The Playboy's Fake Girlfriend

Chapter Four

So, that was how we ended up here.

Me, sitting on the floor, running my fingers through my hair in pure frustration.

And Sam Matthew—Redwood High’s golden boy, heartbreaker, and apparently my biggest headache—stretched comfortably across my bed, phone balanced above his face like he had zero worries in the world.

I regretted letting him come over.

No—scratch that—I regretted letting him talk me into letting him come over. I should have known better. After half an hour of dodging questions and flashing that infuriating smile, he’d convinced me it was “better if we talked in person.”

And of course, because the universe hated me, I agreed.

Thankfully, Mom was out visiting a friend. I thanked every god available for that small mercy.

But for the last thirty minutes, Sam had avoided the very reason he was here. Every time I tried steering the conversation back to his “plan,” he swerved it away like a pro driver avoiding potholes. Instead, he lounged on my bed, scrolling, smirking at whatever text lit up his screen. I watched, arms crossed, as his chuckles filled my room. Each laugh made my jaw tighten more.

“Aaron!”—no, Sam!—I snapped his name, louder this time, my patience long gone.

“Yeah,” he muttered absently, eyes still glued to the glowing rectangle in his hands.

“My house isn’t a bed and breakfast. Either spit it out or get out.” My voice came out flat, but every syllable was a threat.

“Oh, sorry, it’s—” His voice dropped into a laugh. “What the hell, that’s weird.”

That was it. My limit wasn’t just reached—it was obliterated.

I shot up from the floor and marched toward the bed. Still, he didn’t look at me. My irritation burned hotter, and before I could stop myself, I snatched the phone out of his hands.

“Seriously, Sam? I’m actually trying to help you, and you’re just—” I cut off mid-rant the moment my eyes flicked to the screen.

I froze. Then squealed. Then threw the phone onto the carpet as if it were radioactive.

Sam’s laughter exploded, real and unrestrained, shaking my walls with its sound. His first genuine reaction since he walked in.

Of course. I should’ve expected that. Redwood High’s self-proclaimed player wasn’t getting texts about rainbows and kittens. No, it was worse—so much worse. And the bile that rose in my throat proved just how unprepared I was to witness that side of him.

“Disgusting,” I spat, glaring at him as his laughter refused to die down.

“Sorry,” he said between chuckles, but the grin on his lips betrayed him. He wasn’t sorry. Not even close.

“Sorry,” he repeated, softer this time, standing up so that our bodies were only inches apart. His voice had shifted—no teasing, no cocky undertone. Just something raw.

His eyes locked on mine, and my chest betrayed me with a sharp inhale. He had no right to look at me like that—like he meant it. Like the apology was more than a word.

“No, you’re not,” I replied, flat and tired, stepping back toward my desk chair where my pajamas hung like a promise of peace I wasn’t getting tonight.

But when I glanced back at him, his gaze wasn’t mocking anymore. His jaw was tight, his eyes carrying a weight I hadn’t seen before—uncharacteristically heavy, unguarded.

“No, I am,” he murmured, finally dropping his eyes to the floor. “I’m just… pushing it off.”

And suddenly, I understood. He wasn’t avoiding me—he was avoiding this.

I sighed. “Well, my promise still stands. I said I’d hear you out. I’m all ears.”

The storm in his gaze cleared. He smiled faintly—almost boyishly—before dropping back onto the bed, hands tucked behind his head.

“This way I can’t text, right?” he smirked, closing his eyes.

I rolled mine but let a small smile slip. He was just… himself. Effortless. Unapologetic. Comfortable in a way that felt foreign to me. Where I twisted myself in knots around others, second-guessing every move, Sam existed with this innate ease I envied.

And yet, despite his perfect clothes, his wealth, his easy charm, there was a fracture under the surface I couldn’t ignore.

Why did someone like him need me—Alif of all people—to be his fake girlfriend?

“Sam?” I asked carefully.

“Hmm?” His eyes stayed closed, lips curled into a faint smile.

I stared at him, nerves twisting through me. “Are you ready to tell me?”

The smile vanished. His eyes snapped open—sapphire blue, sharp as knives. My stomach dropped. Anger burned in his gaze, but when he sat up, it wasn’t anger at me. It was something heavier. Something I wasn’t sure he knew how to carry.

“You deserve an explanation,” he said finally, his voice rough. “I owe you that much.”

What followed wasn’t a story. It was a wound.

His words painted the scene: the fight with older guys, his friends bloodied, his mother’s tears, his own fury boiling over. I saw the kitchen floor, orange juice spilling across it as if mocking the chaos in his home. I saw his mother’s fragile frame, crying as she confessed the truth she had hidden for a year—stage four liver cancer.

And then… the lie.

The one lie that broke and rebuilt him in the same breath.

“I told her I had a girlfriend.” His voice cracked slightly. “I didn’t even know why I said it. It just… it made her smile. And I hadn’t seen that in so long.”

Silence settled between us, heavy and suffocating.

“Oh…” was all I managed. Pathetic. But what did you say to something like that?

His eyes flickered to mine, emotions swimming—grief, guilt, love, and something else I couldn’t name.

“Do you know how much that lie kills me?” His words were sharp, raw. “I can’t take it back. But I can’t let her down, either. I won’t.”

My throat tightened. This wasn’t about me. It wasn’t about some game. It was about the one person he couldn’t bear to lose.

“That’s why it has to be fake,” he said firmly. “Because it’s not for me. It’s for her. I want her to believe I’ve got my life together. I want her last memories of me to be good ones.”

Tears threatened at the edge of my vision, but I blinked them away. He wasn’t asking for pity. He was asking for help.

“But… why me?” I whispered, heart hammering.

His lips quirked into the faintest smile, almost bitter. “Why not you? You’re everything she’d want for me—smart, kind, decent. And… really pretty.”

Heat rushed to my cheeks, but I looked away, refusing to let the compliment undo me.

“And your friends?” I asked softly. “They’ll believe it too?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “But I can’t tell them the truth. Ruppy… he doesn’t talk to his mom. And Travis—his mom died when he was born. They wouldn’t get it.”

I nodded slowly. “I’m sorry, Sam. For your mom. And for you.”

His jaw flexed, but his voice softened. “Thanks, Alif.”

The silence that followed was almost comforting—two people sitting in a room, sharing a secret that weighed heavier than either of us could carry alone.

A beep from my phone shattered it. On my way with food! Set the table. Mom.

I glanced up, ready to tell him, but he was already standing, already at the door. He turned, eyes locking on mine with a quiet intensity that froze me in place.

“Will you do it?” he asked simply.

My lips parted, but no words came. Finally, I whispered, “Give me until tomorrow.”

He nodded once, unreadable, then slipped out the door without a backward glance.

And just like that, I was left in my room with nothing but my mother’s text, my own racing thoughts, and the sinking realization that my life had just changed forever.