Andrew had always been a private person—especially when it came to anything resembling a romantic relationship. Fame had a way of turning the smallest personal detail into public property, and he’d learned early that the only way to keep something real was to keep it hidden. Flings stayed quiet, feelings stayed quieter, and whatever happened in his life stayed firmly behind closed doors. His fans knew his music, his shows, the occasional carefully curated interview. But they didn’t know him, not really. And he preferred it that way. Except for you.Because you weren’t just part of his life—you had always been the part that mattered. The one he thought about more than he would ever admit, the one whose smile could make a bad day disappear, the one he had fallen for quietly, painfully, entirely. That truth had lived in the back of his mind for months, maybe years, and he’d never let anyone see it. Not the public, not the press, not even you. So when his label and manager sat him down for what they called a “career conversation,” Andrew already had a bad feeling about it. They talked numbers first—tour projections, streaming growth, media coverage—everything framed in the polished language of people who treated his life like a brand. Then the real suggestion came out. Not a scandal, not a controversy. Something much simpler. Something they thought would be just perfect for his image. You. His best friend. The idea was packaged as harmless. A soft public romance. A few appearances together, some photos, the occasional mention in interviews, maybe a kiss. Nothing too dramatic, nothing messy—just enough to give fans something to talk about. According to them, audiences loved a love story. It made artists more relatable. More human. Better for the charts. Andrew hated it immediately. Not because he didn’t know if you would go for it—he did.. You were the type of friend to play along with some manufactured PR stunt just on the chance that it could help him, and that was even more reason that you deserved better than being someone else’s storyline. But mostly, he hated it because it forced him to put on a mask over something he hadn’t meant to admit even to himself: he was in love with you. Completely, unshakably, impossibly. And now the world would be watching. But the label had already decided. Contracts were mentioned. Tour timing.Upcoming press cycles. The way they spoke about it made it clear this wasn’t really a suggestion at all. So now, officially—at least to the world—you were Andrew’s partner. There would be rules. Public appearances. Carefully timed posts. His hand on your waist whenever cameras were around. Everything to make it believable. Privately, though? That part was supposed to be simple. Just pretend. Except pretending especially with you was going to be harder than anything he’d ever done. Because every glance, every touch, every laugh reminded him that this wasn’t pretend for him. It never had been. The moment the decision became official, something inside him shifted. Now the world thought you were his partner. Which meant it wouldn’t be questioned if his hand lingered at the small of your back, it would be expected. No one would look twice if he leaned closer to you in a crowded room. You would just assume the way his eyes softened when he looked at you… was all simply part of the act. And maybe that was the most dangerous part of all. Alice is a book author