Emily hesitated outside the café, her fingers curled tight around the condensation-damp cup of caramel iced latte. She'd almost turned around twice on the way here. Maybe three times. But somehow her feet had carried her to this moment anyway.
Through the glass window, she could see Ryan already seated near the back, tapping something into his phone, legs crossed, looking unbothered by the gravity of what they were about to discuss. The café buzzed with soft conversation, a blend of Bahasa, English, and Cantonese murmuring beneath gentle jazz.
She pushed the door open, and the air-conditioning slapped the humidity off her skin. Inside, the smell of roasted beans and pandan cake mingled in the air.
Ryan looked up as she approached and gave her that easy half-smile. "You came."
"I said I'd think about it," Emily replied, slipping into the seat across from him. "I didn't say yes."
He slid her drink toward her. "Still. Glad you're here."
She took a sip. He'd remembered her order. Caramel iced latte, less ice, no whipped cream.
"You always get the same thing," he said, reading her surprise. "You like routine. Stability."
She gave him a narrow look. "That's exactly why this idea makes no sense for me."
Ryan didn't argue. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a navy notebook. Inside were scribbled pages, columns, and clipped diagrams.
He opened it like a lawyer presenting a case.
"Okay," he said. "Here's what I've mapped out."
Emily blinked. The pages were divided into neat categories: Timeline, Budget, Legal Documents, Social Media History, Emergency Exit Strategy. He even had a checklist titled What Would Lucas Ask?
"I've thought about everything," he said. "Even if you say no, at least tell me where the plan doesn't work."
Emily stared. "You made a fake wedding plan?"
Ryan nodded. "Wedding registry. Photoshoots. Storylines. We do a six-month arc. Fake engagement announcement next week, pre-wedding photos in Week Three, private ceremony Week Six. Then sometime around Month Five, a low-key 'mutual separation.' Blame the distance."
"You're insane."
He raised a brow. "Efficient. Come on, we've known each other since undergrad. You're Type A too."
She didn't deny it. "And you'd pay for everything?"
"Yes. Visa costs, first month's rent in the UK, airfare. I'm not offering charity, Em. I'm buying time. For both of us."
Emily leaned back in her seat, trying to process the whirlwind of logistics and emotion.
"Why now?" she asked. "You've been with Kai for years. Your brother—he's intense, yeah, but he's not your jailer."
Ryan's face darkened, just a shade. "You don't know Lucas. He doesn't ask—he decides. About my career, my finances, who I date. He thinks Kai is a phase, and I'm... too soft to manage my own life."
She blinked. "But you're working. You're doing well, right? You said the firm loved your latest design pitch."
"Sure," he said. "They loved it. Then Lucas flew in from London and decided to 'restructure the team.'"
Emily was silent. The words family pressure took on a different weight when it came with inheritance, old money, and someone like Lucas Lee for a big brother.
"I don't want to fight him anymore," Ryan said, softer now. "But I don't want to lie to his face either. So I'm choosing a different lie."
Emily exhaled, fingers tracing the rim of her cup. "And Kai?"
Ryan shrugged. "He doesn't know. Things haven't been good for a while. We're roommates who don't talk. He doesn't ask where I go at night. I don't ask who he's texting."
Emily raised an eyebrow. "So, this is a breakup strategy too?"
"Not originally," Ryan admitted. "But maybe... maybe it becomes one."
There was a long silence.
Outside the café, a boy zipped past on a red bicycle, dragging a kite behind him. A group of office workers crowded around a nearby lok lok cart. The world kept moving.
"You do realize this is fraud, right?" Emily said, finally.
"Technically, it's only fraud if we file false documents for immigration or financial gain," he replied. "You're going to the UK. I'm not profiting. Just avoiding disaster."
"That's very comforting," she said dryly.
"I'll sign a contract," he added. "Waiving any liability. I'm not dragging you into legal hell."
Emily shook her head. "And if we get caught?"
"I'll take the blame," Ryan said without hesitation. "You'll be fine. I promise."
She stared at him. Not his words, but the way he said them—flat, like someone who'd already rehearsed this alone in his head a hundred times.
"You're serious," she murmured.
"Dead serious."
"And this plan? It starts now?"
He slid a folded paper across the table—a printed engagement announcement draft. Their names. A beachside photo mock-up. Dates, hashtags, even a quote.
Emily didn't know whether to laugh or scream.
"You really went all out."
"I don't like improvising," he said.
"No, you like control."
"Guilty."
Emily sat back and crossed her arms. "Let's say I do this. And it works. And six months pass. What happens then?"
"We part ways," he said. "Clean and clear. Unless you decide to actually fall for me."
She gave him a look.
"Too soon?" he grinned.
Emily snorted, then sobered. Her gaze dropped to the table.
"I want to go," she said quietly. "I want to leave here, study, work, build something. But I've been stuck for so long, Ryan. Every time I get close to leaving, something drags me back."
"This time," he said, "I'll push you forward."
Her eyes met his. Searching.
Finally, she picked up the pen lying next to the notebook.
"Show me the rest of the plan."
Ryan smiled.