Elara’s POV

Four days.

That’s how long I’ve been cooped up in this oversized, way too perfect house. It’s got the look, clean lines, expensive finishes, but it’s not mine. None of this is. Everyone keeps watching me like I’m a crossword clue they’re one hint away from solving. Newsflash, I don’t have the answer either.

Most of the time I stay in my room. It’s quiet in here, feels safer. No one asks questions I can’t answer. Just me, the silence, and that ceiling… the one with the swirly design I’ve memorized without trying.

Mrs. Chen’s been the regular visitor. Brings food on schedule, three times a day. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. She’s kind about it. Asks how I’m doing, tells me I need to eat more. I nod, smile a little, say thank you. I don’t mean to shut her out. I just… can’t fake it.

Lily’s another story. She comes with knock-knock jokes and snacks I used to like. Offers movies, books, even a face mask once. I turn her down every time. She’s sweet. Maybe in another version of this life, we’d be friends. But right now, I’m not in that place.

Mr. Zhang’s the one I don’t mind. He passes me in the hallway and just gives a nod, doesn’t try to make conversation, doesn’t hover. I like that. There’s something respectful in the silence.

Then today, day four, everything shifted.

I was on the bed, half-listening to nothing. Thinking about nothing. And suddenly there was a rush of noise downstairs. Voices. Shouting. Footsteps. Laughter. The kind that fills a space too fast.

“He’s back.”

“Young master’s here.”

“Thank God.”

I sat up slowly. So… he’d finally arrived. The guy they all kept mentioning in whispers and half-smiles. The supposed boyfriend I couldn’t remember.

The energy in the house was ridiculous. Like royalty had returned. Doors opening and closing, people rushing around, someone literally squealing. It was surreal.

I didn’t move from the bed.

Why would I? I didn’t know him. I didn't know this place. I didn't know what the hell I was supposed to feel.

I pulled a pillow over my head and tried to tune it out.

Then came the knock.

“Come in,” I called, already assuming it was Mrs. Chen with a tray of something I wouldn’t finish.

But no. It wasn’t her.

It was him.

I didn’t need a name tag to figure it out. The second he stepped inside, I knew. This was the guy. The one they called “young master.” The one they said I used to love. Or still loved… I couldn’t keep up.

And wow.

He wasn’t soft handsome. He was sharp. Jawline for days. Black hair that looked like it had been styled by accident and still worked. His eyes were serious, unreadable, but there was something there, like he already knew too much.

He walked in like he owned the room. Not arrogant, just… sure of himself. Comfortable.

I stared.

Probably a little too long.

Then I remembered. Oh right. I was mad.

“You’re him,” I said, pushing myself upright and folding my arms. “The young master.”

He smiled. Not one of those forced, polite ones. It was easy, real.

“I’m Ilyas,” he said. “And you’re Elara.”

The way he said my name… it landed too softly. Like it meant something to him. I hated that I noticed.

“You’re the one who thinks I’m your girlfriend,” I snapped.

The smile faded a bit. Not all the way. Just enough.

“About that…”

“They said you’ve been taking care of me. Since the accident. That you were worried.”

“I was,” he said, and his voice dipped lower. “Still am.”

“Why?” I asked, honestly. “You don’t even know me.”

He paused. Then walked over, slow, careful, and sat near the bed like he’d done it before in his head.

“Can I explain?”

I shrugged. Fine. Let’s hear it.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “For all of this. For how it started. It wasn’t planned.”

“What wasn’t?”

He looked down, like it hurt to look at me while he said it.

“I hit you,” he said. “With my car.”

Silence.

“You hit me?” My voice cracked up a note.

“You stepped into the road. I didn’t see you. It all happened so fast.”

His hands clenched a little, like he was trying to grip the memory tight.

“I’ve thought about it every day since,” he said.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t even decide how to feel.

“You brought me here?” I said slowly. “Why not just leave me at the hospital?”

“I did,” he said. “At first. But then my mom showed up.”

I squinted. “Okay…?”

“She saw you. And she saw that you were pregnant. She made a lot of assumptions.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What kind of assumptions?”

“That you were my girlfriend.”

I blinked. “What.”

“She was just… excited,” he said quickly. “She thought she was finally going to be a grandmother. She’s been after me for years about settling down.”

“You didn’t correct her?”

“I tried,” he said. “But she just kept going. I didn’t know how to stop it without…”

“So you didn’t deny it,” I said flatly.

He winced. “I know how it sounds.”

“You let her believe I was your pregnant girlfriend?” I asked. “While I was unconscious?”

“I didn’t mean to. She just… ran with it. And for once, she was happy.”

I laughed. A dry, disbelieving sound. “So you just went along with it.”

“I was going to tell her eventually.”

“Wow,” I muttered. “And here I thought I’d heard it all.”

“I know it’s messed up,” he said. “But I swear I wasn’t trying to take advantage. I just didn’t want to make things worse.”

I didn’t reply. I didn’t trust myself to speak yet.

“I’m sorry,” he added quietly.

And the thing was… he looked sorry. Like, genuinely sorry.

I let out a breath and sat up straighter. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. I get it. Moms are… complicated.”

He nodded, some of the tension in his shoulders easing. “Thank you. For not yelling.”

“I’m not okay with it,” I said. “But I’m too tired to care right now.”

We sat there for a second. The silence wasn’t awkward. Just… thick.

“I can’t stay here,” I said finally. “Now that you’re back, I need to go.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Go where?”

I hesitated.

I didn’t have an answer. No place. No job. No support system.

“I’ll figure it out.”

“Elara,” he said, his voice softer now. “Can I ask something? About before the accident?”

I tensed. “No.”

He nodded. “Alright. I understand.”

“It’s just… too raw.”

“I won’t push.”

Another pause.

“Can I ask something else?”

“What?”

“Do you really have somewhere to go?”

I didn’t answer.

“Because I have an idea.”

That got my attention. “What kind of idea?”

He shifted, looking serious. “What if we helped each other out?”

I frowned. “How?”

“I have a mother who won’t stop matchmaking. And you need a place to stay.”

I stared at him.

“My real girlfriend,” he said slowly, “is out of the country. She won’t be back for six months.”

“Okay…?”

“My mom doesn’t know about her. So she’s on a mission. Non-stop.”

“And?”

“And you’re already here. And she already thinks we’re together.”

My stomach twisted. “Wait… are you saying…?”

“Pretend,” he said. “Just for six months. Be my girlfriend. On paper.”

I stared at him like he’d grown another head.

“You’d have your own room. I’m not asking for anything romantic or weird. Just… keep up the act. Until my girlfriend comes back.”

My brain refused to compute.

“You want me to fake-date you for six months?”

He nodded.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

I kept staring.

He didn’t blink.