Novel & Cerita Faking Straight

I warn, hating how my voice cracks. I’m terrified, and I’m bad at hiding it. They know, because my hand is literally shaking right in front of them. “What a pleasant surprise,” one of them mutters. His voice, I recognize it as the first male, the man‑whore. “Drogo’s pet?” “She faked it,” the one next to him says. “I thought she fainted, but that was all to get away. Smart move, girl.” Don’t tell me they were among those men in the room. I didn’t know their faces because I didn’t care to take a careful moment to look.

Stacy sat down in the waiting area, tapping her foot as she looked around. A few minutes passed before the man stepped out. He looked serious, holding the folder in one hand. "Miss Stacy..."he said with a frown. "Are you kidding me?" Stacy looked up, confused. "What do you mean?" He walked closer and placed the folder back on the counter with a thud. "These documents are forged. They’re fake." She blinked in shock "What? That’s not possible. What do you mean fake?" “I mean someone played you,” he said, clearly annoyed. “These documents aren’t real. The signatures, the stamps, the numbers… all of it. Fake. The Sinclairs scammed you.”

Just coordinates, dropped like a soldier’s orders. I stared until the screen dimmed, pulse thudding in my throat. Fake dating. It had sounded clinical when we’d agreed last night, but seeing it spelled out in black and white made it real. Real enough to make me feel like I was about to step into a storm I couldn’t control. ⸻

Emma whispered, turning her chair to face Florence as soon as their coworker left the room. “Hmm?” Florence replied, not giving her much attention since she was certain Emma was going to share another cheap gossip about Scott. “Well, you’ll probably want to give me more attention for this one,” Emma teased, crossing her arms in front of her chest and staring at Florence until she dropped whatever she was doing and gave Emma her full attention. Florence took a deep breath and put on her best fake smile.

- What will you do? - Process it. I have your original résumé here and I'm going to talk to Heitor Casanova, asking for a copy of your fake résumé. I have proof of the way you slandered me. North B.'s own CEO will be my witness. So buddy, you're fucked. - The women looked at me, with a face of astonishment. “I mean 'screwed'” I tried to correct the wording. - I mean, you're very, very complicated.

She flashes me a very bright but fake smile. "I want to withdraw a large sum of money" I say, confident and classy like I've seen all those wealthy women Anthony does business with do. She arches an eyebrow as she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm "Do you have an account with us?" "Yes" I snap "My husband and I have multiple accounts here. He's Anthony Trevalyan" As expected, her eyes widen as her expression of fake politeness morphs rather quickly into one of shock. Her eyes sweep up and down me again, this time she looks both in awe and with disbelief.

"It's not manipulation if it's the truth." He tossed the brace on the couch and let out a sigh. "Most people break up over one-night stands and texts. You stage a car accident and bribe a doctor." “Well, something has to work," I muttered. He laughed sharply. "You need help." "Guess, you’re my help." Ashley adjusted his stethoscope around his neck. “Lucky me.” He examined the fake reports he had drawn up—dislocated shoulder, minor back strain, nerve compression. All believable. All temporary.

I reached the hallway leading to the guest bathrooms and leaned against the wall for a moment, shutting my eyes as I took a breath— That’s when I heard them two women. “Oh please,” one of them scoffed. “Everyone knows she’s barren. That pregnancy is staged.” My heart stopped. The other woman gasped softly. “You mean she’s faking the damn pregnancy? That's wild! So Richardson announced a fake pregnancy to the entire Mafia family and no one is questioning that?" “Of course she is. Why else would Richardson suddenly marry a nobody? Politics, dear. It’s all politics. She’s nothing more than a decorative wife. Nothing important.”

The hands were strapless and it was tight at the top but loose at the bottom. We all nodded, our nerves and excitement building to a fever pitch. We made our way downstairs to the garage where the driver had already parked, waiting for us. As we took our places in the fancy van. I couldn't help but feel a sense of surrealism wash over me. Here I was, about to fake marry a man I didn't love, all for the sake of a money and a good life. Was I doing the right thing?

Like he did not know what to do, nor what to say. ‘Laugh it off.’ Shira suggested. I laughed. A fake, put on laughter, all for the benefit of Zaine. “Too much drink, again, I think.” I rested my head upon his shoulder and he smiled. “Yeah?” His expression was unreadable. “Imagine tolerating you for longer than I needed to.” He quickly added, all but repeating my earlier words, and I smiled, glad that he wasn’t making this awkward. He seemed to have taken the get out I had offered. He did not want to use my offer of a fake relationship to trick his parents so he was not forced into an arranged marriage. I understood that. We were good as friends. I cannot imagine us as anything else, fake or