THE CEO'S MARRIAGE PROPOSAL

The kitchen of Jessica's family fried chicken restaurant roared with sizzling oil, the crackling sound almost loud enough to drown out her father's voice. Almost.

"Jessica! Another order for table five! Hurry!"

"I'm on it, Dad!" Jessica Robert yelled back, balancing three baskets of golden-brown chicken wings on her arm. The familiar smell of fried batter and garlic-soy glaze clung to her hair and clothes. She set the trays down on the serving counter, wiped her hands on her apron, and brushed the sweat off her forehead.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Once. Twice. Then a stream of impatient vibrations, as though the device itself were panicking.

Jessica ignored it, reaching for a stack of napkins.

"jessica," her mother's voice came from behind, exasperated, "if you don't answer that thing, I'll throw it into the fryer!"

Rolling her eyes, Jessica snatched her phone. "Hello?"

"Jessica! You have to save me!" came Sophia Wilson's frantic voice.

Jessica groaned. "What is it this time? Please tell me you didn't lock yourself in the tanning booth again."

"This is serious!" Sophia wailed. "My father set me up on a blind date tonight. With some rich jerk. He says if I don't show up, I'll regret it. I can't go!"

"So cancel."

"I tried! He's sending a driver. He'll probably drag me there himself."

Jessica shook her head, already sensing where this was going. "No. Absolutely not. Don't even think about asking-"

"Please, Jessica! Just go as me. Pretend to be me for one night. Make him hate me. I'll owe you forever!"

"I'm not a magician! And what if this guy is a complete psycho?"

"Then you'll never have to see him again. Perfect outcome!"

Jessica pressed her palm against her forehead. This was ridiculous. Her friend always dragged her into schemes, but this... this was outrageous.

"Jessica," Sophia's voice softened into her most dangerous weapon: pleading sweetness. "Remember that karaoke night when your ex showed up drunk? Who pulled you out the back door in four-inch heels? Who lied to his face and told him you'd joined a convent?"

"Ugh." Jessica squeezed her eyes shut. "Fine! But if I get fired, you're paying my rent."

"You're the best!" Young-seo squealed. "Driver's on the way. Wear something nice!"

The line clicked dead.

Jessica stared at her phone in despair. "I'm doomed."

Two hours later, Jessica sat before a glittering vanity in Sophia's bedroom. Everything about the room screamed wealth-plush carpet, designer shoes lined like soldiers, a perfume collection worth more than Jessica's monthly rent.

And then there was Jessica's reflection.

Her familiar, bare face was gone. In its place: flawless foundation, smoky eyeliner, rosy lips. Her hair fell in sleek waves around her shoulders.

"Do I really need all this makeup?" she muttered.

Sophia circled her like a stylist before a runway show. "Yes. You're me tonight. Which means elegant, poised, irresistible."

"Or insane," Jessica corrected. "The goal is to scare him off, right?"

"Exactly!" Sophia grinned. She pulled a dress from her closet, a shimmering midnight-blue slip that Ha-ri would never have dared to buy. "Here. Try this."

Jessica wriggled into it, tugging nervously at the hem. The fabric clung to her in a way that made her blush.

"Too much," she whispered.

"Perfect," Jessica countered, fastening a diamond necklace around her neck. "Just say something weird, like you collect voodoo dolls or you believe in alien boyfriends. Easy."

Jessica scowled. "Easy for you to say. You were born looking like a magazine cover. I... I look like a chicken delivery girl in borrowed clothes."

Sophia placed her hands firmly on Jessica's shoulders. "You look stunning. Trust me."

Jessica sighed, clutching the glittering clutch her friend shoved at her. "If I crash and burn, I'm haunting you."

"You'll thank me later."

But as the driver pulled up outside in a sleek black car, Jessica had a sinking feeling she'd regret this forever.

The hotel restaurant was the kind of place Jessica had only seen in dramas. Chandeliers spilled golden light across tables draped in white linen. Waiters glided like dancers, balancing trays of wine glasses.

Her heels clicked nervously against polished marble as she followed the hostess toward a private booth at the far end. Her clutch felt like a fragile shield, her pulse hammering in her throat.

Just act weird. Eat, drink, be unlikable. He'll run. Easy.

Then she saw him.

The man was already seated, posture perfect, navy suit hugging his tall frame. Even before he looked up, she felt his presence. Powerful. Intimidating.

When his gaze lifted, her breath hitched.

He was gorgeous. Devastatingly, terrifyingly gorgeous. Sharp jawline, dark eyes that seemed to strip away pretenses, lips pressed into a cool line.

"Miss Sophia Wilson?" His voice was low, controlled, with the faintest edge of boredom.

Jessica forced a too-bright smile and slid into the seat across from him. "That's me. The one and only."

His gaze lingered, assessing, as though he could see through her disguise. Her palms grew slick against her clutch.

He's just another rich heir. Spoiled and arrogant. I can do this.

The waiter poured wine. Jessica snatched her glass and gulped half of it in one go.

The man's eyebrow rose. "Thirsty?"

"Very," she shot back, forcing a smirk. "I hate small talk. Let's skip to the fun part.