Five years in Hollywood, and I was still a nobody. Despite the resources thrown my way, I had zero heat. I was the definition of a flop. Defeated, I had no choice but to bow to my parents’ wishes and go home for an arranged marriage. My fiancé hated me. He refused to show up for the wedding rehearsal and called me instead to lay down the law. "Hello. Listen, I have someone I like. Don't waste your time on me." "You can go find whoever you want. I won't interfere." "This marriage is strictly a transaction. We divorce in one year. Get your head right, and don't come crying to me when it’s time to sign the papers." He laid out his rules and hung up immediately. I stood outside his study, deep in thought. Why? Because inside his study, the walls were covered in my merch. 1 I changed my name to break into the industry on my own, grinding for five years. But due to my "cold" constitution—or maybe just bad luck—I never popped off. So, I had to compromise. I agreed to the family merger. The guy was Liam Sterling. The eldest son of the Sterling empire. Cold, ruthless, a shark in a suit. My friends warned me. They said Liam had the face of a siren—dangerously attractive, making you let your guard down—but inside, he was ice. He only cared about profit. "Faye, honestly, everyone feels bad for you," my friend said over the phone. "Marrying a heartless robot like that? You're in for a miserable life." I gripped my phone, silent for a long moment, before letting out a bitter laugh. After hanging up, I opened my social media backend. I went to the drafts folder and finally hit "Post" on the retirement statement I’d prepared months ago. 2 Even though I was D-list, I had a few die-hard fans. As soon as the retirement post went up, the familiar IDs flooded my DMs. Among the wall of text, a user named "Q" stood out. I knew this guy. Too well. For the past five years, every time I posted, he was the first to like and comment. He was my OG stan. He had top-tier gear, too. Every candid photo he took of me was 4K quality. He dropped serious cash on my promo campaigns, so the other dozen fans affectionately called him "Sugar Daddy Q." I clicked on his profile. His pinned post was a fan-cam edit of me, and a video of him trying to learn my hand-dance choreography. He never showed his face, but his movements were serious, bordering on clumsy. It was cute. But what stuck with me were his comments. No flowery poetry, no cringe pick-up lines. Just one simple, stubborn sentence, every single time: I hope you’re happy today. But today, he broke character. The text box was filled with a massive paragraph. He wrote about how he stumbled upon my videos during the darkest time of his life. How a random sentence I said helped him survive a sleepless night. How his hands shook with excitement every time he saw a notification from me. In the end, he used every ounce of his courage to say: "I’m sorry if this is overstepping." "But I want to tell you that to me, you are a light. You are the straw that saved a drowning man. You are the reason I kept going." "For the past five years, knowing you existed made me happy." "Nina, you are as important to me as my own life." (Note: Nina was my stage name). I stared at the screen. I noticed typos. He must have been typing frantically, his fingers trembling, maybe even breaking down as he hit the keys. I read his essay, my eyes stinging. I typed back a genuine reply: "Thank you for five years of support and love. I hope you stay happy too. Maybe our paths will cross one day." 3 After replying to every DM, I took a deep breath, swallowed the lump in my throat, and got ready to deactivate the account. That’s when I saw my fiancé’s name trending at #1. #LiamSterlingCryingInCar Curious, I clicked the hashtag. A ten-second video auto-played. The dim streetlights illuminated Liam’s chiseled profile. His lashes were lowered, his shoulders shaking. Tears were visibly streaming down his face. He radiated a shattering, desperate heartbreak. The comments section was in shambles. "OMG, the Demon CEO is crying? Did the sun rise in the west?" "LMAO, I thought he was possessed. That looked painful." "Whatever possessed Mr. Sterling, please leave his body immediately..." "But seriously, what could make a cold-blooded capitalist cry like that?" People started guessing. Some said the forced marriage broke him. Some said work stress. I didn't care. I scrolled past, disinterested, and went to deal with my agent. 4 At 2 AM, I dragged my exhausted body home. I checked my phone and saw a friend request. It was the crying man from the trending topic. The verification message was two words: "Liam Sterling." I hesitated, checked his profile. Black avatar. Blank bio. Username "Z." He gave off strong "do not approach" energy. Rubbing my temples, I accepted. Liam immediately sent a voice note. His tone was icy, distant. Like he was dealing with a pest he couldn't exterminate, barely maintaining basic manners. "Miss Faye, hello. I am your fiancé, Liam Sterling." I hate voice notes. I typed back: "Hello." Liam didn't care for small talk. He went straight for the jugular. "I have someone I love. I will only ever love her. So, after we marry, do not waste your time on me." "Our marriage is a business deal. I’m fine with an open marriage. You can find whoever you want. I won't interfere, and you won't interfere with me." "Faye, I heard from your father that you have a first love who is currently abroad. I travel often. I don’t mind taking you with me to create opportunities for you two to meet." I paused. Was he serious? "You mean... you'll be my wingman? So I can cheat on you with my ex?" Liam: "Yes. Exactly." "I don't want you clinging to me. It’s safer for me if you’re obsessed with someone else." "..." I didn't know what to say. "Okay, keep going. What else?" Liam: "Remember, this marriage lasts one year." "One year, then we divorce. Don't make a scene. Don't cry and refuse to sign. It’ll be embarrassing for both families." Me: "Sure. Don't worry, I won't." Hearing my guarantee, Liam seemed to exhale. "By the way, Faye." "We don't need a wedding ceremony. And obviously, no marital duties in the bedroom." "We don't need to announce the marriage publicly. Keeping it low-key is better for both of us." I had no objections. After listing his demands, Liam went silent for a long time. Probably checking if he missed anything. Fifteen minutes later: "That's all for now." "Sorry, Faye. I’m a businessman. I don't trust verbal agreements." "To prevent you from backing out, I’m drafting a contract. We sign it. Okay?" "It covers assets, the one-year limit, the no-sex clause, and my assistance in helping you see your ex." Me: "Sure, Liam. Send it over." Liam: "I'll have it ready by tomorrow morning." I thought for a second. "Should we meet before we get the marriage license?" Liam rejected me instantly. "No need. Waste of time. We have nothing to say to each other. See you in three days at City Hall." Fine by me. "Okay. Sounds good." 5 Liam was terrified I’d change my mind, so he was efficient. He emailed the digital draft at 4 AM. Then, shockingly, at 6 AM, he personally delivered the hard copy to my house. While my dad made small talk with him in the living room, my mom dragged me out of bed to brush my teeth. I hid at the top of the stairs, toothbrush in mouth, peeking at Liam. He looked exactly like my friend described. Sitting on the leather sofa, legs crossed, wearing a tailored black suit that screamed money. He had that aesthetic bone structure—cold, abstinence-vibes sexy. I could see why my dad picked him. But then, I spotted it. Peeking out from under his expensive cuff was a cheap, braided pink wristband. Electric Pink was my fandom color. So, the top-tier alpha CEO likes wearing cute pink accessories? Interesting.
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