MY FAKE BOYFRIEND MY BILLIONAIRE HUSBAND

I paced back and forth in the outer room of the Rosewood Hotel’s ballroom, the most luxurious place in the city, trying to convince myself this was a good idea. Hiring an actor to be my boyfriend for the day wasn’t a bad thing, although ridiculous, but I didn’t have any other option.

My ex-boyfriend was getting married to my fake best friend of all people. So yeah, I just experienced the "scumbag boyfriend and the fake bestie" novel/drama saga, except it isn’t a novel or drama, but my own life.

Alas, there isn't anything else I can do. I originally planned to ignore them, because who hadn't made poor judgment in their youth? Also, I couldn’t because Lucia made a point to call me to invite me, but I didn’t pick up. Then she resorted to inviting me again during the class reunion, embarrassing me in front of my previous classmates. Honestly, as my previous best friend, she knew what to say to make me abandon all reasoning.

So, in the heat of the moment, I agreed to make an appearance with my new boyfriend—who, in honesty, I don’t have. Being my bestie previously, she didn’t believe me. She just laughed and said, “I can’t wait to meet him then.” I wanted to slap my mouth for what I had just said. Not only was she present, but other classmates chimed in as well, saying they couldn’t wait to see who could possibly charm their school beauty.

Now I had no other choice than to go to the wedding ceremony with my boyfriend. I can’t possibly back out and claim it to be a lie, can I? No matter what, Lucia mustn’t get entertainment from my life.

When it came to Mark, my ex-boyfriend, I had to pretend a lot during our relationship. I pretended I didn’t notice his frivolous ways, pretended I didn’t know about his bad habits and, yes, pretended I didn’t know about his relationship with Lucia.

I could still remember the day I decided to visit Mark unannounced. I didn’t have to knock because I had a spare key, which he doesn't really like me using, but that day I couldn’t care less. My heart pounded as I opened the door with a click sound.

Upon entering the bedroom, my soul almost left my body upon what I saw—my best friend Lucia, whom I trusted, and the man who was supposed to be my love. He was sitting at the edge of the bed shirtless, pants pulled down halfway, and my bestie Lucia in sexy lingerie in between his legs.

“Mark!” I managed to shout.

They both froze for a second, not expecting to see me here. He let out a sigh and without any shred of warmth or remorse, he said indifferently, “Ariana... we won’t hide this anymore.” My chest tightened; I felt like I was struck by a bolt of lightning.

“You, you...” I pointed with heavy breaths.

“Ariana,” Lucy started, staring at me with a smug look, but then changed her expression. “We truly love each other. Please don’t be angry.”

I couldn’t contain my anger, nor could I believe my ears. In a fit of anger, I raised my hand and struck her across her face. She held her cheek, sobbing and mumbling, “I’m sorry.” Mark’s face changed drastically and he gave a scumbag-worthy novel line: “Lucia is not at fault. If you want to hit someone, hit me. I’m the one who wronged you,” holding Lucia in his arms like she was an egg.

I felt ridiculous. I had seen the signs, but I pretended not to simply because I had too much love for him, and now it had come back to bite me.

My phone buzzed and I returned back to reality. It was a message from the actor I had hired. It read: (There is traffic on the way, I’ll be there in 10 minutes.) I felt frustrated at the actor's professionalism. I didn’t ask him to pick me from home; all he had to do was come to the venue, and he was late at that. What an unprofessional actor.

Ariana, aren't you coming in?" Cassy, one of my ex-college friends, asked me. She was present during the class reunion and scanned me from head to toe, asking in a mocking tone, "Where is your boyfriend?"

I put on a fake smile that didn't reach my eyes and said casually, "He's on his way; traffic held him down. I'll see you inside." Cassy gave me a mocking smile before tossing her hair and walking in, leaving a "don't make us wait long to meet your mysterious boyfriend."

The frustration that just vanished appeared again, but I had to calm myself down; they aren't worth my anger. I was just about to send a message to the actor and I received a message from him instead: 'I'm here.' Letting out a sigh of relief, I texted, 'I'm in the outer room.'

Few minutes later he arrived and I was surprised, elated, and satisfied with his looks, body, and aura. He was tall, well over six feet. He wasn't just tall, he was aware of his tallness and carried himself with ease. He had naturally broad shoulders—like he isn't the type to be intimidated by the world—with long legs, a strong frame, and unhurried movement.

His face carries a structure of well-defined jaw, high cheekbones, and his lips look firm—the kind that looks serious until a single smile whisks one soul away. And yet, the most dangerously handsome part of him were his brown eyes. Deep and focused, they don't just wander around—they strategize. And my God, I felt pulled into his eyes.

His hair was dark and I could perceive the faint smell of expensive cologne and leather, and thought to myself how lucky I was. Although he was unprofessionally late, at least he looked the part: handsome, rich, and responsible. I was greatly satisfied.

I didn't offer any greetings as I grabbed his arm, pulling him into the ballroom and chided, "You're late. I'm supposed to deduct your balance, but seeing how much you've invested in your looks to look the part, I'll forgive you. And if you perform well and I'm satisfied, I'll increase your pay."

He frowned, looking confused. "Excuse me?"

I answered impatiently, "Don't worry, I'm the one who hired you, no confusion. So, just to be safe: I'm Ariana, 25 years old. The couple getting married are my ex-boyfriend and ex-best friend, and I hired you because I told them I had a hot boyfriend. So don't embarrass me inside. We just need to act like a couple for the night with a few pecks, nothing overly intimate “