Chapter 5: The Performance

Marcus was generous in setting his trap. He took me straight to a luxury brand store—the boutique was all marble floors, gold fixtures, and a playlist straight out of a Kardashian Instagram story. He made a show of waving his Amex, having the sales associate pick out a little black dress worth over ten grand.

“See if there’s anything else you like. Consider it a gift for our first meeting. This purse goes great with the dress—try it on.”

He grinned, nudging the sales associate to bring over the latest collection. It was like being on an episode of Real Housewives. I ran my hand over the buttery leather, pretending to hesitate, but my heart skipped—this bag was on my vision board.

Marcus stood by, offering timely compliments. “You like that purse? Take it too.”

His tone was smooth as silk—almost too smooth. I looked back at him, a little uncertain: “We… just met, right?”

I played up the confusion, letting my voice get small and a little shaky, like I was in over my head. Marcus said smoothly, “I’m Derek’s best friend, and you’re his fiancée—so you’ll be my future sister-in-law. What’s wrong with giving you a gift for our first meeting?”

He stepped forward, took the purse from my hands. “Derek’s terrible at shopping—probably never even took you out, right? If you’re bored, just come find me. I’m always around.”

Handsome, rich, provides emotional value, and slightly flirty. It was a masterclass in seduction, straight from the Ivy League playbook.

He looked at me, his gaze gentle, expecting me to blush and get shy. But I just met his eyes for a few seconds, then slowly let them redden as tears began to fall.

I let my lower lip tremble, eyes glistening, heart on display. Marcus clearly didn’t expect that. He fumbled for tissues—his hands were shaking so bad he nearly dropped his wallet. For a guy who could talk stocks all day, feelings were clearly not his thing.

He hurriedly handed me tissues. “What’s wrong?”

I covered my eyes with my hand. “You don’t have to waste your time. Whatever you want, I’ll just cooperate. You can tell Derek I’m a gold-digger and a cheater.”

I made sure my voice cracked at just the right word. I could’ve won an Oscar for this.

Marcus was stunned for several seconds. “Rachel, what are you talking about? I’m just giving you a gift as Derek’s friend—” His voice wavered, eyes darting to the sales associate, who was now pretending to check her iPad.

I cut him off. “Marcus, I know you sent that photo yesterday. I know you want to get evidence of me cheating.”

I dropped the act for a second, locking eyes with him—sharp, direct, no tears. Then I let my voice get soft again. “Wasn’t my reply yesterday enough? What else do you want—a kissing photo, a bed photo?”

He swallowed, throat working. For a split second, I saw guilt flicker across his face. He hadn’t expected me to be so blunt and was clearly flustered, only able to pretend to be calm and say I was overthinking things.

I kept my hand over my eyes, tears leaking through my fingers, my voice choked. “I know what he says about me behind my back. I’m lovesick, I annoy him. But I really don’t get why he hates me so much.”

The air in the store felt thick, the kind of silence that makes even strangers uncomfortable.

“He’s my fiancé. I like him. I want to talk to him, send him messages—is that really so unforgivable?”

I let the question hang, my voice trembling on the edge of breaking.

I put my hand down and looked at him, eyes glistening with tears. Mascara perfectly intact—thank you, waterproof formulas.

“I don’t even know what I did wrong. He hates me, his friends hate me, and just to break off the engagement, they want to ruin me. I used to be confident, but now I’m being tormented to the brink of madness.”

My voice dropped to a whisper, the kind you use at funerals or after too many sleepless nights. “Am I really that hateful? Is liking someone really so unforgivable?”

Marcus was speechless. He probably never thought that helping his buddy out would lead to such a harsh moral reckoning. My acting was too good—I nearly cried myself into a breakdown, clutching his arm tightly with both hands. My nails dug in just enough to get his attention. Let him feel a little of my desperation.

“Marcus, you’re a guy too, and his best friend. You must understand him. Tell me, please—why?”

I let my voice hitch, making it sound raw. “Is it really because I’m annoying, or is it because my family went bankrupt? My parents already handled the debts. I have a degree, my own little business, I can support myself—I really won’t drag him down.”

My eyes must have looked truly pained. Otherwise, why would Marcus look so panicked and obviously regretful?

Is there a difference between being lovesick and being a pure-hearted romantic? There is. Let’s be real—people only call you a hopeless romantic if you’re cute enough to get away with it. So now, I’m a pure love warrior. If you’re going to play a part, play it to the hilt.