Ama never thought she'd be the type to get dressed up in silk she couldn't afford, slip into heels that made her ankles scream, and walk into a five-star restaurant like she belonged there. But there she was. The app had sent her the clothes. Not exactly sent, more like loaned, a stylist's box on her doorstep, still smelling of rich perfume and starch. The message was short: "Dinner at eight. Dante will meet you there. Act natural. The audience loves chemistry." Ama stared at the text for an hour before she started getting ready. Her hands shook when she lined her eyes. She wasn't nervous about Dante, not really. It was the thought of people watching her every move, dissecting every smile. Cash for Fun had become more than a hustle now. It was a leash around her neck. The restaurant glittered with chandeliers shaped like dripping glass tears. Ama pushed through the door, heart pounding. The hostess smiled, looked her up and down, then whispered something into her earpiece. They knew who she was. They'd been told. And then there was Dante. Sitting like he owned the world, chair leaned back, phone in hand, a smirk already pulling at his lips. He looked up when she approached, and Ama felt that weird shift in the room, like every eye turned at once. "You're late," he said, loud enough for the nearest tables to hear. Ama rolled her eyes, playing along. "Maybe you're just early." Phones were out already. Clicks, flashes, fake coughs to hide the sound of shutters. Ama sat, skin prickling. This wasn't dinner. It was a theater. Wine poured. Cameras disguised as waiters lingered too long at their table. Dante leaned in, voice low. "They want sparks. Banter. You ready to play?" Ama nodded. "As long as the check clears." Dante laughed, the kind of laugh that said he wasn't actually amused. He reached across the table, fingers brushing hers calculated, smooth. Ama's stomach tightened even though she knew it was fake. "So, tell me again," Dante said, louder this time. "What's a girl like you doing wasting time on an app? You could've been... I don't know... a model. Or an actress." Ama smirked. "Maybe I like the money better." The nearby tables chuckled. The scene was working. Ama hated that part of her liked it too. Hours later, back in her apartment, Ama scrolled through the hashtags: #AmaAndDante #CashForLove #DinnerGoals Clips of her laughing at Dante's joke, his hand over hers, her lips parted like she might kiss him right there over the crème brûlée. The comments were vicious and sweet at once: "She's glowing." "It's staged, you idiots." "Ama's in love, watch." "Bet he dumps her on camera lol." Ama closed her phone. Her heart was still racing, not from the wine, but from the way Dante's eyes lingered after the cameras were gone. For a second she thought maybe it wasn't acting. Maybe he meant it. Next date, a rooftop pool party. They weren't supposed to swim. Just sit, laugh, drink cocktails in neon light. The drone above them buzzed like a mosquito. Dante leaned close, whispered so low that Ama barely caught it. "When I kiss you, don't pull back." Her chest tightened. "Who said you're kissing me?" "The app. The script. Don't act surprised."
