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I don't miss the warning glance she shoots Zara, who immediately changes course.

"Divine. Instagram-worthy for sure."

And just like that, the conversation shifts to safe territory—food, venues, upcoming events. I watch Lena in her element, navigating social dynamics with practiced ease. This version of her is all polished edges and calculated charm, a stark contrast to the woman who came undone in my bed last night, who let her carefully constructed walls crumble.

The server arrives to take our order. Lena orders for both of us without consulting me—avocado toast for her, huevos rancheros for me. It's exactly what I would have chosen, which is both impressive and vaguely unsettling.

"So, Max," Mia leans forward, eyes gleaming with curiosity, "how did you tame our Lena? She's been adamantly single since the Cameron disaster."

I feel Lena tense beside me. "I wouldn't say I 'tamed' anyone," I reply carefully. "We just…connected."

"Over cocktails," Lena adds, her hand finding mine on the table—a practiced move we've done dozens of times. "Max made me something special that wasn't on the menu."

"I bet he did," Zara murmurs with a suggestive smirk.

Lena's laugh is too bright, too sharp. "Nothing like that. We took things slow."

The lie sits heavy between us. There was nothing slow about last night—the desperate kisses, the frantic removal of clothes, the whispered confessions in the dark.

"Well, you two look perfect together," Sophia declares, lifting her phone. "Mind if I snap a quick pic for the 'gram? The lighting is fantastic."

Before I can respond, Lena is shifting closer, her smile camera-ready. "Of course not."

I paste on what I hope is a convincing smile, arm sliding around Lena's shoulders with practiced ease. The pose feels hollow now, a mockery of the way I held her last night.

"Perfect," Sophia declares after several shots. "You guys are seriously #relationshipgoals."

"We try," Lena's voice is light, professional. She turns to me, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. "Don't we, babe?"

The endearment grates. She never calls me 'babe' when it's just us. It's always 'Max,' whispered like she's testing the feel of it on her tongue.

"Always," I manage.

The food arrives, momentarily saving me from further performance. I focus on my plate, letting the conversation flow around me—gossip about people I don't know, discussions of brand collaborations and sponsored content. Lena participates enthusiastically, occasionally touching my arm or smiling in my direction to maintain the illusion that I'm included.

"So how's the boyfriend experience treating you, Lena?" Zara asks, finishing her second mimosa. "Better than flying solo?"

"Definitely has its perks," Lena replies with a practiced laugh. "Though I had forgotten how much work relationships are."

Work. Like I'm a project. A task to be managed.

"Worth it though, right?" Mia prompts, glancing between us.

Lena's hand finds mine again on the table. "Of course. Max is great at playing the part."

Playing the part. The words land like a slap. Is that what last night was to her? Another performance?

"I think I'm getting better at it," I say, unable to keep the edge from my voice. "Practice makes perfect."

Lena's fingers tighten around mine in warning. "Max has been a wonderful sport about all the public appearances."

"I bet the perks are worth it," Sophia says with a knowing smile. "Dating an influencer must have some serious benefits."

"Oh, absolutely," I reply, my patience fraying. "Free meals at restaurants that photograph well. Expert direction on how to stand so I don't ruin her Instagram aesthetic. Detailed instructions on appropriate clothing choices."

Lena's friends laugh, oblivious to the tension radiating from both of us.

"He's so funny," Lena says, her smile strained. "Always joking."