Chapter 1: The Jealous Fiancée from Dubai
The fake diamond on Luna's ring sparkled so aggressively under the fluorescent light, it looked like it was trying to blind her on purpose.
"Relax," she told it, spinning the heavy metal around her finger. "You're engaged to a billionaire. Try to act expensive without screaming about it."
She stood in front of her vanity mirror, surrounded by luxury she didn't own: a pristine black dress, blood-red stilettos, a velvet clutch with a gold clasp. Every item she wore tonight—the jewelry, the heels, even the perfume clouding the air—had a receipt attached to someone else's name. Her client's. It was part of the contract. She wasn't just playing the role. She was fully costumed for it.
Her phone buzzed. Caleb. Caleb Sun, her regular client. Rich. Playboy. Entitled.
U here? She's already inside. Wearing red. U know what to do.
Luna rolled her eyes so hard she nearly saw her brain.
"Of course she's wearing red," she muttered. "It's always red. These girls treat luxury events like bloodsport."
She grabbed her sunglasses—just for effect, it was 8:43 PM—and gave herself one last glance in the mirror. The ring sparkled. Her lashes held. Her expression said "money and mood swings."
She took a breath and, in her best fake Dubai-girl accent, whispered to her reflection:
"Sweetheart, I don't care if she was your ex. You are mine now. And I don't share."
A beat. A wink. Then, dropping the act: "Disgusting. She's gonna eat this up."
---
The venue was a hotel ballroom in Bonifacio Global City—seven valets, two violinists, and a chandelier bigger than her apartment. Luna didn't belong there, but that was the point. She looked like she did. That was the service.
She glided through the glass doors like she wasn't carrying a clutch that cost more than her family's rent. Eyes followed. Some admiring, some judging. None aware that every thread on her body came with strings.
Caleb stood near a marble column, scrolling through his phone, radiating rich-boy boredom. His navy suit was crisp. His hair was perfect. His attention span was not.
"Wow," he said, giving her a once-over. "You look insane."
Luna smiled. "That's the vibe. Psycho with taste."
He handed her a champagne flute and pointed with his chin.
"Bianca. Bar. Red dress. She's been texting me nonstop."
Luna took the glass but didn't drink. "Double rate. I had to re-glue my lashes twice."
"Done. Just don't throw anything this time."
She smirked. Then turned toward the bar, where the enemy awaited.
Bianca was impossible to miss: tall, glowing, terrifyingly perfect. Her red dress hugged her like it had signed a contract. She clocked Luna the second she stepped into range.
"Oh," Luna said brightly. "You must be Bianca. I've heard so much."
Bianca blinked. "Do I know you?"
Luna lifted her left hand. Let the ring do its little light dance.
"I'm Caleb's fiancée. From Dubai."
Bianca stared.
Luna smiled sweetly. "We met at an art gala. He proposed in Paris. Or was it Qatar? I mix them up."
"Funny," Bianca said coldly. "Because two weeks ago, he was in Bali with a blonde."
"Oh, her?" Luna laughed. "My cousin. Poor girl just got dumped, so Caleb took her. He's a sweetheart like that."
Bianca's jaw clenched. Luna went in for the kill.
"I get it. He's addictive. But he's mine now. Engagement ring and all."
Bianca threw back her drink and walked away. Fast.
Luna exhaled.
But then—
A prickle on her neck.
She turned.
Across the room, near the dessert table, someone was watching her.
Not judging. Not amused. Just watching.
Tall. Understated suit. Sharp jaw. No drink. Eyes locked on her like he'd just watched the entire performance and knew exactly what it was.
And wasn't mad about it.
Luna looked away first.
She hated that.
Back at Caleb's side, she kept it cool.
"She's gone," she said. "Blocked you in three... two... one..."
Caleb grinned at his phone. "She unfollowed me on everything."
Luna raised her glass. "Cheers to a job well done."
But her eyes drifted back to the dessert table.
He was gone.
And for reasons she couldn't name, it felt like the end of something real.
Or the start of it.
---
She didn’t wait for Caleb’s driver.
Instead, Luna slipped out through the side entrance of the hotel, heels in hand, walking barefoot along the paved edge of the lot. The night air was thick with perfume and leftover tension. She wanted out of it. Out of the dress, out of the lie, out of this entire lifestyle she only rented by the hour.
Then she saw him. The guy at the dessert table.
Leaning against a car that was definitely more expensive than her yearly income.
He didn’t look surprised to see her.
“I was wondering when you’d come up for air,” he said.
Luna rolled her eyes. Who's this rich guy, by the way? “What, waiting to ask for my autograph?”
He pushed off the car slowly, hands in his pockets. “No. Just wanted to meet the woman who made Caleb look... responsible.”
She laughed, short and sharp. “Must’ve been some performance.”
“Oh, it was,” he said. “Almost had me convinced. Almost.”
She tilted her head. “Almost?”
He shrugged. “Caleb doesn’t do long-term. Much less Dubai-level commitment.”
“Well,” Luna said, turning toward the curb, “maybe I’m the exception.”
He followed her a few steps. “Are you?”
She stopped walking. Faced him.
“I’m whoever I need to be. Isn’t that what women like me are for?”
He studied her. Not like he was undressing her with his eyes—no, worse. Like he was seeing right through the dress, the act, the paycheck.
“I don’t think that’s true,” he said softly.
She hated the way that line made her chest twist.
“You don’t know me,” she said.
“No,” he agreed. “But I’d like to.”
Luna blinked. Taken off guard.
He glanced at her, tone mild. “You always disappear without a name?”
She raised a brow. “Do you always interrogate strangers in parking lots?”
He gave the faintest smile. “Chase Carter.”
She didn’t return the favor. Just turned slightly and said, “Noted.”
That made him chuckle. Quiet. Like she’d passed some kind of test.
“Need a ride?” he asked.
She hesitated.
Then shook her head. “Thanks. But I know how to disappear on my own.”
Chase didn’t argue. Just stepped back, hands still in his pockets, watching as she slipped on her heels and walked into the dark.
Not running.
Just... leaving the scene.
