Fake Scenarios Novels & Stories

"Or is it only okay when it is business?" "No, it is not okay because this is scary; this ploy is too scary." I had never seen Marcus this way, and I was also scared. It was scary to think that I was stepping into unnamed territory with nothing but fake documents and staged accidents. The fake documents plot had failed woefully.

I had to navigate carefully, treading the line between evasion and selective truth. "It's a new app," I blurted out. "I thought it was a dating app, but it turned out to be one of those online scams. I made a terrible mistake by giving the app administrative control, and as a result, my bank account was completely emptied. It left me unable to pay rent, so I had no choice but to move out temporarily. I'm taking the necessary steps to rectify the situation. I've already deleted the app and I'm working closely with my bank to resolve the financial issues. I'm determined to get back on my feet, and I assure you, I'll be fine by next month. Please don't worry about me."

No attempts to fix it. Just silent company in the dark.

If only he had seen the desperation behind her calm facade… He snatched his phone, his fingers flying as he sent a frantic barrage of messages. [Where are you?] [Come back. Can we please talk?] [I can explain, Grace. The ceremony was fake. You're my only mate!] [Please, don't ignore me…] The messages vanished one after another, like stones tossed into a deep ocean, met with total silence. The only sound was the soft swoosh of his own outgoing texts, echoing in the empty house. He’d never imagined she would actually leave.

My stomach flipped. I reread the line at least twenty-three times, as if it would suddenly change to, "Just kidding! Singles welcome! We love lonely intellectuals with control issues!" But no. I was stuck. I mean... it was just a small lie, right? I wasn’t hurting anyone. And it was for a good cause—my research on emotional intimacy in long-term relationships. I needed this grant. I needed peace. I needed the space. I just… needed a fake husband.

And if he could find those… He might be able to build a fake leak. A decoy. Drop it before the real one. Rewrite the narrative. Rewrite the clock. Rewrite the game.

That for the first time in five years, my body worked the way it should? I start typing more. Me: I shouldn't have said that. I was panicking. Trying to do the right thing. But kissing you wasn't a mistake. It was the most real thing I've felt in years. We need to talk tonight, please… My finger moves to the send button. And stops. What am I doing? This is a fake relationship, an arrangement. She's pretending to be my mate to keep her secret safe. I'm using her to satisfy my father's ultimatum and see if Darko's instincts are right.

I smile wryly, imagining how my therapist would react if I told her that this was how I was using the techniques she taught me. I imagine how that conversation would go: Me: So, I got invited to an Italian mobster’s private yacht party, and I’m worried I won’t fit in. Her: Let’s work through this fear. Ok, let’s imagine you don’t fit in. What’s the worst thing that could happen? Me: He’d kill me. Her: What? Me: Well, the worst-case scenario is that he’d find out that I was only pretending to be a stripper sent to him for a Valentine's Day candygram.

A slow grin spread on the first man's face once again. "Why are we in the fucking 21st century? We use AI, and after our balance is transferred, we run away before she discovers any mischief." Within the next hour, they visited an ally, whose area of specialization was creating fake images. He created an image so disturbingly realistic it could fool anyone. It was a fatal car crash that had blood pooling from Sarah's head. Her lifeless body was hanging upside down from the driver's seat amidst broken glasses and twisted metal. It was perfect.