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When Serena learns that the new investor at her design firm is Ethan Cole, her husband, she already knows she is about to lose. Not because her work is weak, but because her rival Yvonne is Ethan's unforgettable first love. For years, Serena has fought Yvonne over everything: family, status, love, and now career. But after one more public humiliation, Serena finally stops competing. This time, she gives up Ethan and chooses herself.

I was the ultimate pick-me girl at the office, and somehow, I ended up inside a horror game before New Year's Eve. Seeing the bloody lady crawling in the dark elevator, I screamed out loud. "Oh my gosh! Where did you get that lipstick? It's perfect! It makes your skin look three shades lighter!" The bloody lady blinked at me in confusion as I helped her up. She even recommended the exact lipstick shade. Then I turned around and came face-to-face with the chainsaw-psycho general manager with multiple personalities, swinging his weapon around. I tied a little bow on his chainsaw. "Everyone else only cares if your chainsaw is sharp. I'm the only one who cares if you're tired from swinging it all day." The monsters in the room looked at each other, all thinking the same thing… Why did this feel weirdly wholesome?

"I bet you can't make her like you." "Watch me." Neither of them knew the other one was having that exact same conversation. Ava Bennett has never lost anything worth keeping. Not competitions, not arguments, and certainly not the cheer captain election she has spent three years bleeding for. She is disciplined, intimidating, and completely immune to Mason Reed's charm. Or so she tells herself. Mason Reed has never met a girl he couldn't win over. Football captain, school golden boy, wanted by everyone and challenged by no one. Until Ava Bennett looks straight through him like he is nothing, and suddenly winning becomes personal. When their friends separately dare them to do the impossible, both accept. Neither knows the other made the same bet. So when Mason proposes a fake relationship, the terms are coldly practical. His playboy reputation is costing him his shot at the Elite Prospects Football Program, the most prestigious talent pipeline in the state. Ava needs the popularity surge to pull ahead in the captain election. They hate each other. They agree anyway. The rules are simple. No feelings. No jealousy. No catching feelings. They break every single one. But secrets this size never stay buried, and when the truth finally surfaces, it doesn't just destroy what they built. It forces them to confront the one question neither of them is brave enough to answer. If it started as a lie, how do you know when it became real? So...... Fake It With Me, Because the most dangerous game is the one where you forget you're playing.

Lately, I've been having a weird dream consistently. In the dream, a man with a mole near the corner of one eye keeps telling me, "I miss you so much." But whenever I try to take a good look at him, I wake up from the dream. That is, until I spot the man in my dreams on a pop-up window featuring an advertisement that promotes chatting with AI bots. There, I personally craft every inch of that man, making him my perfect AI boyfriend. But right after I uninstall the app, he appears in my apartment in person.

The day I got fired, I received a trial pass from an AI cosmetic clinic. It required neither surgery nor recovery time, yet it could deliver a flawless celebrity face overnight. But there was a catch. The face only lasted seven days after the complimentary trial. To keep it, I signed a contract to become the actress' body double, trading my time, identity, and freedom for another week of beauty. As the years passed, I kept paying the price to maintain a face that wasn't mine until one day, I realized I no longer wanted to live in someone else's shadow.

At the company team-building event, I got called out by my colleague Samantha Rowler for not removing my price tag—she accused me of being a "freebie chaser." "Oh wow, Carla, you drive a BMW 5 Series. Are you seriously planning to return your clothes within seven days too?" she sneered. I tucked the tag back in and ignored her snide remark. But after the event, as soon as I got home, my phone started blowing up. My chat apps were going insane. A friend had sent me a link: [Luxury-Car Executive Turns Out to Be a Return Addict!] Someone had filmed me leaving the price tag on and posted it to a short-video platform. I opened the comment section and was met with a barrage of insults. [Can't afford to live, huh? Tag warrior.] [Is this car a sugar-daddy gift? Those who know, know.] [OMG, does this woman have some kind of illness? Which brand is this so I can avoid it!] I immediately knew Samantha was behind it. I messaged her to delete the video. Instead, the next second, she blocked me—and pinned a comment to the top of the thread: [You can know a person's face but never their heart!] I was about to post a statement to clarify, my finger hovering over the send button, when I noticed the video's likes had already shot past ten thousand. I laughed. If they wanted a scene, fine—let's make it bigger. I quickly posted a new update: [The outfit is really nice. I'll wear it again next time.] The netizens erupted. The insults doubled, the heat skyrocketed, and the post shot straight to number one trending. I just put my phone down and went to sleep.