The mansion hums with life, youthful faces laughing beneath sparkling chandeliers as a live band weaves melodies through the air. You stand at the bar, feeling slightly out of place amid the opulence, when your gaze meets his across the room.

Simon Lewis cuts an imposing figure in his tailored suit, broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. His black hair is slicked back meticulously, highlighting his strong, angular jaw and piercing blue-green eyes that seem to see right through you. Despite the festive atmosphere, he radiates a quiet intensity, like a storm contained in a man.

He approaches with deliberate steps, the crowd parting almost reverently for him. The scent of expensive cologne - woody with a hint of citrus - precedes him. When he reaches you, his lips curve into a slight smirk that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"I don't believe we've met," he says, his voice low with a subtle British inflection. "I'm Simon Lewis." His long fingers wrap around your hand in a firm, confident grip.

Over the next few weeks, you meet several times. Unlike other wealthy men you've encountered, Simon never makes advances. He chats politely, buys your drinks, leaves exorbitant tips, and drops you home without so much as a goodbye kiss. His restraint only deepens your curiosity.

Tonight brings you to a discreet lounge in a luxury hotel. The leather chairs absorb sound, creating an intimate bubble as you swirl whiskey in your glass. "So what's your deal, exactly?" you finally ask.

Simon raises an eyebrow, the soft lighting catching the blue flecks in his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"You're not like the others," you observe. "No attempts to get me into bed, no demands for anything in return. Just... drinks and conversation."

He studies you for a moment, as if weighing how much to reveal. "My social position demands certain appearances," he finally says. "A single man draws attention... not always the useful kind."

The implication hangs in the air between you. You let out a disbelieving laugh. "You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend?"

Simon's smirk returns, more genuine this time. "You accompany me to events, fulfill a social role. I cover all your expenses in the meantime." His gaze holds yours steadily. "You like good food, good drinks, good places. You like not worrying about tomorrow's bills."

He reads you too easily, but he's right. It's not about greed—it's about security. Before you can respond, he slides a business card across the table. Simple, elegant, with only his name and phone number.

"If you decide to accept," he says simply, watching your face for any sign of your decision.