The polished metal walls reflected their image, tidy but relaxed. She glanced at their mirrored selves and something warm fluttered in her stomach. Same them, just in better clothes.
An idea sparked.
“Wait,” she said, pulling out her phone. “Let’s take a photo.”
He didn’t move, just tightened his arm around her as she leaned in. She lifted her phone and clicked—and just as she did, he dipped his head and kissed her hair.
The photo was perfect. Casual. Intimate. Real.
She stared at it on the screen, thumb hovering over the image, brushing it like it was something fragile. Something important.
“What’s going on?” Ilias asked, his voice soft and low.
“I just…” She hesitated, then whispered more to herself than to him. “I liked how we looked.”
His eyes locked on hers, hazel and unreadable. Focused.
“How did we look, habiba?” he asked.
She chewed on her bottom lip, the heat crawling up her chest. How could she explain it? That flicker of something more. That ache for a future where none of this was pretend. A future where she could just say it, out loud and raw, that she was in love with him.
But she had said it, right? Just a couple of hours before, she had confessed, hidden behind the pretend blanket of their fake relationship. But she had meant it. Maybe not in love already, but she was pretty head over heels for him.
She blinked, swallowed, forced a smile. “We looked cute.”
The elevator dinged, breaking the spell. They stepped into the hallway.
“You make me look good,” Ilias murmured, teasing, but something deeper hummed beneath his voice.
Back in the room, they started to change for the beach. Ilias’ boards leaned awkwardly in the corner like oversized props. Sofia sat at the edge of the bed, checking her phone. Notifications buzzed from all directions—TikTok, Instagram, Twitter—photos, clips, quotes from the panel, all tagging them.
“Look.” She showed him the screen, her voice tight. “Jamie and the marketing team are going to be thrilled.”
Ilias moved behind her, chin lowering to her shoulder as he peered at the feed. His body heat wrapped around her.
“It was fun,” he muttered. “But damn, I hate social media.”
“Do you think it’ll always be like this?” she asked, her voice softer now. Her fingers scrolled through photos, selfies with fans, press shots from the stage, a short clip of Ilias laughing as she nudged him.
“When we signed that contract,” he said, straightening, “we pressed pause on our private lives. We just have to protect it. After that…” He shrugged. “We’ll decide what happens next.”
We.
The word sat heavy in the air.
Sofia kept scrolling. Her thumb froze on a comment: “I can’t believe Daddy Ilias is taken. He should’ve been warmingmybed tonight.”
Her scowl was instant. “God. People are gross.”
Ilias laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve read worse. My DMs are something else.”
Jealousy. Sharp and sudden. She didn’t even know where it came from, but it was there, gripping her gut.
“I try to block the annoying ones. Usually just dudes,” she said, too casually.
“Men and women,” he teased, gesturing to himself. “I’m lucky, I guess.”
She turned to face him, some knot tightening in her chest. The silence stretched, a quiet, pulsing beat of tension.
