Episode Two
1513 Words
Elara read the contract once.
Then again.
Then a third time, slower, like maybe the words would rearrange themselves into something less insane if she stared long enough.
They did not.
Temporary relationship agreement.
Public appearances.
Defined duration.
Clear compensation.
She shut the folder.
Opened it again.
“No,” she muttered to herself, pacing the tiny space between her bed and the window. “Absolutely not. This is ridiculous. This is unhinged. This man is unhinged.”
She sat down.
Stood back up.
Read the contract again.
Her phone buzzed on the bed, but she ignored it, too busy spiraling.
Who did that? Who stalked someone’s coffee habits, learned their schedule, followed them for weeks, then calmly handed them a fake dating contract like it was a grocery list?
Psychopaths. That’s who.
Rich psychopaths with excellent posture and expensive shirts.
She dropped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling.
Six months.
Six months of pretending to be someone’s girlfriend.
Six months of smiling in public, attending events, lying convincingly enough to fool billionaire parents.
Six months of being close to a man who had already proven he was dangerously intentional.
Her stomach flipped.
“No,” she said again, louder this time, like the word needed reinforcement.
A knock sounded on her door.
“Elara,” Nyla’s voice called. “If you’re ignoring me, just know I will not hesitate to break and enter.”
Elara groaned. Of course. Perfect timing.
“Door’s open,” she said weakly.
Nyla burst in with her usual lack of concern for personal space, arms full of snacks and an expression that immediately shifted when she spotted the folder on the bed.
“What’s that?” Nyla asked, narrowing her eyes.
“Nothing.”
“That’s a lie.”
Elara sighed. “It’s not nothing. It’s just… illegal-adjacent.”
Nyla dropped onto the bed beside her. “You can’t say that and expect me to stay calm.”
Elara handed her the folder. “Read,” she said. “But don’t scream.”
Nyla flipped it open, eyes scanning the page. Her mouth fell open. She looked up slowly. Then back down. Then up again.
“Is this,” she began carefully, “a contract for you to be someone’s fake girlfriend?”
“Yes.”
“And is the someone extremely rich?”
“Yes.”
“And extremely hot?”
Elara hesitated. “Unfortunately.”
Nyla slapped the bed. “Elara.”
“No.”
“Elara.”
“No.”
“Elara!”
“This is not funny!”
Nyla grinned. “This is hilarious.”
Elara grabbed a pillow and hit her. “This man is insane.”
“Insanely rich,” Nyla corrected. “Which matters.”
Elara groaned. “I know. I know.”
“Elara,” Nyla continued, more seriously now, “how did this even happen?”
Elara buried her face in her hands. “I ran into him this morning. Literally. Spilled coffee on him.”
Nyla gasped. “Meet cute.”
“It gets worse.”
“He’s been sitting at table seven. For weeks.”
Nyla froze. “Table seven? The laptop guy?”
“Yes.”
“The one you complain about?”
“Yes.”
“The one you said had serial killer focus?”
“Yes.”
Nyla’s eyes lit up. “I knew it.”
Elara stared at her. “That is not comforting.”
Nyla skimmed the contract again, eyebrows lifting. “The pay is real.”
“That’s the problem.”
“How much?”
Elara told her.
Nyla let out a low whistle. “Oh.”
“Exactly.”
“That would solve a lot of things.”
Elara laughed weakly. “You’re supposed to talk me out of this.”
“I am,” Nyla said. “Eventually. But first, I need details.”
“Elara,” Nyla continued, “why you?”
“I asked him that.”
“And?”
“He said I don’t belong to his world. And that I wouldn’t want to stay in it.”
Nyla leaned back. “That’s either very honest or very manipulative.”
“Yes.”
“So what are the rules?” Nyla asked.
“No feelings,” Elara said immediately. “Public only. Six months. That’s it.”
Nyla stared at her. “You are going to fall.”
“I am not.”
“You always say that.”
“This is different.”
Nyla smiled slowly. “That’s what makes it dangerous.”
Elara’s phone buzzed again. Unknown number. She stared at it.
Nyla noticed. “That him?”
“Yes.”
“Answer.”
“No.”
“Elara.”
“No.”
Her phone buzzed again. A message this time. Did you get home safely?
She swallowed.
“He’s polite,” Nyla said thoughtfully. “That’s worse.”
Elara paced again, heart racing. “This is a bad idea.”
“Most life-changing things are,” Nyla said with a grin.
“I don’t want to get hurt,” Elara whispered.
“Then don’t fall.”
Elara laughed bitterly. “That’s not how it works.”
She picked up the contract again. The paper felt heavier now. More real. Like it was breathing. She traced the edges with her fingers, imagining all the consequences, all the awkward moments, all the things she’d have to smile through while her heart did backflips.
“I could say no,” she whispered.
“You could,” Nyla agreed. “But you won’t.”
Elara closed her eyes. She imagined six months from now. Rent paid. Tuition covered. Less pressure on her parents. Less panic every morning.
And she imagined his eyes. Focused. Watching. Waiting.
Her stomach did a full somersault.
“I hate this,” she said.
“I love this,” Nyla replied.
Elara grabbed her phone. Typed. Deleted. Typed again. Her thumb hovered over the screen. She could practically feel the weight of the decision in her fingers.
“You’re really doing this,” Nyla said quietly.
Elara exhaled. “I just want to hear him explain it properly.”
She hit send. Okay. Let’s talk.
Almost immediately, three dots appeared.
Tomorrow. Café. Table seven.
Her stomach dropped.
She set the phone down slowly. Nyla grinned. “You’re doomed.”
Elara stared at the ceiling again.
“No,” she whispered.
But somewhere deep down, she already knew.
She was walking straight into it.
Elara spent the rest of the evening pacing her tiny apartment, twisting her hands in her lap whenever her phone buzzed. Every notification made her jump, even though she knew it wouldn’t be him, at least, not yet. She pressed her palms to her face and leaned against the wall, trying to slow her racing heart.
The thought of tomorrow gnawed at her. Table seven at the café. A casual meeting, just an explanation. Just words. Nothing more. She told herself it was nothing more. But every fiber of her body argued otherwise.
“What’s the worst that could happen?” she muttered to herself, though her voice sounded hollow.
She didn’t answer. The truth was, she had no idea. He could be charming. Smug. Insufferable. Dangerous, maybe, in ways she hadn’t anticipated. And yet, she felt drawn. Like a moth to a flame she knew would singe her wings.
Her mind replayed the way he had looked at her the first time. Sharp eyes, measuring. Confident, almost cruelly so. And that smirk. She could almost see it now, curling at the edge of his mouth, daring her to blink, to flinch, to show weakness. The thought made her cheeks warm.
Elara grabbed a notebook, trying to distract herself. She scribbled down questions, lists, reminders to ask him about the contract, the terms, what he expected, what she could handle. But each word she wrote was haunted by the image of him leaning over the table, his gaze locking on hers. She shook her head. Stop it. It’s business.
Her phone buzzed again, and this time it wasn’t a random notification. She flinched, half-expecting it to be him. It wasn’t. Just a reminder for her alarm. One more day, she told herself. One day.
Elara sank onto the couch, knees pulled to her chest. Her mind raced faster than her heartbeat. What if she said yes and everything went wrong? What if she couldn’t handle him? What if she did handle him, and she wanted to?
Her chest tightened, and she swallowed hard, trying to push the thoughts away. She had made the decision already, in a way. Her thumb had hovered over the screen, she had sent the message. There was no going back now.
And yet, as she imagined him across the table, the air thick with tension, that same butterflies-in-her-stomach feeling returned. Uneasy. Dangerous. Addictive.
She whispered into the quiet room, almost to herself, “I hope I’m ready.”
The apartment stayed silent, but Elara knew, deep down, that tomorrow would change everything.
- Writer
