contractually yours

“Holy—” Layla gasped, skidding to a stop in front of the counter. Her latte splashed onto the wooden floor, a dripping puddle that matched the mess her life felt like. She tugged down the brim of her faded baseball cap and tried to tamp down her racing heart. Of all mornings to run into Derek, why today? Derek Lane stood two feet away, perfectly composed in a crisp navy coat and a tailored scarf. His dark hair was swept back just so; his boots were polished. He looked like he’d stepped out of a fashion magazine, not like the guy who had broken her heart three months ago with an offhand “we’re just not compatible.” He held his cup of cappuccino as if it were a peace offering—or a judgment. Layla’s cheeks flamed. She wiped at the coffee stain on her sweatshirt—only smearing it. She was a wreck in every sense: unwashed hair tucked under that cap, mismatched socks poking out from scuffed sneakers. She hadn’t even bothered with makeup. Just mascara. Bad decision. Now it clumped below on

"Okay, this might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done," Layla said, waving her phone like it was a live grenade.They sat on her tiny living room floor, surrounded by open takeout boxes, a mostly melted pint of chocolate ice cream, and Ethan’s MacBook. The air smelled like garlic noodles and vanilla candles. Her laptop was open too, with Instagram pulled up and a photo already loaded."You’ve clearly never tried zip-lining in the rain with no helmet," Ethan replied, popping a spring roll into his mouth."You did that?""No," he grinned. "But it sounds more dangerous than fake dating a woman who has strong opinions about fonts and eats ice cream straight from the carton."Layla pointed her spoon at him. "Watch it. That woman also controls your online image now."Ethan held up both hands in surrender, still smiling. "Fair. But can we talk about how you actually made us a contract?""Fake Relationship Contract," Layla corrected, reaching into a folder and sliding out the paper like it wa

Ethan’s phone buzzed on the kitchen counter, the sharp ping of a dating app notification breaking through the quiet as he finished washing his coffee mug. He froze, water dripping from his fingers, before reaching for the screen. A match. Zoe. Her profile picture was cute, bright eyes and a crooked smile. The kind of girl he would've considered before Layla tangled her way into his life with Post-it notes and sarcasm. He stared at the screen, thumb hovering. This wasn’t a betrayal. It wasn’t even real. He and Layla weren’t real. Just a well-choreographed lie for mutual benefit. Right? So he typed back: "Hey, Zoe. Nice to meet you." --- The rooftop event was too trendy for Ethan's taste. Fairy lights zigzagged above the crowd, indie music thumped softly under the buzz of conversation, and people held cocktail glasses like accessories. Layla thrived in it. She wore a burnt orange jumpsuit with wide legs and a plunging neckline that made Ethan forget the safe things he normally thoug

Ethan stood outside Layla’s apartment door balancing two cardboard coffee cups in one hand and a paper bag tucked under his arm. He had spent the entire drive over telling himself it was just coffee, just a casual thank-you for last night, nothing more. But the memory of her laugh at the wedding, the way she had looked in that green "trouble" dress under the reception lights, kept intruding, turning “casual” into something dangerously close to personal.He’d dropped her off after the wedding, said goodnight like a gentleman, and gone home like he was supposed to. But the space between them now felt heavier than before, and he couldn’t quite shake the need to see her again — so here he was.He knocked twice, heart pounding harder than it should have for a man who’d been in front of a hundred wedding guests the night before giving a best man speech.The door opened slowly, and there she was—hair messy from sleep, one side of her oversized T-shirt slipping down to reveal her shoulder. Sh

Layla’s phone buzzed on her nightstand just as she was slipping into bed. She squinted at the screen, the blue glow lighting her tired face.Ethan: "Did you survive lunch with your friends?"She let out a quiet laugh, biting her lip. Of course he remembered. Of course he had the nerve to phrase it like she’d just endured a combat mission instead of gossip over overpriced salads.Her thumbs hovered above the screen as she typed, erased, and re-typed. She didn’t want to sound too defensive, but she also didn’t want him to think she’d been raving about him. Because she hadn’t… right?Finally, she wrote: "Barely. They interrogated me like FBI agents who skipped breakfast."The “typing” dots popped up almost immediately, and that made her heart jolt faster than she cared to admit. He was waiting for her reply."And what did you tell them, fake girlfriend?"Layla groaned, burying her face in her pillow. He had to phrase it that way, didn’t he? Fake girlfriend. Like he needed to remind her t