By morning, Ava’s face was everywhere. News outlets, gossip blogs, even marketing forums had replayed her laugh from the gala a hundred times over. Some called her “authentic.” Others called her “lucky.” Chloe called her “doomed.”  

“They’ve turned you into a rom-com meme,” Chloe said over video call, holding up her tablet to show a fan edit of Ava and Evan surrounded by floating hearts.  

“Great,” Ava muttered. “Exactly how I wanted to represent the company—an accidental emoji.”  

“Sweetheart, your brand awareness is off the charts.”  

“I’m aware. Trust me, I’ve been emailed about it twelve times already.”  

Chloe grinned. “And how’s your partner in crime handling fame?”  

“He’s probably still asleep.”  

“Liar. He’s probably retweeting compliments about his jawline.”  

Ava rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling. Still, every time she saw the photo—his hand at her waist, the easy way he looked at her—it made her stomach twist in a way spreadsheets couldn’t quantify.  

By noon, Marlene’s name flashed across her phone screen.  

“Ava! Phenomenal response! I booked you and Evan for a live interview tonight. Network prime time. Bring that smile!”  

“Marlene, I have six campaigns due this week—”  

“Cancel them. You’re not selling products anymore. You’re selling chemistry.”  

“Marlene!”  

Click. End of discussion.  

Ava stared at the phone like it had personally betrayed her. “Fantastic,” she said. “Now my career depends on pretending to like a man who eats pizza with a fork.”  

Hours later, she was standing backstage at the studio, every light in the building aimed at her nerves. Evan was already there, wearing a dark suit and his trademark grin, chatting casually with a sound tech. When he spotted her, his smile widened.  

“You look like someone about to perform surgery, not an interview.”  

“I prefer things that come with anesthesia.”  

“Too late for that.”  

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”  

“Immensely.”  

The producer called them over. “Alright, lovebirds, three minutes till we’re live.”  

Ava stiffened. “Lovebirds?”  

Evan leaned in, voice low. “Try not to hiss on camera.”  

“I don’t hiss.”  

“You hiss in email form.”

The studio lights blazed as they took their seats on the couch. The host, all teeth and enthusiasm, greeted the crowd.  

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the internet’s favorite couple—Ava Mitchell and Evan Brooks!”  

Applause thundered. Ava’s pulse kept time with it, each beat a reminder of how real this fake thing had become.

The questions started harmless. How did they meet? What was their secret to balancing work and love? Ava answered in perfect PR cadence. Evan derailed every answer with charm.  

“She organizes her closet by color,” he told the host.  

“That’s called efficiency.”  

“And she labels her spice jars alphabetically.”  

“It’s called hygiene.”  

The host laughed. “You two are adorable.”  

Ava smiled thinly. “We’re functional.”  

“Functionally adorable,” Evan said. The audience erupted.  

Then came the question she didn’t expect.  

“One last thing before we wrap,” the host said, eyes glinting. “Our viewers have one request—can we see that famous chemistry? Maybe a little kiss for the fans?”  

Ava’s heart stopped. “I don’t think that’s—”  

“Come on,” the host teased. “Just a moment for the camera!”  

The audience began to chant. Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!  

Evan turned to her, his smile softening. “It’s just for show,” he whispered.  

Except when he leaned in, nothing felt like a show.  

Her breath caught. The crowd, the lights, the noise—all faded. There was only the faint smell of his cologne, the warmth of his hand brushing her cheek, the quiet question in his eyes asking for permission she didn’t have time to give.  

Their lips met.  

It was meant to be staged, harmless, marketable. But the world tilted. The kiss was slow, deliberate, almost careful, as if he knew exactly how fragile the moment was. Heat surged up her neck; her pulse became a drum she couldn’t silence.  

Applause hit them like a wave. Evan pulled back first, still close enough for her to feel his breath.  

“Good performance,” he murmured.  

Ava blinked, dazed. “You’re insane.”  

“Maybe. But it sold the moment.”  

The host fanned herself dramatically. “Well, that answers that question!”  

Laughter filled the studio. The cameras zoomed in on Ava’s flushed face, capturing the split second where her practiced composure cracked into something dangerously genuine.  

Backstage chaos followed—producers gushing, assistants congratulating, Marlene’s voice over speakerphone screaming, “ICONIC!” Ava wanted to disappear.  

She grabbed a water bottle and paced. “That was not part of the plan.”  

Evan leaned against the wall, calm as ever. “Neither was last night’s smile.”  

“You can’t keep improvising my life.”  

He tilted his head. “Then stop making it worth improvising.”  

“Do you ever take anything seriously?”  

“Only when it involves you.”

Her throat tightened. “Stop.”  

“Stop what?”  

“Making this feel real.”  

He didn’t answer, just watched her, eyes softer than she’d ever seen them.  

Moments later, a production assistant burst in. “They want one more photo before you leave!”  

Ava forced a smile. “Of course.” She brushed past him, the scent of his cologne lingering like a ghost.

Outside, fans screamed their names. Cameras flashed. Evan waved easily; Ava smiled like she’d rehearsed it a thousand times. But inside, her heart refused to obey the script.  

Hours later, back in her apartment, she collapsed onto her couch, still half in makeup, still half in disbelief. Her phone buzzed non-stop—clips, gifs, headlines. One message stood out among the chaos.  

Evan: *We made good TV.*  

She typed, *We made a mess.*  

Evan: *Worth it.*  

Ava: *You broke Rule #1.*  

Evan: *Maybe you did too.*  

She stared at the screen, the city lights flickering through her window. The video replayed in her mind—the warmth, the applause, the second she stopped pretending.  

Her phone buzzed again.  

Evan: *Sweet dreams, Mitchell.*  

She set it down, but the smile lingered, uninvited.  

For the first time, she didn’t know where the performance ended and the feeling began.