I swore I’d never see my billionaire ex again.
Now he’s my bodyguard and my fake boyfriend.
The last time I saw Mason Drake, he shattered my heart and walked away like it was business as usual.
Now he’s back: brooding, bossy, and annoyingly gorgeous, dragging me out of a swarm of paparazzi and straight into his penthouse like he still owns me.
He says he’s protecting me from whoever’s leaking stories to the press.
I say he’s protecting his ego.
Then he tells me we have to fake date to kill the rumors.
Pretend kisses. Shared hotel rooms. Late-night “strategy sessions” that feel anything but professional.
Somewhere between the staged smiles and whispered arguments, I start remembering why I fell for him in the first place and hating myself for it.
