Fake Dating the Secret Billionaire Hockey Star

Chapter 7

Word Count: 887 | Released on: 17/08/2026

He walked over to the hockey painting and stood before it, the s

tomach, like a student waiting f

ed by something I couldn't quite decipher. "It's very good," he said, his voice

sweet talk ever could. Heat rushed t

folio I'd left on the cof

. It was a genuine qu

on the couch and

into: digital art, logo designs, and even

one by one, his fingers lightly tracing the lines and colors I had c

ions felt more intimate, more vulnerable, than him seeing me without any

d up at me, his eyes more serious than I had ever seen them

didn't u

deserves to be seen by more people. It sho

a "hobby." My brother was the only one who ever offered quiet encourageme

left on the coffee table after shopping that a

almly. "So stop treating it like you're afr

, confused. "Wh

urself a real place to work. Get a professional easel. Upgrade your digital setup. Buy whatever materials you

e trust fund from the contract. That must be it. This was still part of the "contract," an investment to make his "PR girlfri

arts," he added, a hint of a smile in his voice, trying to diffuse the

I picked up the card. "Alright, Mr. Hayes. I

transformed his face, melting the ice an

the frantic, runaway t

zed beside a professional easel, and I added a new digital display to replace the aging tablet I'd been struggling with. It wasn't a

ly for training and came back late. We didn't

e. He'd wash the dishes. We were like two room

anything, just watch. I could feel his gaze on me, a strangely comfor

rching goalie masks, studying the way skates cut

ust raised an eyebrow, but sa

ld last. Then, a week later, m

all this time! You have to bring him out tomorrow

Chapter End

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Fake Dating the Secret Billionaire Hockey Star

Fallen Nimbus Romance

“My sister-in-law didn't want me to marry for love. She wanted me to marry rich-so she could turn my husband into her personal ATM. So I did the one thing guaranteed to ruin all her plans. I got myself a broke hockey player. At least, that's what everyone was supposed to believe. Beckett Hayes needed a girlfriend badly. The Chicago hockey star had a reputation problem, angry sponsors, and too many headlines painting him as arrogant, reckless, and impossible to settle down. I needed a man convincing enough to stop my family from arranging my future for me. Our solution was simple: fake date. His rules were even simpler. Live in his shabby apartment. Help sell the struggling-player act. Smile for the cameras. No real feelings. Easy. Until my family showed up to mock the "loser" I'd chosen-and Beckett stepped between us like they had insulted something that belonged to him. Until he put a no-limit black card in my hand and told me to stop sacrificing my dream of becoming an artist just because I was afraid to spend money. Until our fake dinners started feeling domestic, his hand started finding mine under the table, and I began forgetting that every protective look and possessive touch was supposed to be part of the contract. Then Beckett's grandfather arrived at our tiny apartment wearing cashmere, flanked by bodyguards, carrying a priceless Hayes family heirloom for me. Apparently, pretending to be broke was the easy part. Pretending I wasn't falling for my fake boyfriend was becoming impossible. Especially when his grandfather took our only bedroom and left Beckett and me with one pullout sofa, one night, and absolutely nowhere left to hide.”