I accidentally confessed my love to the terrifying campus kingpin — and he accepted.

Part 1

I slipped the neon pink envelope into the metal locker slot and instantly wanted to throw up on my scuffed sneakers.

My hands were shaking so violently I almost dropped my heavy constitutional law textbook right there in the hallway.

It was supposed to go to Tyler, the sweet, unassuming guy who always shared his color-coded torts notes with me during our study sessions.

I had spent three agonizing hours agonizing over every single word written in that letter.

I poured out my heart, confessing how much his quiet kindness meant to someone who always felt invisible in this elite institution.

Instead, I stood frozen in absolute horror as the wrong locker door swung open.

Craig Evans stepped out from behind the adjacent row of lockers, his expensive custom-tailored jacket catching the harsh fluorescent light.

Craig was the heir to a massive, multi-million dollar legal dynasty that essentially owned the entire university board of directors.

He was notoriously ruthless, fiercely intelligent, and completely terrifying to anyone who wasn’t part of his ultra-wealthy inner circle.

He casually unfolded the pink paper while the surrounding hallway went dead silent.

Everyone stopped talking, waiting to see how the campus kingpin would publicly humiliate the poor scholarship student who dared to look his way.

I braced myself for the inevitable mocking laughter, squeezing my eyes shut.

I expected him to tear it into tiny pieces or read it aloud to his snickering friends.

Instead, he looked right at me, a slow, calculated smirk spreading across his sharp features.

He announced to the entire breathless hallway that he would absolutely love to be my boyfriend.

I grabbed his arm, my nails digging into his expensive fabric, and dragged him into an empty, dimly lit lecture hall.

I frantically babbled that it was a colossal mistake, a complete misunderstanding, and begged him to take it back before rumors started flying.

Craig simply leaned against the heavy oak podium, looking completely unbothered by my full-blown panic attack.

He calmly suggested we just maintain the charade and pretend to date for the rest of the semester.

I stared at him like he had grown a second head, utterly bewildered by his insane proposition.

I had no idea why a guy who could have anyone on campus would want to fake a relationship with someone like me.

I was barely scraping by on cheap ramen, constantly dodging calls from debt collectors, and hiding a massive, career-ending secret.

To pay my staggering tuition fees, I worked late into the night as a masked online model, selling photos to strangers.

It was an exhausting, degrading way to survive, but it kept the roof over my head.

If anyone at this conservative, prestigious law school ever found out, my legal career would be completely dead before graduation.

Craig argued that pretending to date him would keep his overbearing, controlling mother from constantly trying to set him up with wealthy socialites.

I weighed the terrifying reality of my financial ruin against the sheer absurdity of his offer.

I reluctantly shook his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin against my freezing palm, and agreed to the fake relationship.

The next few weeks were a bizarre, dizzying blur of stolen glances and forced proximity that constantly left me breathless.

Craig would wait for me outside my classes, casually resting his hand on the small of my back as we navigated the crowded corridors.

I tried desperately to ignore the way my heart violently kicked against my ribs whenever he looked at me with those intense, dark eyes.

He brought me expensive artisan coffees I could never afford, remembering exactly how I liked them without ever having to ask.

The fake dating actually worked exactly as he promised, silencing the whispers and keeping the judgmental stares at a distance.

But pretending to be his girlfriend was utterly exhausting, requiring me to constantly build walls to stop myself from catching real feelings.

The tipping point arrived when we were essentially forced to attend a massive charity fundraiser organized by the law school’s elite social club.

The aggressively cheerful event organizers ambushed us near the entrance, demanding we participate in a couple’s photoshoot to drive up their donation numbers.

The photographer barked a series of rapid-fire orders, physically pushing us to stand completely flush against one another under the blinding studio lights.

Craig smoothly wrapped his arms around my waist, his warm breath ghosting over my ear as he pulled me tight against his chest.

My heart pounded so loudly and erratically I was terrified the entire room could hear the rhythm.

I felt entirely overwhelmed by the intense heat radiating from him and the terrifying realization of how much I liked his touch.

Panic sharply clawed at my throat, making it impossible to draw a full breath.

I muttered a weak, disjointed excuse about feeling sick and bolted for the exit, not looking back.

I blindly wandered the labyrinth of unfamiliar back hallways until I found an empty, soundproofed photography studio.

I slipped inside to catch my breath, leaning my forehead against the cool wooden door to steady my racing pulse.

I reached over and flipped the main light switch, immediately freezing in my tracks as the room flooded with brightness.

A tall, incredibly muscular man stood in the dead center of the room, wearing the unmistakable, ornate leather mask of the internet’s most famous male model.

Everyone online knew him simply as Phantom, a mysterious figure who dominated the platform, but nobody had ever discovered his true identity.

My breath hitched audibly, and the tall figure slowly turned around to face me.

He didn’t run or try to hide; he just stood there, his chest rising and falling heavily.

He reached up with a steady hand and pulled the leather mask completely off his face.

I found myself staring directly into the familiar, piercing eyes of the guy I was supposed to be fake-dating.