Thunder crashed, echoing off the skyscrapers as Emma sprinted through the pouring rain, her heart pounding like a drum was playing in her chest. Raindrops lashed against her face, each one a reminder of the chaos that had turned her life upside down. She felt like the star of a dramatic scene, and frankly, she wasn't sure she was ready for this plot twist.

"Emma, wait!" The voice sliced through the storm, a familiar tone that sent a shiver down her spine. It was him—the man who had promised her a life of fun and adventure. But now, standing in the rain, the truth hung heavy in the air like the thunderclaps above.

She spun around, breath catching in her throat. "What do you mean by not…real?" she shouted over the wind, her mind racing to piece together the revelation that had shattered her reality. The first novel she had ever read was clutched tightly in her fingers.

This wasn't just some whimsical fantasy she'd dreamed of, it was terrifyingly real. She had longed to be the heroine in her own story, but standing there in the storm, it felt less like a dream and more like a nightmare. Every moment spent with him had felt like magic, yet the reality twisted her stomach in knots. Was this really what she had wished for?

'And to think, not long ago, I was just reading my book at the airport, dreaming of adventures like this…'

=====

Emma tapped away at her keyboard, the ticking clock on the wall reminding her she'd soon be heading to the airport. A business trip was the last thing on her mind, though. Wait, nope. She was thinking about the new romance novel tucked in her bag, just waiting for her to dive into it.

Standing up, she tugged at the hem of her blazer and clutching the manila folder against her chest, as she made her way down the hallway toward her boss's office. She wasn't nervous, but more… exhausted. The office was the same as it had been every day for the past three years—fluorescent lights humming like an annoying fly, computers whirring in the background, and the distant sound of phones ringing.

The old wooden plaque read, "James Ferguson, Branch Manager", but it might as well have said, "James, Living Proof That Not All Bosses Look Like Billionaire Heroes".

As Emma reached Mr. Ferguson's door, she stopped in her tracks, a file tucked under her arm. She placed both hands on her chest, puffing herself up as if she were about to dive into a pool of sharks. She inhaled so deeply that her lungs protested, then let out a long, dramatic sigh, rolling her eyes.

"Just a file drop-off, Emma, not the Hunger Games," she mumbled, but it didn't stop her from picturing Mr. Ferguson giving her his usual grumpy stare—like she'd just ruined his day by existing.

With one last tiny eye-roll for herself, she knocked, wearing her professional "I don't mind this at all" smile.

"Come in," came the familiar gruff voice of Mr. Ferguson entered her ears and immediately sent chills towards her nerves.

She entered to find her boss hunched over his desk, squinting at his computer screen.

Unconsciously sighed, she couldn't hide the disappointment she had. He was everything her romance novels promised a main character would never be—balding, with a dad belly that stretched his shirt to its limits. There was even a half-eaten donut next to his coffee.

'Where's the tall, dark, and handsome with the six-pack abs when you need him?' Emma thought, biting back a smirk.

"Here are the reports you asked for, Mr. Ferguson," she said, handing him the file.

He grunted in response, barely looking up. "Just leave it on the desk."

Emma nodded and quickly exited the room. As she walked back to her desk, she heard the usual chatter from the office gossip crew like a daily routine of them. Thankfully, the office was quieter today, with many already on their annual leave to celebrate New Year's with family, friends, or significant others.

Her? Why bother using her annual leave when she knew it would only mean spending hours curled up on the sofa, binge-watching Nettotheflix or reruns of her favourite dramas?

"Have you seen Emma today? All dressed up again. Bet she's got a new rich guy," one snickered.

"Obviously. No way she can buy those designer bags on her salary. Must be nice," another chimed in.

Emma rolled her eyes but kept moving. Same old nonsense. People could think whatever they wanted. The truth? Her life wasn't nearly as glamorous as they imagined, but correcting them? Too much effort. 

When her butt barely touched her seat, the chatter continued. She wasn't one to eavesdrop; their whispers were practically directed toward her.

"Did you hear Emma's flying off to Pawis?" one of them said, a hint of envy in her voice.

"Yeah, can you believe it? I bet she's just using the company's money for a vacation," another added.

Emma's eyes immediately rolled and her lips pressed into a thin line as she straightened her keyboard. The trip was strictly business—something the gossipers never seemed to understand. And Pawis? It wasn't going to be the glamorous, romantic getaway they imagined. It was all paperwork, meetings, and probably another encounter with clients who never quite listened, or worse, perverted.

'Honestly, if they read as much as I do, they'd know life is never as easy as it sounds,' she thought, rolling her eyes internally. But on the outside, Emma just smiled, waved off the comments, and grabbed her bag.

She had bigger things to worry about, like catching her flight.

Emma let out a huge, exaggerated sigh of relief. Finally, some peace. Once she arrived at the airport, she found a cosy seat near her gate, kicked off her heels slightly, and pulled out her favourite book—the one about the poor girl who's whisked away by a dashing billionaire. Classic. She'd read this kind of story a dozen times, but it never got old. Maybe because it was the exact opposite of her life.

On the outside, Emma was your average young professional with modest wardrobe, humble apartment and works. But in reality? She was keeping a secret, her father was a billionaire. And yup, an inconvenient detail she kept under wraps, given that she was the illegitimate daughter he never talked about. Her life was practically funded by guilt — monthly allowances, designer clothes, all sent discreetly. Sure, it was nice, but what did she really want? A life that felt like one of these novels, with all the adventure and romance, ah but minus the family drama.

Flipping open the book, Emma continued reading and after a while she couldn't help but whisper, "I wish I could be her…"

"That can be arranged," a deep, confident voice said.

Startled, Emma glanced up. Standing in front of her was a man who seemed coming straight out of a novel—tall, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, with an air of quiet authority. He had that unmistakable billionaire look, chiselled jawline, perfectly styled hair, and a gaze that could make anyone feel like they were the centre of his world. Oddly enough, he looked familiar, as if she'd seen him before but couldn't quite place where.

"Sorry, what?" she asked, blinking in disbelief, her eyes darting over him from head to toe. Wait… it was him! The second lead from that cheesy morning drama she'd stumbled on last Saturday. She'd barely paid attention to it, but this guy had been hard to miss, playing the rival with that same smirk and intense stare. Conclusion, he couldn't really act.

"I said," he repeated smoothly, flashing a charming smile, "I can make you her. The heroine from the book."

Emma's heart raced and her eyes furrowed. 'Was this guy for real?'