I was a photographer.

Recently, I got pulled into shooting a reality dating show featuring everyday people.

During one of the interviews, I saw someone I’ve worked with a lot—a popular influencer.

He was holding hands with his "crush" from the show, his gaze soft and affectionate.

Curious, I searched online and discovered their fans were already urging them to get married, shipping them as the perfect couple.

Everyone was gushing over their "beauty and talent."

Everyone except me.

Because in a month, that influencer—Patrick Pots—was supposed to marry me.

——

“Nina? What are you doing here?” Patrick spotted me on set, visibly startled.

He wasn’t expecting to see me there. Neither was I.

“If I hadn’t come, how would I know you’ve picked up a new girlfriend from the show?” My hands trembled with anger and I could barely keep a hold of my camera.

Patrick shot a cautious glance around. “It’s just work, all scripted. Let’s talk about this later, in private, where no one can see us.”

I wanted to say more, but at that moment, a woman walked in—Sara Morgan, the contestant paired with Patrick on the show.

I looked at him, hurt and betrayed. He avoided my gaze, his guilt written all over his face.

Before I could press him further, the crew came in, telling us to get ready to shoot.

“Rick, I just cut my hand while cooking,” Sara chirped as she skipped toward Patrick.

Patrick, playing the ever-charming boy-next-door, gently patted her head, his expression warm and doting.

I stood there, stunned, holding back tears, as the scene unfolded before my eyes.

"Why are you so careless? Hold on."

Patrick hurried off, returning with a band-aid from who-knows-where and carefully applied it to the girl’s finger.

The director's voice crackled in my earpiece, reminding me to get a close-up of the scene.

Suppressing the bitterness rising in my chest, I moved closer with the camera.

Patrick’s voice was gentle, his patience unwavering as he comforted the girl. Between the two of them, there seemed to be a sea of pink bubbles. Even through the lens, I could feel the spark in their gazes.

He told me it was all an act, just for the cameras. But even in our time together, Patrick and I never had this kind of charged intimacy. Then here they were, openly flirting right in front of my camera.

After three years of dating, Patrick had refused to go public with our relationship, afraid of losing followers.

I’d teased him before, saying, “You’re not even a celebrity; why so uptight about something as normal as dating?”

But now, it was clear—his reluctance to go public had only ever been about 'me'.

I held back my tears, plastering on a calm expression as I finished the shoot.

When it was over, Sara bounded over to me cheerfully. "You're the new photographer, right? Can you take a picture for me?"

Without a word, I nodded.

Then she turned to call out, "Rick! Come take a photo with me!"

Patrick glanced at me awkwardly, hesitation in his eyes. Still, he walked past me to stand by her side, avoiding any eye contact with me as if I wasn’t even there.

Sara, warm and bold as ever, wrapped her arms around Patrick’s neck, pulling him close.

My heart felt like it was being torn apart, but my hands worked on autopilot. I clicked the shutter, capturing the moment with professional precision.

I told myself over and over: it’s all just a script. Don’t overthink it. After all, Patrick and I were getting married next month.

Later that time, as I scrolled through videos online, I stumbled upon something that stopped me in my tracks—their fan-shipped couple had already gone viral.

Fans were gushing about their chemistry, urging them to get married as soon as the show ended.

Clips of the two together had been edited into montages: Patrick blushing, Patrick sneaking glances, Patrick showing unwavering favoritism.

I felt my confidence waver. How could anyone act this convincingly? Could it really just be a script?

After the day’s shoot, I returned to the hotel.

To my surprise, Patrick was already there, waiting by the entrance.

When he saw me, a flash of panic crossed his face.

All the hurt and anger I had suppressed all day finally erupted.

“Patrick! Didn’t you say you were going back to your hometown for two weeks? And this is what you’ve been doing instead? Have you even thought about how it looks? You’re part of a fan-shipped couple with Sara now, but in a month, you’re marrying me. What do you think people will say about me?”

Patrick’s eyes turned red at the corners, his head hanging low. This was his go-to move during arguments—looking regretful and vulnerable, knowing it would make me soften and forgive him.

But today, after seeing how he treated Sara, something in me finally broke.

I clutched at the ache in my chest, struggling to breathe as tears blurred my vision. Exhausted from the long journey and everything that had happened, I stumbled into the room and sank onto the bed, drained.

“Nina, don’t be upset,” Patrick said, standing under the warm glow of the lamp. His tousled brown hair made him look carefree and youthful, while I sat there feeling worn down and defeated.

“I’m just doing this for the money. All those interactions—it’s just acting. Can’t you try to understand?”

I looked at him, my voice cold and flat. “I didn’t know you were 'that' good at acting.”

Silence stretched between us, heavy and uncomfortable.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

I opened it to find Sara standing there.

“Sorry to bother you, Nina,” she began, her voice sweet yet hesitant. “Rick told me about your relationship. I was worried I might have caused you trouble, so I came to apologize.”

I forced a polite smile, masking the storm inside me. “It’s fine. This is between me and him—it’s not your fault.”

Hearing our voices, Patrick hurried over, a hint of panic in his expression.

“Sara, what are you doing here?” Patrick immediately pulled Sara behind him, as if shielding her from me, like I might harm her.

That gesture cut through me like a knife. So this was it—Patrick’s priorities were as clear as day.

“Nina, this is between us. Don’t make things difficult for Sara.”

I stood there, quietly staring at the man I had loved for three years and in that moment, I realized how foolish I had been.

“I’m tired. You two should leave,” I said, reaching for the door to close it.

Patrick stopped me, his voice pleading. “Can’t you just trust me? We’re getting married soon. The company even agreed to let the wedding be live-streamed.”

I froze mid-motion, his words sinking in.

Most of Patrick’s followers were “mom fans” who had promised extravagant gifts for his wedding day. Suddenly, his insistence on a public wedding made sense.

Even the wedding I had so carefully planned was just another money-making tool for him.

It felt like an invisible hand was squeezing my heart, robbing me of air, leaving me suffocated by the weight of it all.

“Get some rest. There’s another shoot tomorrow,” I said flatly, then slammed the door shut without waiting for a reply.

Through the narrow crack of the door, I caught a glimpse of them standing close, talking in hushed voices. I didn’t want to know what they were saying.

I couldn’t hold it back any longer. Tears welled up and spilled over, landing heavily in my palms.

I didn’t know what to believe anymore—what was real and what was just a lie?

Suddenly, the thought of our wedding a month from now felt meaningless.

Another episode of the show aired and their fan-shipped couple went viral again. This time, the buzz was so big that it brought the entire show into the spotlight.

The director was visibly ecstatic and decided to dedicate an entire episode to an exclusive interview with Patrick.

I set up the equipment, my face expressionless as I flipped open my notebook.

“When did you start liking Sara?”

“If another contestant had chosen you, would you have considered her instead?”

“What are your thoughts on everyone shipping you and Sara?”

Patrick responded to each question with a gentle smile, his voice warm and steady.

I found myself zoning out. The man in front of me felt like a stranger. He had never looked at me with such tenderness, not even once in all our years together.

Could he really have something going on with Sara?

Patrick looked at me in surprise, snapping me out of my thoughts.

Only then did I realize—I had accidentally spoken my doubts aloud!

I felt a pang of regret, but at least this was just a recording.

Just as I was about to continue the interview, another staff member, wearing a mask, rushed over and called me away. They quickly replaced me with someone else.

The director’s anxious expression caught my attention and I realized there was a phone set up next to the camera I had just positioned—streaming live.

The comment section was a storm of insults:

“Bring back that woman—I have something to say, but I don’t know if I should say it.”

“Who is she? She’s obviously jealous of our Sara!”

“She can’t stand to see others happy. Maybe she’s trying to wreck their relationship—what a homewrecker!”

My face turned pale as I forced out a bitter smile.

I glanced at Patrick, hoping he would say something to defend me. But after skimming through the comments, he merely said, in a casual tone, “Don’t worry, everyone. Sara and I won’t let anything affect our relationship.”

His words struck me like a blow. I stared at him in disappointment, but he didn’t even dare to meet my eyes.

The livestream clip was soon screen-recorded by viewers and spread online, causing quite the uproar.

The director, who was on relatively good terms with me, suggested that someone involved in the situation speak up to clear my name.

Sara agreed with a cheerful smile and led me to an empty room to start a livestream. “This is our lovely photographer,” she said sweetly, pulling me into the frame.

I squirmed uncomfortably, turning my face away from the camera, clearly not used to the attention.

“Nina, say hi to everyone watching the livestream!” Sara urged cheerfully.

Though I was reluctant to appear on camera, she seemed to genuinely want to help clear things up, so I nodded and greeted the audience.

Sara smiled warmly. “Babies, you’ve misunderstood Nina. She just really likes Rick, that’s all. She doesn’t mean any harm toward me.”

Her words caught me completely off guard. Panicking, I stepped closer to her, eager to explain myself on camera.

“Ah! Nina, what are you doing?”

She let out a dramatic gasp and suddenly collapsed to the ground, conveniently ending the livestream as she fell.

It was only then that I realized—she had no intention of clearing my name.

She just wanted to make things worse.

The room fell silent, with only the two of us remaining. Sara’s innocent demeanor vanished, replaced by a cold, vicious glare.

“Nina Mercer, maybe you used to be his girlfriend, but from now on, Rick belongs to me.”

I couldn’t hold back anymore. “So you’re admitting you knowingly chose to be the third woman?”

She smirked, her voice dripping with arrogance. “The one who isn’t loved is the real third woman.”

Before I could respond, Patrick rushed into the room. Seeing Sara’s tear-streaked face, he immediately shoved me aside without a second thought.

I stumbled backward, my back slamming against a nail protruding from the wall. Pain seared through me, sharp and burning.

“You can take your anger out on me, but how could you be so cruel to Sara, such a good girl?”

His sharp gaze cut right through me. I looked at him, desperately searching for any trace of love in his eyes, but all I saw was disdain.

“Nina, you really disgust me.”

It felt like the air had been knocked out of me. After three years together, he would rather believe a stranger than even listen to my side.

If he’d just looked at me for a moment longer, I would’ve held onto the fragile hope that he still cared.

Yet, he didn’t.

It hit me then—love really can change in the blink of an eye.

The filming for the episode had wrapped up and I had no intention of staying any longer. I dragged my exhausted body back to the hotel to pack my things.

What I didn’t expect was to see two familiar figures were already standing at the hotel entrance.

I followed them quietly, watching as they held hands and walked into the hotel together. A sliver of hope still clung to me and I pulled out my phone to call Patrick.

The familiar ringtone echoed in the room, but just as quickly as it rang, the call was ended.

I took a deep breath, fighting to keep my emotions in check, forcing myself not to act on impulse.