So... you're telling me someone catfished your boyfriend using his own face?"
Miranda's stare could freeze fire.
I was pretty sure my heart had stopped. Or at least gone on strike.
"Yes," I said, praying to every deity I didn't believe in. "That's obviously a fake profile. Who even uses the word 'spontaneous' in real life?"
She arched a perfectly drawn-on brow. "You do. You said it three times last week."
Damn. She had receipts.
"Look," I said, holding her gaze like a poker player bluffing with a pair of twos, "I know how this looks. But I trust Leo. He wouldn't—he hasn't—done anything shady. It's fake. I swear."
Miranda didn't answer. Just handed me back the phone like it was a live grenade.
"If your story starts falling apart, Isabelle, it won't just be your pitch that collapses. It'll be everything."
She turned and clicked away like a Bond villain in heels.
I stormed back into the boardroom where Leo was casually discussing growth metrics like he hadn't just been digitally exposed.
I waited until the last investor shook his hand and left the room.
Then I hissed, "We need to talk."
Leo blinked, smile still plastered in place. "Oof. That's never a good tone. Did I spill wine on your couch again?"
"Worse. Someone sent Miranda your dating profile."
He paused. "My what now?"
I shoved my phone into his hands. His jaw tightened. He scrolled. Then he cursed.
"That's not me," he said. "Well—it is me. But it's not my account. I deleted all my apps when we started this fake-fest."
I squinted. "You swear on your vintage leather jacket?"
He sighed. "Yes. Which, by the way, I'm still mad you spilled ramen on."
"It was broth."
"It was betrayal."
We stared at each other.
And then I cracked. Because Leo's scandalized face was ridiculous. Because everything was ridiculous.
Because I wanted to trust him.
"Okay," I said. "I believe you."
He raised a brow. "Just like that?"
"Yeah. Don't make it weird."
He smiled. That soft, real kind of smile that made my stomach perform illegal gymnastics.
"So what do we do?" he asked.
"We dig. We find the tech gremlin who made that profile. And we burn them."
"Together?"
I hesitated. Then nodded. "Together."
**
Step one: Investigate.
We didn't exactly have a tech team. We were the tech team. So Leo called his cousin Max, a cybersecurity nut who once hacked his high school principal's email just to change the Monday lunch menu to all tacos.
Max showed up two hours later, laptop in hand, hoodie up, and eyes twitching like he hadn't slept since 2019.
"This is fun," he said, clicking away. "Haven't done social sabotage in weeks."
Leo passed him a Red Bull. I passed him a photo of Brittany. (In case she was the culprit. Which I totally suspected.)
Max worked like a caffeinated hacker god. Within minutes, he had IP logs, timestamps, and even flagged geo-locations.
"It was uploaded from... Jason's office."
Leo and I stared at each other.
"Of course," I whispered. "Of course he'd try to tank this. He can't handle me being happy."
Leo nodded slowly. "Okay. So we expose him."
"How? I don't exactly have Miranda's ear right now."
"Then we give her something she can't ignore."
**
Later that week, we staged a tiny coup.
Miranda had a charity gala she had to attend. And guess who else was invited? Jason and Brittany, plus a sprinkle of media coverage.
Leo showed up looking like sin in a tuxedo. I wore red. The kind of red that says, I'm not the same girl you dumped two years ago—I'm the girl who will destroy you while sipping wine and never spilling a drop.
We smiled. We waved. We got photos taken.
Then Leo made sure to slip an envelope into Miranda's hand.
Inside? Max's full report, with dates, timestamps, and proof of IP tracing.
Also inside? A screenshot of Jason's assistant logging into the fake profile.
Miranda read it all without blinking. Then handed Leo a glass of champagne.
"You're not bad, fake boyfriend," she murmured.
"I'm great," he said. "And not fake. Not anymore."
Wait. What?
But Miranda was already gone, off to schmooze. And I was left staring at Leo like he'd just set the room on fire and offered me a s'more.
"What do you mean, 'not fake'?"
He looked at me.
Really looked.
"I mean... I'm tired of pretending this is just a game. I like you, Isabelle. Like, actually. Really."
I blinked. My throat went dry.
Jason chose that moment to appear. Again. The man had worse timing than a rom-com ex.
"I see you've upgraded," he said, eyes raking Leo.
I smiled. "You know what they say. Trade in the lemon, get a Ferrari."
Jason flushed. Brittany dragged him off.
Leo leaned in. "Ferrari? Really?"
"Don't make it weird."
He grinned. "Too late."
**
Later, as the gala wound down, Leo found me on the balcony, the city lights glowing like stars we could actually touch.
"I meant it, you know," he said softly.
"I know."
"And?"
I looked at him. At the boy who pretended to be my boyfriend and accidentally became my heartache.
"And I like you, too. But this is still complicated."
He nodded. "So let's stay complicated. Together."
My smile came slow. But real.
And when he kissed me, it wasn't fake. Not even a little.