NORA POV
If bad decisions were a sport, I'd be the reigning champion.
Because apparently, when the world's most arrogant billionaire corners me in front of a school full of hormonal teenagers and paparazzi, my brain's response is not no.
It's: Fine.
Now I'm home, pacing the living room like a lunatic while Ella lounges on my couch, scrolling through her phone with the reverence of a priest reading scripture.
"Babe," she says, voice trembling with barely contained glee, "you're on Vogue's front page."
I groan and flop face-first into a cushion. "Kill me."
"Oh no, no, no," she sing-songs. "You don't get to tap out. This is history. Nora Quinn, certified goddess, spotted in scandalous proximity with Adrien freaking Moreau. The internet is in flames."
I lift my head just enough to glare at her. "It wasn't scandalous. He ambushed me."
"Mm-hm. Cameras disagree. Look at this angle."
She shoves her phone at me, displaying a photo of Adrien leaning close, eyes locked on mine, my lips parted like—
"Oh my God." I cover my face. "I look like I'm about to kiss him."
"You look like you already did kiss him," Ella corrects gleefully. "I'm sorry, but your chemistry is… cinematic. People are editing TikToks of you two to love songs."
I groan louder, muffled into the couch. "This is hell."
"No, this is heaven," she counters. "Do you understand what women would pay to be in your shoes? To be the official maybe-sorta-kinda girlfriend of Adrien Moreau?"
"Official nothing," I snap. "It's fake. Temporary. A stupid deal to shut up the tabloids."
Ella freezes, then slowly lowers her phone. Her eyes widen. "Wait. Back up. You mean… it's true?"
I regret opening my mouth.
"You're in a fake relationship with him?" she squeals, voice hitting a pitch that could shatter glass. "This is literally every fanfiction I've ever read!"
I throw a pillow at her. "It's not romantic! It's contractual! He basically blackmailed me into it."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah." She waves me off, grinning so wide I want to strangle her. "Still sounds like romance to me."
My phone buzzes. I snatch it off the coffee table. Unknown number.
Adrien Moreau: 7 p.m. tomorrow. Wear something appropriate.
I stare. "Wear something appropriate"? What is this, the 1800s?
Ella peers over my shoulder, reading aloud. "Ooooh, bossy. Hot."
I hiss. "It's not hot, it's controlling."
She smirks. "And you like it."
"I don't." My voice cracks. "I absolutely don't."
Another buzz.
Adrien Moreau: A car will pick you up. Don't be late.
My blood pressure spikes. Who texts like that? No hello, no please, no emoji? Just… orders.
Ella is practically vibrating. "Nora. You have to let me help you pick your outfit. This is critical. First fake date sets the tone."
"It's not a date!"
She ignores me, already sprinting to my closet.
Thirty minutes later, my bedroom looks like a crime scene of sequins and fabric. Ella is ruthless, tossing dresses onto the floor like a casting director rejecting auditions.
I sit on the bed, arms crossed. "You realize none of this matters, right? He's not even going to look at me."
Ella whirls, eyes blazing. "Nora Quinn, if you think Adrien Moreau isn't looking at you, you need new glasses. The man is obsessed. Did you see how he stared at you today? That was not PR strategy, babe. That was lust."
Heat crawls up my neck. "Shut up."
"I will not. You're living the fantasy. And you're going to enjoy every second of it."
I wish I could believe her.
But lying in bed later, phone still clutched in my hand, I scroll through headlines until my eyes blur.
Adrien Moreau's Mystery Woman Revealed.Who is Nora Quinn? The Teacher Who Stole Europe's Most Eligible Bachelor.From Chalkboards to Catwalks? Internet Divided Over Adrien's New Flame.
I turn off the screen, heart pounding.
This isn't my world. I don't belong here.
And yet…
I can still feel the echo of his voice, low and certain: You lease it.
I hate him. I hate that he's right. I hate that somewhere deep in my chest, a treacherous part of me isn't dreading tomorrow.
It's anticipating it.