𝐃𝐀𝐖𝐍 | ʙᴛs ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇs

-Emergency Boyfriend-

"Even if the world turns its back on me, as long as you stand beside me, I am home."

♛

–ARA

I have had enough. Enough of my aunt’s painfully awkward matchmaking attempts. Enough of hearing, “Ara, when are you getting married?” at every single family gathering. Enough of blind dates with men who think 'I work in finance' is a personality trait.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. So, I do what any modern, independent, and slightly unhinged woman would do—I download an app. Rent-A-Boyfriend. Sounds sketchy? Maybe. But it has five-star reviews, so it must be legit… right?

Scrolling through the profiles, I don’t have the patience to analyze every single guy. I just need someone who looks decent and professional enough to fool my relatives. Oh! This guy looks serious, well-dressed, and kind of handsome in a ‘does his taxes on time’ way. Perfect. Without reading his full profile (a mistake, in hindsight), I hit ‘Book Now.’

Done. Crisis averted. Or so I think.

...

The next morning, my doorbell rings. My fake boyfriend has arrived. Showtime!

I take a deep breath, smooth my dress, and open the door with what I hope is a charming yet casual smile.

Standing before me, in a ridiculously expensive-looking suit, is a man I instantly recognize. Not from the app. Not from any dating service.

No. I recognize him because his face is literally on the cover of Forbes magazine.

Kim. Freaking. Namjoon.

Billionaire businessman. Genius. Owner of a company so successful that people probably name their children after it. And he’s staring at me with an expression that can only be described as ‘deep regret and existential dread.’

“Uh,” he says, blinking at me. “Are you… Park Ara?”

I grip the doorframe. My brain malfunctions. My soul leaves my body.

I have just accidentally hired one of the most powerful men in the country to pretend to be my boyfriend for the weekend.

Oh. My. God.

.
.
.

–NAMJOON

I am many things. The Founder. A man who generally has control over his life.

A fake boyfriend? Absolutely not.

Yet, here I am, standing outside an unfamiliar apartment, supposedly booked for a romantic gig I never signed up for.

My morning had started normally—until my phone dinged with a suspiciously cheerful notification: “Your Rent-A-Boyfriend appointment is confirmed!”

What. The. Hell.

One call later, and the culprit was exactly who I suspected.

“Yoongi,” I say, voice dangerously low. “Care to explain why I’m suddenly someone’s rented boyfriend?”

My stone-faced secretary barely spares me a glance. “Ah. That.” He takes a slow sip of coffee. “It was for science.”