The moment I sent the message, the chat box went quiet.

At the same time, more comments flashed before my eyes.

[This imposter is too greedy, trying to become a kept woman from day one.]

[Too bad this guy hates greedy women. He likes ambitious girls.]

[Just wait, he's not going to reply. He despises people like this.]

A knot of panic tightened in my chest. I quickly typed out another message: [What I mean is, I want to drop out to study for the SATs again. Could you help me with that?]

Seconds ticked by. I stared at the screen, my palms sweating. One minute. Two minutes.

Just as I started to worry that he had figured out I wasn't who I said I was and would never reply again, a new message popped up: [I can.]

The day after I received that message, I got a phone call. The man on the phone introduced himself as Miles Thorne, Mr. Vaughn's assistant. He asked me to bring my ID and meet him at a high-end coffee shop near campus to discuss my plan to retake the SAT.

Even though Brielle had never revealed any personal information during their chats, I was a nervous wreck the whole way there. I only relaxed a little when I saw Miles—a man in his thirties, looking sharp and professional in a tailored suit and glasses.

Miles got straight to the point. He said Mr. Vaughn had arranged everything: the top SAT tutoring team in the country, a luxury apartment for me in Northwood's Waterfront District during my studies, and all the test prep materials and courses he could find.

I was stunned. "Isn't this... a little much?"

Miles smiled politely. "Mr. Vaughn's instructions were: 'Fulfill her every need.'"

I nearly burst into tears right there. No one had ever done anything like this for me. When I failed to get into a good university the first time, my parents barely did anything—they just sent me to the cheapest community college they could find on the outskirts of Northwood.

Miles handed me a stack of documents to sign: a lease for a furnished apartment and registration forms for the tutoring center, along with a thick binder of course materials. I signed every single one.

Before I left, Miles added, "Mr. Vaughn is currently overseeing a merger in Europe. He won't be back in the US for at least a year."

I secretly searched for the name online.

Miles had made it sound like some small-time operation, but when the words "Vaughn Sterling Holdings" filled my screen, I was floored. Small-time? He had to be kidding me.

Callum was worth more than all the rich kids Brielle had ever dated combined. And that face? More handsome than any celebrity.

[It's over, now this fraud knows his real identity, she'll never let go.]

[Back off, you fraud! That man is Brielle's!]

[Don't worry, everyone. As soon as he finds out she's not Brielle, he'll cut her off completely.]

The words "cut her off" snapped me back to reality. Callum would come back for Brielle one day, that was certain. But until then? I was going to be the perfect online girlfriend. I was going to treat Callum as my own personal sugar daddy.

I immediately grabbed my phone and sent Callum a flood of thanks and sweet nothings. In my haste, a line I never meant to send slipped out: [Thank you for giving me this chance, Daddy. I swear I'll repay you.]

By the time I realized what I had written, it was too late to take it back. I was so dead.

My cover was about to be blown, and I was going to lose my shot at Kingsbridge University before I even took the SAT.

Just as I was freaking out, Callum replied with a single word: [Okay.]

[Wait, he's into that?!]

[Of course he is. This man loves it when an obedient girl calls him Daddy. Brielle could never do that.]

[Alright, I'm officially shipping this couple.]

From then on, I leaned into the role completely. I would send Callum good morning texts every morning. Every night, I would tell him what I had studied that day. I eased into calling him Daddy, and he always replied—sometimes with a single word, sometimes with a whole paragraph about his day.

Miles also visited me regularly to make sure I wanted for nothing. The apartment was beautiful, the tutors were top-notch, and my SAT scores were soaring.

One day, Miles showed up with a dozen shopping bags. "Mr. Vaughn felt your current wardrobe wasn't quite suitable for the woman representing him in Northwood," he said, setting down the bags. "He told me to take you shopping, but I figured you'd rather stay home and study, so I picked out a few things."

I stared at the labels of the top designer brands. I had never worn anything this nice in my life.

I sent a picture to Callum, hesitated, then added: [Daddy, I love all the clothes Miles bought me today. Which outfit do you want me to wear tomorrow?]

Callum: [The first one, the black one.]

From that day on, I started reporting every detail of my life to him, no matter how small. I asked for his opinion on what to wear and where to go, sent him my location wherever I was without being asked, and even told him when I was having a sip of water. It turned out Callum really was a major control freak, and as long as I obeyed him, he was always in a good mood.

Miles was incredibly efficient. In less than a week, all the paperwork for my withdrawal from community college was complete. When everyone in the dorm found out I was leaving, they all gathered around to ask what I planned to do after dropping out.

Brielle was right there, so of course I wasn't going to tell them the truth. I said, "My boyfriend says there's no future in community college. He wants me to come home and says he'll support me."

Seeing my giddy, love-struck act, my other two roommates were immediately horrified.