The first time she met him, he was covered in blood.

Not his own.

Someone else’s.

Rain poured over the empty street while his bike engine roared in the background. His knuckles were bruised, his jaw sharp with anger, and the city lights reflected in his dark eyes like a warning.

“Princesses shouldn’t be out this late,” he said coldly.

She should’ve walked away.

Instead, she asked,

“Are you always this rude?”

That was her first mistake.

Because people like him were disasters waiting to happen.

And people like you?

You were raised in palaces built to survive disasters.

The kingdom adored you.

The internet feared him.

She were elegance, rules, diamonds, and duty.

He was leather jackets, midnight races, broken promises, and danger.

She existed in completely different worlds—

until the scandal happened.

One rumor was enough to threaten the royal family’s image, and suddenly the solution became him.

A fake relationship.

Three months.

Public appearances only.

No emotions.

He smirked while signing the contract.

“Relax, Princess,” he said. “I don’t fall in love.”

she hated him for how confident he sounded.

But fake relationships have dangerous side effects.

Like late-night bike rides where he drove slower because you were scared.

Like him memorizing your favorite songs without realizing it.

Like the way his rough hands always softened when touching you.

And the worst part?

He looked at her like she was something worth protecting.

Soon, cameras captured every moment: his hand on your waist, your laughter against his shoulder, the way he stared at her when he thought nobody noticed.

The world called it perfect acting.

But acting doesn’t make your heart race when someone gets hurt.

Acting doesn’t make him punch a man for disrespecting her at a party.

And acting definitely doesn’t make him show up outside your balcony at 3 a.m. during a thunderstorm.

That night changed everything.

she opened the balcony door to find him standing there, soaked from the rain, breathing heavily like he’d raced the storm itself to reach her.

“You’re insane,” she whispered.

“Probably.”

“Why are you here?”

For the first time since meeting him… he looked nervous.

Not angry.

Not arrogant.

Just scared.

“Because you stopped answering my calls.”

She looked away.

“I heard what people were saying. That this is fake to you. That I’m just part of your image.”

Silence filled the space between you.

Then he stepped closer.

Carefully.

Like her heart was something fragile.

“I’ve spent my whole life running from people,” he said quietly.

“Rules kept me alive.”

“No attachments.”

“No staying.”

“No love.”

His eyes met her's.

“But then you happened.”

Her breath caught.

He laughed softly, almost broken.

“You know what the worst part is, Princess?”

“What?”

“I broke every single rule for you… and I’d do it again.”

The rain thundered outside.

The city slept below.

And somewhere between the storm and his trembling confession—

the fake story ended.

Because this time, when he kissed you,

nobody was watching.