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I was presenting myself as cool, calm, and collected, but internally, I was freaking the fuck out. Faking a relationship with Maggie was just a way to put off the inevitable a little bit. A Band-Aid of sorts. I planned to find a permanent way out of the damn thing well before the required mating… I just had no idea what the hell that would be yet.

Maggie chewed on her bottom lip. “How about this? We met, I tolerated you, now I regret everything.”

“Very Hallmark. But I think the audience will want more romantic tension.”

Mid-eye roll, she stilled and tapped her pen slowly against the notebook. “Why me, Roman?” she asked softly. “Why tell your whole pack we’re together?”

My mouth opened, but nothing came out. So I did what I do best: I deflected.

“Because if I had to emotionally blackmail someone into fake love, it was either you or Doris. And Doris hates shifters, so I just don’t think it would work out between us.” I laughed, but inside I was unraveling.

I didn’t want Seraphina back. I didn’t want another arranged match, or some power-hungry she-wolf’s claws in my life. I didn’t want to feel like a pawn in Lucien’s glitter-coated chess game. With Maggie, it was… different. She didn’t pretend. She didn’t perform. It was a nice change. And I didn’t feel like I had to perform either. That scared the shit out of me.

But I couldn’t say that. So I smiled.

She tilted her head and studied me. “Final rule.”

“Hit me.”

“No falling in love.”

I grinned. “I’ll jot that down. In erasable ink.”

Her eye twitched, and her cheeks flushed. I pretended not to notice. We shook on it. Her hand was so small and warm in mine. I meant to let go quickly, but I didn’t. She tugged out of my grasp a second later, cheeks even redder.

“Your hand is really hot. You should get that checked.”

“Thermal superiority is a known werewolf trait,” I said solemnly.

To cut the tension, I launched into a “couple selfie” session, declaring that lighting was everything and arguing that shirtless pics were more believable. Maggie nailed me in the face with a pillow and told me to shut up before she reported me to the Better Roommate Bureau.

“What’s the deal with Seraphina?” she asked.

I hated talking about Seraphina. Hated remembering what it had been like to feel like a side character in someone else’s fantasy. But Maggie had agreed to this madness, so she deserved the truth.

“Our relationship was political,” I said. “Her parents are high up in pack hierarchy. Everyone thought we’d be the perfect power match. And she’s—” I exhaled. “Seraphina is beautiful and smart, but she never actually saw me. She wanted to build a brand, not a relationship. And I was convenient. We started out as roommates and fell into a relationship—at least, that’s what I thought. She’s ambitious, and I had connections she wanted. While I was falling for her, she was maneuvering.”

Maggie nodded as she absorbed that. “So, why’d you take on another roommate? You clearly like being alone.”

I shrugged. “I realized… maybe I’m not going to find the kind of romantic connection I want. So, I thought maybe it’d be better to have someone here who could still give me something. Company. Connection without all the pressure.”

She studied my face for a long time. “Have you ever been in love?”

It took me a second to answer. I sighed. “Her name was Willow. We were kids. Grew up together. She understood me in a way no one else ever has. We were together all through high school, but then her family moved, and our lives… didn’t align after that.”

“And you never got over it.”

I didn’t respond. I didn’t need to. Maggie was quiet again. Then, like she needed a way out of the conversation, she grabbed my phone and started scrolling through our selfies.

She snorted and tossed me my phone. “This is going to be a disaster.” Then she disappeared into her room, the door clicking softly behind her.

I stood alone in the middle of our chaotic, shared life, my heart still beating too fast, my hand still warm from hers.

I was kind of looking forward to a disaster.

Feeling accomplished wasn’t exactly my default setting, but I was riding the high. Yesterday, Maggie and I had successfully navigated the roommate version of a DTR conversation—Define The Relationship, but in our case, fake dating. And more importantly, she hadn’t stabbed me with a fork or set ground rules that included separate ZIP codes.

I counted that as a win.