Brooklyn,” he said lazily, waving a hand. “Bianca,” she corrected sweetly. He rolled his eyes. I nearly bit my lip to keep from laughing. “Yeah, Bianca. I need to talk to…” His eyes flicked to me, eyebrows raised, clearly waiting for me to fill in my name. Suppressing the urge to scoff, I answered flatly, “Alif.” “Right. I need to talk to Alif. So if you don’t mind…” Bianca’s smile faltered, but she recovered quickly. “Of course. But don’t forget about planning Madison’s birthday, okay?” Desperation laced her voice. “Sure, er… Brittany,” he said, checking his watch with zero interest. “It’s Bianca,” she chirped, still clinging to her smile. “Yeah, I’m sure it is,” he muttered, dismissing her with a flick of his hand. Her face twitched, but she forced a sugary goodbye, sending me one last venomous glare before tottering away. At the end of the hall, she blew Sam a kiss. Without looking away from me, he lazily lifted his hand and caught it. Bianca beamed and vanished around the corner. When she was gone, Sam’s playful grin disappeared. His expression hardened as he focused entirely on me. “I need a favor,” he said.