I kicked open the door of Ink & Ember like a storm given flesh, my boots slamming against the concrete floor. "You," I said, pointing at Frank like I’d known him forever. He looked up from his sketchpad, ink-stained fingers freezing mid-line, dark brows lifting in surprise.

"Me?" he echoed, voice low, amused. Around us, the shop hummed—music thrumming, needles buzzing, the scent of antiseptic and sandalwood thick in the air.

"Yes, you. We’re getting married." I stepped forward, heart hammering so hard I thought he’d hear it. This was the moment—the con began now. His mother promised the treatment would start tomorrow if I made him fall in love by month’s end.

He leaned back, studying me like I was a puzzle he wanted to solve. "Cute. You’re either insane or high."

"Maybe both," I shot back, forcing a smirk. "But I’m not leaving until you say yes to a date."

He stood slowly, wiping his hands on a rag. "One date. And if you’re lying?"

"Then you’ll know fast enough," I said, ignoring the twist in my gut.

Because the truth was—I already feared I wouldn’t be able to lie to him much longer.