I just want to make one thing perfectly clear to everyone:

This is not a date.

Today, I'm meeting the only person crazy enough to respond to my ad, the one who accepted the job as my fake lover to help me piss off my dad so badly he might finally leave me alone.

And yet, here I am, standing in front of the mirror while busy adjusting my collar, making sure I look presentable. Not because I'm trying to impress the guy or something, of course, but I want the person to feel that whatever our arrangement we have, it's strictly business.

Completely professional, and no strings attached.

After all, he's supposed to pretend to be my lover, so it's only fair that I lay down a few ground rules to keep this fake relationship from spiraling into something far beyond the original plan. Because I know, for someone like me who isn't easily attracted to anyone, I'm pretty sure falling in love won't be a problem, especially not with a guy who's only pretending to be my lover.

"Sir Eric?"

My attention suddenly shifted from my reflection in the mirror to my father's steward. He was standing at the doorway, carrying a brown folder containing the details of my engagement.

"Your father asked me to give you this," he said. "He wants you to look it over and prepare."

I sighed heavily upon seeing the brown folder. I didn't even want to touch it. I mean, what was the point? I had zero interest in getting married, let alone reviewing the details of my own arranged marriage. It was just a waste of time.

"Can't I just do that later? Maybe after my scheduled appointment?" I tried to bargain with the steward, even though I already knew the answer.

"My apologies, Sir Eric," the steward responded respectfully, "Your father was particular with his instructions. He wants you to look at it now."

Of course he does.

"Fine," I frustratedly muttered, then I took the folder from him with all the heaviness of my heart and flipped the folder open.

The first thing that greeted me was a large, glossy photo of my supposed fiancée.

I paused.

Okay, I'll admit it, she was indeed beautiful, the kind of woman you'd probably see in some top-tier perfume commercials. She has a pair of stunning green eyes, a perfect, delicate smile, and flawless skin. She's also well-educated, at the top of her class from a well-known university, and already successful in running her late father's business empire all by herself. She was indeed the type of woman any guy would be lucky to marry.

Any guy, yes...but not me. Despite her beauty, there's no spark of interest within me.

And that's precisely one of the problems, aside from being arranged into marriage forcefully.

By the way, the woman in the photo was Annette, the daughter of my father's late best friend, who passed away five years ago from an accident. Apparently, before the man died, my father made some kind of grand promise to "take care of his best friend's daughter."

And this whole engagement thing that forces me to marry Annette was my father's brilliant idea of keeping that promise.

So yes, my plan to get a fake lover isn't just about pissing off my father, it's about avoiding bigger problems in the future. At least this way, I can put an end to my father's unreasonable madness and stop this innocent woman from being tied to someone like me, who would never love her back. She deserves someone better, someone who can actually love her.

But of course, I couldn't say any of that out loud. So instead, I slid the folder straight into my drawer and said, "Okay, I'll think about it. I'll talk to Dad when I get back from my meeting."

The steward gave a polite bow and responded, "That will be noted, sir. I'll let your father know."

"Yeah, sure," I muttered, already grabbing my wallet and turning away before he could say anything else. Then, I headed straight downstairs to the lobby, where a taxi was already waiting.

Yeah, a taxi.

It's not like I can't drive or something, it's just a safer option. Practically, everyone who works for our family reports to my father, and I don't want even a single word getting back to him about what I'm up to.

So when I saw the taxi, I immediately climbed into the back seat and leaned forward slightly.

"Master Brews Coffee Shop, please. The one next to the 11th Avenue Building."

The driver just nodded and pulled out the car into the street. As the taxi rolled into the city traffic, I pulled out my phone and checked the messages. Then, a new notification blinked on the screen, the one from Tooth Fairy himself.

To be honest, why Tooth Fairy? With so many possible usernames, that one seemed really out of place for a guy.

Anyway, I pushed that thought aside and focused on his message.

Tooth Fairy: I'll be at Master Brews at 2 PM. I'll reserve the corner table by the window. I am wearing a black shirt.

That's what my soon-to-be fake boyfriend said. His texts were short and direct, but also frustratingly vague. A black shirt-really? Was that supposed to be enough for a detail? What if half the café was full of people wearing black shirts? How am I supposed to find him?

That's when I started typing my reply with a heavy sigh:

Eric25: Just a black shirt? Nothing else? BTW, I'm wearing a white turtle neck sweater and a black jacket, no print.

Then, I hit send. A minute later, my phone buzzed again with a new notification from Tooth Fairy.

Tooth Fairy: Just a plain black shirt. You do know what a black shirt looks like, right? Or should I wear a name tag so you can actually find me?

I stared at the screen and felt insulted. "Do I look like I don't know how to recognize a black shirt?" I muttered, trying to stop myself from reacting negatively. But I chose to take a deep breath and let my fingers do the talking.

Eric25: No name tag needed. Corner table by the window, right? Just stay where you are. I'm already on my way. See you soon.

After hitting send, I leaned back against the taxi seat and let out a deep sigh. Socializing with strangers was so exhausting! Isn't it strange how just texting could feel like you'd already run a marathon?

I slipped my phone back into my pocket. I was just about to close my eyes while the taxi was making its way through the traffic. But then my phone buzzed again. I tried to ignore it, but in the end, my curiosity won. I had to see what he had replied.

That's when I stared at the screen, suddenly stunned.

Tooth Fairy: Okay. See you. Be careful on your way.

My cheeks warmed up unexpectedly, and strangely enough, a tingly, unfamiliar feeling somehow filled up my chest.