Romans & histoires Fake Dating With Benefits｜my Billionaire Boss

Each title was more sensational than the last, packed with the kind of buzzwords that went viral online: “Exposing the Male Boss Who Used Employees’ Hard-Earned Benefits to Buy Supercar.” “Gen Z Fixes the Workplace: Revealing the Fake Rich-Kid Boss.” “Red Flag! This Company’s Benefits Are All Empty Promises—Boss Pocketed the Team Trip Fund.” “Guys, am I wrong for demanding the money that rightfully belongs to us?” … Every post was paired with carefully edited videos and photos. There was my luxury car parked in the garage, the limited-edition briefcase in my office, even the expensive cufflinks I sometimes left on my desk.

That she’d dated me for two years and then, within weeks of the breakup, had appeared on the arm of my billionaire CEO. I framed it as an observation. It sounded, even as I was saying it, like something else. Marcus had nodded and refilled his glass and changed the subject and I’d gone home and slept reasonably well and woken up Monday morning and told myself it was just conversation. By Wednesday the shape of the story had reached Daniel.

“You want to fake date me.” “I want a mutually beneficial arrangement.” He taps the paper. “I get my family off my back. You get your reputation restored. People see you with me, they forget Ryan’s rumors. You’re no longer the clingy ex. You’re Adrian Knight’s partner.” “For six months.” “Six months. Then we part ways. No mess, no drama, no feelings.” I stare at him. At this man who followed me into an elevator two weeks ago and told me I wasn’t ordinary. Who just fired Ryan for spreading rumors about me. Who’s now sitting here proposing the most insane thing I’ve ever heard.

“You hired someone to stand beside you, to look convincing, and to make your ex sweat. I did that. So why does my identity suddenly matter?” My laugh came out sharp - almost hysterical. “Because I did not hire you,” I said. “I hired a fake fiancé, and now I’m standing here with a real billionaire who apparently knew my name, my scandal, and my family before I even opened my door.” His expression did not change. “And?” he asked. “And?” I echoed. “And it feels like everything else about you is fake too.” His gaze hardened just a little. “It doesn’t matter what’s real or fake about me,” he said, his voice smooth but with steel underneath. “What matters is that I did exactly what you paid for.”

However, when I opened that social media post again, the new comments made my heart clench tightly. "If you don't believe me, that's your problem. No matter how 'devoted' a man is, deep down he's still ruled by what's below his waist. They're getting married in a few days, but he's still coming over to be with me tonight. "By the way, he used his connections to quietly get his girlfriend laid off at work. Why? So I could take her spot. She's unemployed now, and he only gives her 20,000 dollars a month. I get 100,000 dollars."

"That's where I was this morning… training session." It was barely believable, but it was better than the truth: I was meeting with a billionaire CEO who wants to pay me fifty million dollars to fake-marry him for six months, and I'm also secretly his employee who's been lying to him about my identity. Mom looked skeptical but slightly less horrified. The prostitute theory was apparently off the table, which was something at least. "It's a very exclusive club," I said desperately, my voice going up an octave. "They have specific... aesthetic requirements. The owner is very particular about the image. High-end clientele, you know? They want us to look polished and professional."

"Natalia..." "Absolutely not." I set the mug down. "You want me to work for Roman Volkov. Roman Volkov, who I met approximately..." I think about the bar. The hotel room. The foam slippers. The vomiting. "Who I have a complicated history with. Who I have known for less than forty eight hours. You want me to be his assistant." "You have a degree in accounting..." "That is not the point..." "You need income..." "There are other ways to get income..."

When she was done, Bethany held her by the hair and dragged her out of the compound. "Please Bethany!" "Stop!" Bethany turned around to find her husband there with the man he'd been in a meeting with. Steven Richards walked over to where his wife stood, and whispered, "How dumb can you be? what do you want Mr Jerome to think of us? you'd better let this girl go now" Bethany was quite displeased, but she didn't want Jerome to think ill of them, he was about to be her husband's business partner and they must not lose him, after all, he was The Jerome Ken, the youngest billionaire in the whole of X City.

A headline filled the display. Billionaire Nathaniel Frost’s Loyal Assistant Humiliates Him at His Engagement Dinner. I stared at it. What the hell? “It’s everywhere,” Camilla said. “Someone posted it less than an hour ago. News pages are already sharing it.” I scrolled through the comments. She really thought she was going to marry her boss. The audacity of this assistant. He’s marrying a woman from his own circle, and she’s throwing a tantrum. She looks like the kind of woman who mistakes basic kindness for love. Embarrassing.

“Fine. But you’re staying here tonight.” Bella nodded. She knew she couldn’t escape the deadline forever. At 7:42 p.m., Bella slipped into the bathroom with her phone. A new message appeared. Eight o’clock. The old warehouse on Creek Road. Come alone. She stared at it. Another message followed. If you don’t show up, we’ll send the pictures to your billionaire fiancé. Let’s see how long he’ll keep pretending to love you. Bella’s blood ran cold. Pictures?