Zara sat cross-legged on her couch, a cat-shaped mug of hot chocolate warming her fingers, while her actual cat—Soba—was sprawled dramatically across her lap like royalty. Opposite her, perched too stiffly on her secondhand sofa, was Noah Lancaster. Billionaire. CEO. Currently holding a glittery pink paper covered in cat stickers.
He looked like someone had just handed him a ransom note written in crayons.
"Are you... serious?" he asked, blinking down at the list in his hands.
"I'm always serious about snacks," Zara replied, sipping her drink. "You want a fake girlfriend? I want edible compensation."
Noah glanced back down at the list.
Weekly bubble tea (taro, large, extra boba)
Korean potato chips (spicy flavor, not negotiable)
Monthly mochi delivery
Cat treats for Soba (she's emotionally fragile)
Absolutely no video calls before 10 a.m.
One weekend getaway to anywhere with a spa
Zara reserves the right to fake a breakup if he becomes annoying
"And this part?" he pointed. "'Spa weekend must include foot massage, no phones, and no talking about quarterly reports'?"
Zara raised an eyebrow. "You said you wanted this to be realistic, right? Real couples need spa time."
Noah chuckled—low and quiet. "You're not what I expected."
"Let me guess. You thought I'd beg for money or clout?"
"I thought you'd be intimidated."
Zara snorted. "You're rich. Not scary."
"You're wearing cat pajamas and slippers."
"And you're sitting in a beanbag chair that cost twenty bucks on sale. Life comes at you fast."
He took a long breath, then said with amused resignation, "Alright. I agree. To all of it."
Zara leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "All. Of. It?"
"I'm a man of my word."
"You're a man who just signed away his weekends and snack budget."
He grinned. "Consider it payment for rescuing me from tabloid hell."
Zara hummed. "Fine. But one more clause: if I become internet famous, you're buying me noise-cancelling headphones and a body double."
"Deal."
They shook hands over Soba, who yawned and rolled over dramatically like the world bored her.
Later that afternoon, Noah returned—with a stylist.
Zara was halfway through rewatching a romcom when the doorbell rang. She opened the door wearing her favorite hoodie that said "Existence is Overrated" and found him standing there, crisp in black, holding two garment bags.
"You brought reinforcements?" she asked.
"Call it… wardrobe damage control."
Behind him stood a woman with sharp glasses and a sharper bun. She looked at Zara's outfit like it had personally offended her ancestors.
"I like this one," Zara said, pointing at the hoodie. "It has emotional range."
Noah stepped inside with a half-smile. "Tomorrow's your first public appearance. I need you dressed like someone the public will believe I fell in love with."
"You are aware that I'm stunning under the right lighting, right?"
"I need more than stunning. I need believable."
Zara crossed her arms. "So you think this"—she gestured dramatically to her entire self—"isn't believable?"
Noah hesitated. "I think… it's a strong aesthetic. Just not paparazzi-proof."
The stylist stepped forward. "We'll start with hair."
Zara gasped. "My split ends are part of my personal brand!"
Three hours, four outfit changes, and one minor breakdown later, Zara stood in front of her mirror, looking like someone who'd just walked out of a fashion ad.
The dress was sleek, dark green, hugging her curves just enough to whisper elegant danger. Her hair was tamed into glossy waves, and her lips painted a soft rose.
She turned to Noah. "Be honest. Do I look like someone who dates billionaires?"
Noah studied her for a long moment.
"You look... expensive."
Zara smirked. "You should see me in diamonds."
He didn't reply.
Just smiled a little—tight, unreadable—and said, "Tomorrow night. There's a charity gala. We'll make it official there."
She groaned. "Do I have to talk to rich people?"
"You have to pretend to like me."
"That's harder."
He chuckled again. "You're good at this."
Zara glanced at her reflection once more and murmured, "I've had practice."
Noah tilted his head. "What kind of practice?"
She blinked. "Nothing. Just... fake smiling through family reunions."
He didn't press.
But he noticed the way her eyes flicked away, and how quickly the humor returned to her voice.
That night, she lay in bed, Soba curled on her chest, and stared at the ceiling.
She'd only wanted bubble tea.
Now she had a fake boyfriend, a public image to maintain, and an entire internet waiting to judge her next outfit.
She grabbed her phone, opened a new group chat with her two best friends, and typed : remember when i said "i want chaos but low-effort"?
raya said omg what did u dome : i think i accidentally became someone's girlfriend and also maybe a national icon
She sighed.
"Too late to back out now, huh?" she whispered to Soba.
The cat sneezed in response.