**Chapter Four: I Hate Guys Who Make Pretty Girls Cry** *Maya's POV* My heart felt as if it had been torn to shreds when Andrew casually dismissed me as "nothing." How could this be happening? I had trusted him completely, blinding myself to the reality that he was cheating on me. Just yesterday, he had called me special, and now I was reduced to worthless. How could he flip like a switch? Tears pooled in my eyes, and I raised a trembling hand to my mouth, desperate to escape the devastation. I felt utterly betrayed, foolish even, like the world was laughing at my naivety. As I stumbled toward my car, the world around me blurred through my tears. I fumbled with the car door, but before I could open it, someone else did - a moment before I could find solace inside. I barely settled into the seat before the dam broke, and sobs shook my body. How could Andrew do this to me? I had placed my faith in him completely, and now I felt like discarded trash, trampled on by everyone around me. My fists clenched tightly in my lap as anger surged through me. He had even dared to compare me to my sister, a cardinal sin in my eyes. The thought of him drawing that comparison with such ease ignited my fury. "You should stop crying," a cold voice interrupted, pulling me from my spiral of sorrow. It was Mr. Ice, and each word he uttered felt like a cruel slice through my heart. How could he be so devoid of empathy? "Am I not allowed to cry?" I shot back, my voice trembling with hurt. He frowned, seemingly unfazed. "Alright then, cry. Tell me what it accomplishes." I stared at him, contemplating his words, before looking away. He was right in some twisted sense, but how could I possibly suppress the pain that twisted in my chest? "You should be stronger, make him regret it," he said, his tone almost striking a motivational chord. I looked at him incredulously. Me? Pay Andrew back? I felt utterly powerless. "How?!" I lashed out, flinging my hands in frustration. "I'm nothing! I have no money, I'm not pretty, and I don't even have a job! What do you expect me to do?" My voice cracked as I fought to contain the flood of emotions threatening to pour out. "Stay with me," he replied simply. "I’ll help make your dreams come true." His words hung in the air, a promise wrapped in mystery. Was he serious? What was he? A miracle worker? I stared at him, disbelief coursing through my veins. Did he genuinely mean what he was saying? Or was he some sort of cruel joke, much like Andrew? "A hundred thousand dollars just to be your date for one night?" I couldn’t believe my ears. “More accurately, a fake date," he clarified, grounding me back in reality. This wasn’t about romance; it was about business. He launched into details about his girlfriend and his father, and that’s when it hit me—his name was Nik Spenser. I felt the air whoosh out of my lungs from the revelation. "Nik Spenser? The Nik Spenser?" I stammered, incredulous. "Yeah," he replied, cutting me off before I could finish my thought. My heart raced, thudding erratically against my chest. How could I not have connected the dots before? Nik Spenser—one of the most infamous playboys of our time, commonly trotted out in tabloids alongside tall, stunning women. How did I end up in this tangled web? "So you want me to pose as your girlfriend? That’s your master plan?" I asked, trying to grasp how deep I had fallen into this chaos. He simply nodded, nonchalantly. "Remember, I’m asking you to lie to your father,” I reminded him, just in case he had forgotten the stakes. "So?" His cool demeanor melted away any hesitation, as if the weight of that declaration barely registered to him. "Don’t you think it’s wrong? I can’t shake the image of your real girlfriend haunting me for pretending to be her on a night that’s supposed to be special." I wondered aloud, half to myself, as his laughter erupted, surprising me. “Seriously?” he giggled, as laughter bubbled up around us. “Are you an author?” I shot him a deadpan glare, frustration festering. “I act, I don’t write.” “Figures,” he murmured, a hint of amusement in his voice. "I’m being serious, Nik. What if your father finds out?" I pressed as silence enveloped us, perhaps he was reconsidering the magnitude of his decisions. In a swift motion, he leaned in, his hand resting gently on my shoulder. He tilted his head closer, whispering in an intensely low tone, “My father, my problem. So, are you in or out?” Panic flared in my chest. Did he truly mean he would help me get revenge on Andrew? And I was supposed to deceive his father too? Consequences loomed like dark clouds on the horizon of my thoughts. “Why?” I blurted out nervously. “Why do you want to help me?” My gut told me this answer would determine whether I would take the plunge he was offering. His smile was enigmatic as he grasped my hand, "I hate guys who make pretty girls cry." Was he serious? I scoffed, disbelief pulsing through me. "Is that it?" He feigned innocence. "Yeah, why? Should I say more?" "No." I couldn't give him the satisfaction of playing along. Nik might have the reputation of a player, but there was undeniable shrewdness lurking behind that charming facade. I could sense a game brewing beneath the surface. Did he assume I'd back down from the dare, or did he somehow expect romance? That was far from my intention. Men like him were a recipe for disaster. I preferred the safety of good boys, not charming rogues. “No." I said firmly. He smiled again, a strangely persistent grin that sent shivers through me. Would it ever fade? “Great,” he said, extending his hand for a shake. I eyed it cautiously, recalling how our last handshake had spiraled into unexpected chaos. “Deal. But for the record, I think we should keep our hands to ourselves," I added, plastering on a faux relaxed smile. There was no way I could let him see just how nervous I truly was. What if I failed to impress his father? “Fine by me," he replied, slipping his hand back into the pocket of his expensive suit. “Alright then, let’s go,” I said, signaling his chauffeur to start the engine, but something in Nik’s expression stopped me. “What?” I asked, sensing the tension that thickened the air. He raised an eyebrow, that familiar smirk resuming on his lips. “Do you really think you’re going there looking like that?” He gestured dismissively at my outfit, as if it were lowly refuse. I glanced down, bewildered, trying to decipher whether I had mistakenly donned the wrong garment. “What’s wrong with it?” I blinked innocently. His irritation was palpable. “Your outfit is a dead giveaway; my father would guess in a heartbeat that you’re not Christina because she’s a fashionista. I don’t date girls who dress—" “Shabbily?” I interjected sharply, noticing the sudden softness in his gaze. “I didn’t mean it that way, Maya. I just wanted to—” “I know,” I reassured him with a fake smile, eager to move past the awkwardness. “So what’s next? What do you have in mind?” His confidence returned as he smiled. “Transform you from head to toe.” My heart fluttered with anticipation as I rubbed my hands together. “I can’t wait to see that.”