By Friday morning, the rules had gone viral.

Someone on TikTok had stitched Evan’s photo into a “Ten Rules of Love” challenge, and the internet, predictably, obeyed. Ava watched it spread like glitter—everywhere, impossible to clean up.

She told herself she didn’t care. Caring was off-limits. Rule number one.

At work, her phone kept vibrating. Chloe leaned over the cubicle wall, eyes gleaming. “You’re trending again, Calendar Girl.”

Ava groaned. “Don’t call me that.”

“Too late, it’s your nickname now. Also, Dana wants you.”

Dana never wanted anyone unless it involved metrics.

In the conference room, Dana was already pacing, tablet in hand, the grin of a woman whose chaos graphs pointed upward. “Our engagement is phenomenal. We’re converting curiosity into clicks.”

Ava folded her arms. “That’s not a strategy. That’s weather.”

“It’s momentum,” Dana corrected. “And we can’t waste it. Urban Light’s charity gala is tomorrow night. You and Evan will attend.”

Ava blinked. “Attend? As in public?”

“As in red carpet, cameras, interviews. A gentle narrative push.”

“No.”

“Yes,” Dana said cheerfully. “You’re both already RSVPed.”

Ava inhaled through her teeth. “You’re turning a misunderstanding into marketing.”

“That’s literally your job,” Dana said.

The meeting ended with no survivors except Dana’s enthusiasm.

Back at her desk, Ava texted Evan.

Ava: We have to attend a gala tomorrow.

Evan: Define “we.”

Ava: You and me, apparently. Black tie.

Evan: I’ll find a tie. It might still be black under the coffee stains.

Ava: Try to look like an adult.

Evan: Rule #5: Look like you like each other.

Ava: That’s not what it means.

Evan: I’m interpreting creatively.

She muted the chat before he could continue.

Saturday night, the city glowed like it had polished itself for the event. Ava stepped out of the car, the navy dress hugging precision more than curves. She hated that her pulse stuttered when Evan appeared, hands in pockets, smile carved from mischief.

“You clean up well,” he said.

“So do you,” she said, too quickly.

He grinned. “Wow. A compliment before appetizers. Must be a record.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

They walked toward the museum steps, flashes exploding around them like lightning. Reporters called out questions.

“Ava! Evan! Are the rumors true?”

“How did you two meet?”

Ava smiled without answering. Rule #9: Always smile for the camera.

Evan leaned close, murmuring, “You’re scaring them with efficiency.”

“Smile wider,” she said between her teeth. “Maybe they’ll run out of film.”

Inside, the gala shimmered with artificial grace—crystal, champagne, and strategic laughter. Dana waved from a distance, mouthing, “Engage!”

Ava grabbed two flutes from a passing tray. “Drink this before I commit PR homicide.”

Evan clinked his glass against hers. “To rule-breaking.”

“Don’t,” she warned.

“Too late.”

They circulated through conversations like diplomats on different continents.  

“You two have incredible chemistry,” a fashion influencer gushed.  

Ava said, “We plan everything.”  

Evan said, “We plan nothing.”  

The influencer squealed. “Opposites attract!”

Ava sighed. “Disaster attracts hashtags.”

At the photo wall, Dana ambushed them again. “Just one picture. Relax.”

Ava exhaled. “I don’t do relax.”

Evan stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Permission?”

She hesitated, then nodded. His hand found her waist, gentle, practiced, devastating. The flash froze them together.

“Perfect,” the photographer said.

When the light faded, she stepped back. “You’re disturbingly good at this.”

“Fake dating?”

“Pretending,” she said.

He smiled. “Maybe we’re both pretending less than we think.”

Her pulse didn’t agree, but she ignored it.

Dinner blurred into speeches and applause. Every time Ava looked up, Evan was looking at her like she was the most fascinating problem he’d never solve.

After midnight, the crowd thinned. Outside, the air smelled of rain and leftover champagne.

“Mission accomplished,” he said. “No scandals, no casualties.”

“Yet,” she said, smiling despite herself.

He opened the car door for her. “For what it’s worth, you made pretending look effortless.”

“I was performing.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “So was I.”

The silence stretched, fragile as glass.

When she got home, she kicked off her heels and collapsed onto the couch. Her phone buzzed again—notifications stacked like dominoes.

HEADLINE: *THE FAKE COUPLE WE CAN’T STOP ROOTING FOR.*

Another: *Love, As Scheduled—Rule #1 Already Broken?*

She stared at the photo: Evan’s hand at her waist, her half-smile caught mid-breath.

She whispered, “Rule number one,” but it came out like confession, not command.