Fake

The contract was six pages long. Jackson skimmed none of it.

"Do I really have to marry him?" he asked, voice flat, eyes trained on the cherry wood desk in front of him.

His manager, Rina, nodded once, arms crossed. "It's not a real marriage."

Jackson snorted. "We sign a marriage license. We wear rings. We give interviews. We share a house. Sounds real enough to me."

"It's PR, Jackson. Your image is changing. You're not twenty anymore. You're a global star, not just an idol. You need a story."

"A husband is a story?"

Rina didn't flinch. "A scandal-proof one."

Jackson exhaled through his nose and leaned back in the leather chair. The office was quiet-executive, sterile. Outside the tall glass windows, Seoul buzzed with its usual electric chaos. Inside, it was just him, Rina, and the pile of carefully curated lies stacked neatly between them.

"They chose him," Rina said, sliding a photo across the desk. "Kole Saint-James Adisa."

Jackson picked it up.

And blinked.

In the photo, Kole was mid-laugh, eyes half-lidded, mouth wide with amusement, a mic in one hand. He was interviewing someone-some actor with too much Botox-but the only person in focus was Kole. His skin was golden. His teeth perfect. His smile unapologetically smug.

"He's a street interviewer?" Jackson asked slowly.

Rina smiled. "He's not just that. He's gone viral more than once. People like him. He's clever. Pretty. Bold. He's already a favorite among fans. He's American and Japanese. Queer. And he's single."

Jackson looked again. Kole had the kind of beauty that made people stop and stare-high cheekbones, expressive brows, a piercing in one ear. His style was chaotic but effortless: oversized flannels, graphic tees, tailored trousers. A mix of boy-next-door and "I'll ruin your life."

"What's in it for him?" Jackson asked finally.

"Exposure. Connections. And, well, you."

Jackson scoffed. "Right. Me."

Rina leaned forward. "You can say no. But if you do, the company's plan B is dragging up every mistake you've ever made-and giving the press something much worse to play with."

There it was.

The soft threat under the velvet glove.

---

Kole arrived in Seoul four days later. Jackson didn't go to the airport to greet him. Didn't send flowers or even a car. The company handled everything. He just waited.

He didn't expect Kole to show up at his penthouse the same night, unannounced, with a bottle of soju in one hand and a scowl on his face.

"Hi, husband," Kole said, brushing past Jackson at the door.

Jackson blinked. "How did you get my address?"

Kole smirked, kicking off his boots. "I asked."

Jackson watched him walk in like he owned the place. Kole was wearing a mesh shirt under a leather jacket, and his jeans looked like they'd been painted on.

"So this is where you brood and write your sad songs?" Kole asked, wandering into the kitchen like it was his.

Jackson closed the door slowly. "This is where I live. You could knock."

"You could've picked me up."

"I didn't want to."

Kole turned, raising an eyebrow. "You always this charming, or is this special for me?"

Jackson sighed. "Look. I don't know what you expect from this, but we're not going to be friends. We're not going to talk about our feelings. You show up when the cameras roll. You wear the ring. You smile. That's it."

Kole grinned, sauntering closer. "You rehearse that in the mirror?"

Jackson opened his mouth-then shut it.

Kole stopped just inches away, looking up at him. He was shorter. Not by much, but enough for Jackson to feel the space between them hum.

"I don't care about the feelings part," Kole said softly. "But if you think I'm going to play house like some obedient little boy while you ice me out and sulk in your penthouse... you've got another thing coming, Wang."

Jackson's throat went dry.

He hated how Kole said his name. Like it was a challenge. Like it tasted expensive.

Kole stepped back, cracked open the soju, and took a sip.

"I'm here for a year," he said. "Let's not make it boring."

---

They had their first public appearance the next day.

Matching suits. Matching smiles. Flashes. Cameras. Noise.

Kole played the part beautifully-laughing, teasing, placing a hand on Jackson's arm like they'd been married for years. The fans ate it up.

Jackson played his part too.

But when Kole leaned in during the interview and whispered, "You're really good at faking it," Jackson whispered back,"So are you."

And Kole just smiled.

Because under all the glitter and cameras, they both knew the truth:

This marriage wasn't fake.

It was war.

And neither of them planned to lose.