By Monday morning, my "brilliant" lie was starting to feel less like quick thinking and more like social suicide.

Work was my sanctuary, my territory. Here, I didn't have to dodge questions about my personal life or pretend to be someone I wasn't. Here, I could bury myself in spreadsheets and contracts and be safely, blissfully single.

At least, that was the plan.

"Morning, Mia," called Jared from marketing, waving a coffee at me. "Did you see the WolfeTech press release?"

I kept walking toward my glass-walled office. "Nope. Not interested."

He jogged to keep up. "They're presenting at the National Expansion Summit. Guess who's leading the pitch?"

"I don't care."

"Liam Wolfe."

I stopped mid-stride. "Of course he is."

The man was everywhere lately business blogs, industry panels, even on the cover of Tech Innovators Monthly. And every time I saw his stupidly perfect jawline and confident smirk, I remembered the way he'd smiled at me the day he poached my client, like he'd just won a championship.

I'd sworn then that I'd never speak to him unless it was to tell him I'd beaten him.

But now...

I stared at the photo on Jared's tablet. Liam in a perfectly tailored suit, shaking hands with some investor. He looked like the kind of man who could sell air to a drowning person and he was exactly the sort of guy my family would believe I was dating.

If only he didn't make my blood boil.

By lunchtime, I was at my desk, staring at an email draft I'd typed and deleted five times.

Subject: A mutually beneficial proposal.

I hated that I was even considering this. But the reunion was in five days. I had two options: show up with a random hired actor who might forget the story we agreed on or... rope in someone who was smart, quick, and could keep up the act without breaking a sweat.

Someone like Liam.

I typed faster before I could talk myself out of it.

Liam,

We both have... situations that could be improved with the right arrangement. I have a family event that requires a convincing partner. You have a business image to maintain for your upcoming pitch. Let's discuss a short-term... collaboration.

Mia Cross

I hit send and immediately regretted every life choice that had led me here.

An hour later, my phone buzzed. Unknown number.

"Mia Cross," I answered.

"Collaboration?" The voice was deep, amused, and irritatingly familiar. "I almost thought it was a joke."

"Liam Wolfe," I said flatly.

"To what do I owe the honor?"

"I already told you. I need a... temporary husband."

A pause. Then, laughter. "You're serious."

"Dead serious. It's just for a weekend. You pretend to adore me in front of my family, I pretend to think you're a decent human being in front of your investors."

"You do know I have options, right?"

"So do I," I lied.

Another pause. Then: "Dinner tonight. We'll discuss terms."

Before I could argue, he hung up.

I stared at my phone.

What had I just done?

If I'd been hoping Liam Wolfe would pick a discreet place for our "business dinner," I was wrong.

The restaurant was one of those dimly lit, ultra-modern spots where every glass cost more than my electricity bill and the waiters looked like they'd stepped off a runway. The kind of place where half the patrons were investors, and the other half were there to be seen by investors.

I spotted him instantly sitting at a corner table like he owned it, suit perfectly cut, dark hair just tousled enough to look accidental. He was scrolling through his phone, a half-smile on his lips, as if even his texts were winning.

"You're late," he said when I approached.

"You picked a place with valet parking and a three-story waitlist. You're lucky I made it at all."

His smile widened slightly. "Still making excuses, Cross?"

I ignored him and sat down. "Let's just get this over with."

The waiter appeared as if summoned by our mutual disdain. Wine was poured, menus presented, and then Liam leaned back in his chair like a man settling into a negotiation he knew he'd win.

"So," he said, "tell me why I should pretend to be the man of your dreams."

I folded my arms. "It's not about dreams. It's about survival. My family reunion is this weekend. If I show up single, my mother will set me up with her dentist's nephew, and I'll spend the rest of the year dodging calls about double dates."

Liam's eyes glinted with amusement. "Tragic."

"And you," I continued, "are up for the biggest deal of your career. The board loves a stable, family-oriented image. You showing up with me on your arm says: here's a man who's settled, trustworthy, grounded."

He studied me for a moment, then set down his wine. "Okay. But you're leaving something out."

I raised an eyebrow. "Such as?"

"Why me?" His voice dropped just enough to make the question dangerous. "You could've found an actor. A friend. Someone you actually like."

The truth? Because Liam was the only person I knew who could match me move for move in a room full of sharks and because deep down, some part of me wanted to see if we could survive a weekend without killing each other.

"Because," I said finally, "I need someone convincing. And you're infuriatingly convincing."

A slow smile spread across his face. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Cross."

We hammered out the terms over overpriced pasta. No real intimacy outside of what was necessary to keep up appearances. No personal questions that strayed too far into private territory. A strict end date: Sunday night.

"And in exchange," he said, swirling his wine, "you'll play the doting wife at the investor dinner Friday. Smile when I need you to, laugh at my jokes, make me look like a man who's worth trusting with their money."

"Done."

When the check came, he didn't even glance at it before sliding his card across the table. "I'll pick you up Friday afternoon."

"Fine." I stood.

But as we stepped out into the cool night air, he stopped me with a hand on my arm. His touch was light, but it sent a jolt straight through me.

"One more thing," he said, voice low. "If we're doing this, we do it well. That means you look at me like I'm the only man in the room. You hold my hand like you don't want to let go. You kiss me like it's real."

I swallowed. "And you?"

He smiled, slow and deliberate. "I'll make you believe it's real."

By the time Friday rolled around, I'd convinced myself that I was ready. I had rehearsed our story, picked out the perfect "effortlessly in love" outfit, and reminded myself that this was just business.

Then Liam pulled up in a black Mercedes, stepped out in a dark suit that looked like it had been stitched by angels, and I nearly forgot how to breathe.

"Afternoon, Mrs. Wolfe," he said with a smirk.

I rolled my eyes. "Don't get ahead of yourself."

The drive to my family's lake house was two hours of pointed small talk. We ran through our backstory met at a tech conference, bonded over our shared hatred for terrible coffee, started dating six months ago. He'd "proposed" last month over dinner.

"And why exactly did I propose?" Liam asked, glancing at me.

"Because you couldn't imagine your life without me," I said sweetly.

His mouth curved into a grin. "Good answer."

When we finally turned into the long gravel driveway, I could already see the crowd gathered on the porch. My mother was waving like a ship spotting land. My father was polishing his glasses his tell when he was preparing to evaluate someone.

"This is going to be fun," Liam murmured, and I wasn't sure if he meant for me or for him.

The moment we stepped out of the car, Mom rushed over and hugged me so tightly I could barely breathe. Then she turned to Liam, eyes sparkling. "So this is the man who's stolen our Mia's heart."

Liam turned on the charm like flipping a switch. "It's an honor, Mrs. Cross. I've heard so much about you." He took her hand and kissed it.

Her cheeks flushed. My mother. Flushed.

Dad shook his hand firmly, sizing him up. "What do you do, son?"

"I run WolfeTech," Liam said with the perfect mix of humility and confidence. "But more importantly, I try to make Mia laugh at least once a day."

I almost choked. Where had that come from?

Inside, the interrogation began. Aunt Carol wanted to know when the wedding was. My cousin Julia asked if Liam had any single friends. Grandma quizzed him about his favorite pies. And through it all, Liam was smooth, attentive, and annoyingly convincing.

At one point, Mom pulled me into the kitchen under the pretense of "helping with the salad."

"He's perfect," she whispered.

I forced a smile. "I know."

Back in the living room, I caught Liam talking to my father, heads bent over some fishing magazine like old friends. When his eyes found mine across the room, he gave me a look a subtle, questioning tilt of his head that somehow felt like we were the only two people there.

Later, during dinner, my cousin brought out an ancient family tradition: the Newlywed Quiz.

"Oh, we're not " I started, but Liam was already leaning in. "We're game."

They asked him my favorite movie. He said The Princess Bride. Correct. Favorite ice cream? Mint chocolate chip. Correct again. The story of our first kiss? He made it up on the spot something about rain and streetlights and told it so well that even I almost believed it.

By the end of the night, my cheeks hurt from smiling and my pulse was doing strange things every time Liam touched my hand under the table.

It was supposed to be an act. So why did it feel so real?