Emily hesitated outside the café, her fingers curled tight around the condensation-damp cup of caramel iced latte. She had almost turned back. Twice. Maybe three times. But somehow, her feet had carried her here anyway—toward something that felt equal parts absurd and inevitable.
Through the rain-streaked window, she saw Ryan Lee already seated at the back, composed as ever. His suit was dry this time, his posture impeccable, one hand casually scrolling through his phone. Around him, the café pulsed with quiet life—soft jazz in the background, the gentle clatter of cups, snippets of Bahasa and English blending into a familiar hum.
She pushed open the door, and the cold air-conditioning swept the dampness from her skin. The scent of roasted beans and pandan cake curled through the air like memory.
Ryan looked up and offered a small, practiced smile. "You came."
Emily slid into the seat across from him. "I said I'd think about it. Not that I'd say yes."
He pushed a drink toward her. Her usual. "Still. You're here. That counts for something."
She blinked. Less ice. No whipped cream. He remembered.
"You always order the same thing," he said, noting her surprise. "You like routine. Stability."
She gave him a skeptical look. "Exactly why this whole idea makes no sense."
Ryan didn't argue. Instead, he pulled out a sleek navy notebook and opened it like a prosecutor presenting evidence. Inside were pages filled with neat bullet points, timelines, budget allocations, and headers like Media Strategy and Emotional Contingency Plan. At the bottom, one page read: Questions Lucas Will Ask.
"You made a fake wedding blueprint," Emily muttered, flipping through the tabs.
"Wedding registry. Story arc. Milestones. Soft launch on social media. Pre-wedding photos, matching outfits, carefully planted comments. A clean, curated narrative."
She stared at him. "Do you moonlight as a screenwriter?"
"I believe in efficient storytelling," he said, deadpan.
She laughed despite herself. "And you'd pay for everything?"
"Yes. Visa processing, UK housing deposit, roundtrip flight, tuition gap, even your first month's rent in Oxford."
"You're not just rich, you're thorough."
"I'm not doing this out of kindness, Emily. I need my own freedom as much as you need your education."
Her amusement faded.
"Why now?" she asked. "You've been with Kai forever. Lucas might be controlling, but this seems drastic."
Ryan's expression cooled. "You don't understand Lucas. He's the kind of person who makes choices for everyone else, and expects them to thank him for it. To him, I'm just an extension of the Lee family business—a piece on his chessboard."
Emily listened. She could hear the tension in his voice, see the fatigue buried beneath his polished exterior.
"And Kai?"
Ryan exhaled through his nose. "We've been broken for a long time. Now it's mostly silence, routine, and suspicion. We live together, but we don't really live."
"So this is your exit strategy."
"It's my survival strategy."
Emily's fingers toyed with her cup. She remembered the day she received her Oxford acceptance—how her heart had soared, only to crash when she saw the tuition invoice. No scholarship. No miracle.
"And Lucas will believe this?"
"Lucas doesn't believe in feelings. He believes in data. That's why we'll give him just enough—photos, legal documents, plausible timelines."
She bit her lip. "He'll still test us."
"He will. He already is. But that's why I chose you. You're logical, grounded. You can outsmart him."
A long pause settled between them.
Outside, a child chased a puddle. Inside, the café lights hummed. Emily glanced at the clock. Time was running out—on the tea, the offer, the version of her life where she walked away.
"And what happens when this ends?" she asked softly. "When the contract is up?"
Ryan's gaze didn't waver. "We dissolve the arrangement quietly. Mutual decision. No drama. You move on to grad school. I restructure my personal life. We delete the photos."
"Unless one of us breaks the rules."
He arched an eyebrow. "Like catching feelings?"
"Exactly."
He smirked. "Then we renegotiate."
Emily shook her head. "You're terrifying."
"No, I'm just tired. Tired of pretending to be someone who fits into a life that never felt like mine."
She understood that.
And that, more than anything, made her say the next words:
"Okay. I'll do it."
Ryan blinked. "You're serious?"
"Dead serious."
He nodded slowly, then reached for the pen beside the notebook. "We'll draft the contract tonight. I'll have the lawyer notarize it by Monday."
Emily picked up the pen. It felt heavier than it should've.
"And Ryan?"
He looked up.
"If we do this… I want it clean. No lies to my family. No public humiliation. No leaks."
"Understood. This ends exactly how it begins—on our terms."
They shook hands. It felt like signing something neither could un-sign.
That night, as Emily sat alone in her apartment, staring at her Oxford acceptance email, she realized something strange.
She wasn't scared anymore.
Not of the lie. Not of the risk. Not even of Ryan Lee.
Because the scariest thing had always been staying stuck.
And now, for the first time in years, she was moving.
She just didn't know where the road would really lead.