I barely slept that night, tossing and turning as my mind raced through increasingly terrifying scenarios. By morning, I had convinced myself that the text could be from anyone—a prank from one of Ava's friends who was in on our scheme, or perhaps Daniel trying to trip me up. The alternative—that there was actually someone calling himself Ethan who had seen our post—was too unsettling to consider.
Ava had stayed over, passed out on my couch after spending hours crafting additional posts and backstory for our fictional relationship. When I shuffled into the living room at seven, she was already awake, hunched over her laptop with dark circles under her eyes.
"Morning," she said without looking up. "You look terrible."
"Thanks." I made a beeline for the coffee maker. "Have you been up all night?"
"Just since five." She rubbed her eyes. "I've been doing some digging on that text. The number isn't registered to anyone specific—it's one of those virtual numbers you can get from an app."
I poured coffee into the largest mug I owned. "So it could be anyone."
"Exactly. Which means it's probably someone messing with you. Maybe Daniel or one of his friends."
I stared into my coffee. "I'm not going to that coffee shop."
Ava closed her laptop. "Of course you're not. It could be dangerous."
The fact that she agreed with me so readily was almost as unsettling as the text itself. I had expected Ava to push me to go, to see who was behind the message.
"But," she continued, "I am. I'll get there early, scope out the place, see who shows up. If it's someone sketchy, I'll leave. If it's someone we know, I'll confront them."
"Absolutely not," I protested. "This whole thing has gone far enough. We need to delete the posts and pretend it never happened."
Ava shook her head. "Too late for that. Over two hundred people have already seen it, including everyone in Daniel and Sophia's circle. Deleting it now would just make you look desperate—like you got caught in a lie."
She was right, and that made me feel worse. "This is such a mess."
"It's going to be fine," Ava assured me, though she looked far from convinced. "I'll handle the coffee shop meeting. You focus on damage control."
"What does that mean?"
"It means you need to shower, put on actual clothes, and go into your office today. Act normal. If anyone mentions the post, just smile and say you've been keeping your relationship private while it developed."
I groaned. "I can't lie to people's faces."
"Sure you can," Ava said cheerfully. "Everyone does it all the time. 'Love the haircut.' 'This meal is delicious.' 'I'm fine.' White lies are the social lubricant that keeps the world turning."
"This is more than a white lie," I pointed out. "This is a full-color, high-definition, artificially generated lie."
Ava stood up and stretched. "Just think of it as a creative visualization exercise. Fake it till you make it. Now, are you going to shower or should I hose you down myself?"
---
Two hours later, I was at my desk at Prism Design, trying to focus on the website mockups for a financial app while my mind kept drifting to Sight glass Coffee. Ava had texted when she arrived, then again when she'd secured a table with a view of the entrance. It was now 10:15, and I hadn't heard anything since.
"So," came a voice from behind me, "were you planning to tell anyone about your secret billionaire boyfriend, or were we all supposed to find out via Instagram?"
I turned to find Leila, one of the few colleagues I still considered a friend, leaning against my cubicle wall with an amused expression. As the head of UX research, she spent most of her time in the field with clients, which meant she had been blessedly absent during the worst of the Daniel-Sophia fallout.
"It's... complicated," I managed, trying to recall Ava's advice about keeping it vague.
"I'll bet." Leila sat on the edge of my desk. "Ethan Blackwood, huh? Sounds like he walked straight out of a romance novel."
My cheeks warmed. "He's very private. We wanted to keep things quiet until we were sure."
"And now you're sure?" Leila raised an eyebrow. "He seems intense. Those eyes in that beach photo—like he's looking right through you."
The AI had done its job too well. "He's actually quite warm once you get to know him," I found myself saying, as if we were discussing a real person.
Leila studied me for a moment. "You seem different. Happier."
The observation caught me off guard. Was I happier pretending to be in a relationship than I had been wallowing in my misery? What did that say about me?
My phone buzzed with a text, saving me from having to respond. It was from Ava:
Someone just walked in. Tall, dark hair, expensive suit. Looking around like he's meeting someone.
My heart rate doubled. Is it Daniel? I typed back quickly.
No. Never seen him before. Very hot.
Before I could respond, another text came through:
Holy shit. He just approached my table and asked if I'm Maya Chen.
I felt like I might pass out. LEAVE NOW.
Too late. He knows I'm your sister. Said he recognized me from photos on your Instagram. He seems to know a lot about you.
I clutched my phone so hard my knuckles turned white. What does he want?
He wants to meet you. Says it's important. Maya, I think this might be the real Ethan Blackwood.
The room tilted slightly. I gripped the edge of my desk to steady myself.
That's impossible, I typed. The AI combined different faces. He can't be real.
Google "Ethan Blackwood Nexus Technologies" right now.
With trembling fingers, I opened my browser and typed the search terms. The results loaded instantly—news articles, business profiles, and images of a man who looked disturbingly similar to our AI creation. The same dark hair, the same intense blue eyes, even the same slight crook in his nose that we had thought added character to our fictional boyfriend.
Ethan Blackwood was real. He was the 34-year-old CEO of Nexus Technologies, a rising star in the medical technology sector who had indeed graduated from MIT and launched a revolutionary medical scanning software. The company was valued at over $800 million, and he was featured in last month's issue of Forbes as one of the entrepreneurs to watch.
And somehow, I had created a fake relationship with him without realizing he actually existed.
My phone buzzed again:
He wants to meet you today. Says it's urgent and concerns both your reputations. What should I tell him?
I felt sick. This was no longer a harmless deception; it was potentially libelous. I could lose my job, face legal action, become completely unemployable in the industry. All because I had been too hurt and angry to just delete that stupid wedding invitation and move on with my life like a normal adult.
Tell him I'll meet him, I typed back. Where and when?
He suggested The Line Hotel lobby at 1 PM. Public place, but discreet.
I looked at my watch. That gave me just over two hours to prepare for what would likely be the most humiliating encounter of my life.
OK. I'll be there. And Ava?
Yes?
If I don't text you by 2 PM, call the police.
---
The Line Hotel was sleek and modern, all glass and polished concrete with minimalist furniture that likely cost more than my monthly rent. I had changed into the most professional outfit I owned—a charcoal pencil skirt and cream silk blouse that I reserved for client presentations—and had spent twenty minutes in the office bathroom applying makeup with shaking hands.
I spotted him immediately as I entered the lobby. He sat in a corner arrangement of low-slung leather chairs, an open laptop on the table in front of him. He was taller than the AI version, his presence commanding even while seated. His tailored navy suit probably cost more than my entire wardrobe.
For a wild moment, I considered turning around and fleeing. But then he looked up, those startlingly blue eyes meeting mine across the room, and I knew it was too late. He had seen me, and there was nothing to do but face the consequences of my actions.
I approached his table on legs that felt disconnected from my body. He stood as I neared, and I was struck by his height—at least six foot two, towering over my five-foot-four frame. Up close, I could see the differences between him and our creation: a small scar near his right eyebrow, slightly broader shoulders, a more angular jaw. Similar, but not identical—which somehow made the situation even more mortifying.
"Ms. Chen," he said, his voice deeper than I had imagined. "Thank you for meeting me."
I swallowed hard. "Mr. Blackwood. I can explain—"
He held up a hand to stop me. "I think I already understand the situation. You created a fictional relationship with me without realizing I actually existed. The question is why, and what we're going to do about it."
The direct approach caught me off guard. I had prepared a groveling apology, ready to beg him not to sue me into oblivion. His calm assessment of the situation left me momentarily speechless.
"Please, sit," he said, gesturing to the chair across from him.
I sank into it, clutching my purse like a shield. "First, I want to say I'm incredibly sorry. This was never meant to—"
"I'm not interested in apologies," he interrupted, closing his laptop. "I'm interested in solutions. Your post has been seen by several of my business associates who now believe we're in a relationship. This creates complications for both of us."
I nodded, mortified. "I understand. I'll delete everything immediately and make a public retraction—"
"That would be the worst possible approach," he said sharply. "A retraction would only draw more attention and raise questions about why you fabricated a relationship with me in the first place. Questions that would reflect poorly on both of us."
I stared at him, confused. "Then what do you suggest?"
Something shifted in his expression—a calculating look that made me suddenly wary.
"I propose we continue the charade," he said simply. "For our mutual benefit."
Of all the things I had expected him to say, that wasn't even on the list. I was sure I had misheard him.
"You want to... pretend to date me?" I asked incredulously.
"Precisely." He leaned forward slightly. "I have my reasons, as I'm sure you had yours for creating this fiction in the first place. I suspect it has something to do with the wedding invitation on your coffee table."
The blood drained from my face. "How do you know about that?"
A small, satisfied smile played at the corner of his mouth. "Your sister is quite forthcoming after a cappuccino. Perhaps next time you send her to meet a stranger on your behalf, you should brief her more thoroughly on what not to reveal."
I made a mental note to kill Ava later. "What exactly are you proposing, Mr. Blackwood?"
"A mutually beneficial arrangement," he replied. "Three months of a convincing public relationship, after which we'll amicably part ways. During that time, you'll accompany me to certain events, and I'll do the same for you. Including, I presume, the wedding that has you so distressed."
I felt like I had stepped into an alternate reality. "Why would you want to do this?"
His eyes met mine, cool and assessing. "Let's just say I have my reasons. Business reasons. The question is, Maya Chen, are you willing to continue the deception you started?"
The way he said my name sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. A warning, perhaps, that I was about to make another terrible decision.
"What if I say no?" I asked, trying to sound braver than I felt.
"Then I'll leave this hotel and we'll both handle the fallout of your post as best we can," he said with a shrug that suggested he would weather the storm far better than I would. "But I think we both know that won't be your choice."
He was right, and that knowledge settled like a weight in my stomach. I had created this mess, and now I was being offered an unusual escape route—one that might actually let me save face with Daniel and Sophia.
"If I agree," I said carefully, "there would have to be terms. Boundaries."
"Of course," he replied smoothly. "I'll have my assistant draft a contract."
"A contract?" I echoed.
"I prefer clarity in all my arrangements," he said, standing abruptly. "Do we have a preliminary agreement?"
He extended his hand across the table. I stared at it for a moment, knowing that taking it would set me on a path I couldn't easily turn back from. Yet what choice did I have?
I placed my hand in his, feeling his warm, firm grip envelop mine. "Yes," I said, sealing my fate. "We have an agreement."
"Excellent." Something that might have been satisfaction flickered in his eyes. "My assistant will contact you tomorrow with details. For now, I suggest we make our arrangement look more convincing."
Before I could ask what he meant, he pulled out his phone and sat beside me on the small sofa, his arm brushing mine.
"Smile," he instructed, holding up the phone for a selfie. "After all, new couples document everything these days."
I managed a stunned smile as he snapped the photo, acutely aware of his cologne—something subtle and expensive—and the solid warmth of his body next to mine.
"Perfect," he murmured, reviewing the image. "The first of many, I imagine."
As he stood to leave, he paused, looking down at me with an unreadable expression. "I'm curious, Ms. Chen. Of all the fictional men you could have created, why did you choose to become entangled with me?"
The question hung between us, loaded with implications I wasn't prepared to address.
"I didn't choose you," I said finally. "I didn't even know you existed until today."
He studied me for a moment longer, then nodded, as if confirming something to himself. "Until tomorrow, then."
I watched him walk away, his confident stride carrying him through the lobby and out the revolving door. Only when he had disappeared from view did I release the breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
My phone buzzed with a notification. I looked down to see that Ethan Blackwood—the real one—had posted our selfie with the caption: "Business meetings don't usually end this well. #LuckiestMan"
And just like that, our fiction had become reality—or at least, a carefully crafted version of it. I had no idea what I had just agreed to, but I had a sinking feeling that this arrangement was going to be far more complicated than anything Ava and I had envisioned.