The following morning arrived dressed in gold. Sunlight spilled through the mansion's tall windows like an invitation Harper wasn't sure she wanted.
A soft knock came at the door before her alarm could go off.
"Ten minutes, Miss Harper," a PA's voice called. "First call is styling, then you're on set by eight for the chemistry test.""A beach date shoot followed by a press junket. Think flirty. Think effortless. Think couple goals."
Harper gave a tight smile, wondering when her exhaustion would start showing on film.
As if you could grade connection like a school subject.
Harper barely had time to sip her coffee before she was whisked into a stylist's chair.
Harper moved through the motions—shower, skincare, hair—and let the team of stylists sculpt her into someone dazzling. Her outfit was sleek but sweet: a pale blue skirt suit with pearled buttons, heels just high enough to make her stand taller, whether she felt like it or not.Her curls were straightened this time, pulled back into a sleek ponytail. Someone dabbed shimmer on her eyelids while another person applied gloss with the focus of a surgeon.
In the hallway, she bumped into Darius, who raised an eyebrow at her ensemble.
"Looking like a first lady."
"More like a well-dressed imposter," she muttered.
"Don't undersell yourself. You're the realest thing in this place."
She gave a small smile, grateful for the moment of kindness. "Where's Eli?"
"Already on set. And yes, he's brooding again." Darius smirked. "You're rubbing off on him."
Harper tried to laugh, but it caught somewhere in her chest.
The "chemistry test" turned out to be a series of staged photoshoots and filmed interactions with Eli—scenarios designed to mimic couple life.
"Smile a little softer—like you know a secret," someone instructed.
Eli stood beside her, his arm draped around her casually. He was too convincing. Too natural. Every time he looked at her, it felt like the lie was a little less clear.
After the shoot, Harper had barely stepped off the set before another assistant handed her a schedule for the afternoon.
**2:00 PM – Fake Sit-down interview for charity gala ** 4:00 PM – Costume fitting for charity gala6:30 PM – Press Q&A
And through it all, Eli remained distant. Cordial, but cool. She caught his eye once during a coffee break, but he looked away before she could say anything.
Was this part of the rules too?
By evening, Harper felt stretched thin. During the final media session of the day, one question from a nosy interviewer nearly knocked the air out of her.
"So Harper," the woman asked, leaning in, "are you falling for Eli Rivers, or just playing your part?"
Harper froze.
A dozen cameras blinked red at her. Eli sat beside her, arms folded, gaze unreadable.
"I think…" she began carefully, "it's easy to blur the lines when you spend this much time pretending. But I try to stay grounded. I try to remember what's real."
The interviewer smiled knowingly, as if she'd confirmed a headline.
Afterward, Harper stepped into the hall, heart racing.
She didn't expect Eli to follow.
..."You didn't lie," he said, voice quiet but firm.
Harper narrowed her eyes. "Is that your standard now? Just not lying?"
Eli looked away, jaw tight. "It's better than pretending to feel something you don't."
"But what if I do?" she said, almost too softly. The words slipped out before she could pull them back. "What if I'm not pretending anymore?"
That got his attention.
His gaze snapped to hers, guarded, conflicted.
"You can't say things like that," he said slowly, like the syllables cost him something. "Not here. Not when cameras could be listening. Not when this could ruin everything."
"Everything?" she echoed. "What exactly is everything to you, Eli? Your career? Your image? Because to me, it's feeling like I'm losing myself trying to stay inside your boundaries."
The hallway went silent around them, the only sound the faint hum of distant lights.
"I warned you," he said at last.
"I know," she whispered. "And I still walked in."
He stepped closer, not touching her, but close enough that she felt it. That heat. That ache. The almost.
"I can't be who you want me to be," he murmured.
"I'm not asking you to be," she said. "I just want to know if any of this is real for you too."
He didn't answer.
And somehow, that said more than anything.
She stepped back first. Her heels clicked softly as she turned and walked away, her pulse loud in her ears.
Later that night, alone in her suite, Harper opened her journal and scribbled furiously across a clean page:
I think I'm starting to fall for him. And I don't know if he'll ever let me.
She closed the book and pressed her hand over her chest, trying to quiet the storm.
Tomorrow would bring more lights, more cameras, more carefully curated kisses.
But tonight, she allowed herself to ache.
Not as the girl pretending to be Eli Rivers' perfect match.
But as the girl who might already be too far gone.
Whatever this was… it was no longer just acting.
It was a game. And she wasn't sure she knew the rules anymore.