The morning began with chaos—and not the kind Iris was used to.
Her phone buzzed furiously on her desk as emails piled in and encrypted files loaded in the background. But it was the name on the screen that turned her spine to glass.
MOM.
She picked up with a breath she didn't remember taking.
"Sweetheart!" her mother's voice was syrupy, suspiciously cheerful.
"Hi, Mom."
"Your father and I are coming to town! Isn't that wonderful? We'll be staying just a few days. You're always so secretive, Iris. It's about time we finally meet that man of yours."
Her blood froze. "What man?"
"You know very well what man. The one in that photo at the cathedral. The tall one. Broad shoulders. Devastating in black. Your mystery boyfriend."
Iris rubbed her temples. "That was a funeral."
"And yet," her mother mused, "the chemistry was practically glowing off the photograph."
She ended the call with a sigh and a rising sense of doom curling in her chest.
—
She didn't knock. She rarely did when things were on fire inside her brain.
Aldrin looked up from a set of decrypted files as Iris strode into his office like she was storming a battlefield. The glass door hissed shut behind her. Ainsworth and Marek were already inside—great.
"I need you," she said bluntly, eyes focused.
Marek's brows shot up. "Well. This escalated quickly."
Ainsworth coughed dramatically. "Should we leave or…?"
Iris rolled her eyes. "I need him to pretend to be my boyfriend."
There was silence. A beat. And then:
"I'll definitely need popcorn for this," Marek grinned.
Ainsworth leaned back, hand over his chest. "Fake dating? This is my favorite movie."
Aldrin leaned forward slightly, eyes locked on hers. "Didn't you shoot those rumors down a few weeks ago? Quite... ferociously, I recall."
"I did," Iris replied, crossing her arms. "Which is exactly why I need to make it look real. My parents are coming into town. They saw the cathedral photo. They think you're him. And now I have to prove them right for two dinners and a Sunday brunch."
"You want him to be your decoy?" Marek asked, nodding toward Aldrin with exaggerated disbelief. "The most emotionally unavailable man on this floor?"
"I can emote," Aldrin muttered, insulted.
"Oh sure," Ainsworth said. "I've seen rocks cry faster."
Aldrin gave him a slow look. "Careful. You're still on desk duty."
Iris was trying not to laugh. "Can we focus?"
Aldrin looked at her again, more seriously now. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"
"No," she said honestly. "But I trust you. You're the only one who can pull this off."
He watched her for a long second, measuring something in her face. Then he gave a soft sigh, leaned back in his chair, and said the words that made Marek nearly fall off the sofa:
"When and where?"
The teasing reached a fever pitch. Marek dramatically pulled out his phone. "Do I RSVP now or later for the wedding?"
"I'm writing my best man speech," Ainsworth said, scribbling on an imaginary notepad. "'It all started with a rumor and a bullet…'"
Iris looked at Aldrin, a tiny smile twitching at the corner of her lips. "I'm so sorry."
He smirked. "Too late for that now."
And for the first time in a long time… she didn't mind the chaos.
Later that day, Aldrin stood beside his office window, watching the city buzz beneath the skyline. He was quiet, thoughtful—the way he often became before things went off the rails.
Behind him, Iris paced with a tablet in hand, going over a basic cover story she'd drafted for their "relationship."
"Okay, so according to this, we met at a company retreat—"
"We don't do retreats," Aldrin cut in without turning around.
She sighed. "Fine. We met during a classified inter-branch operation."
He raised an eyebrow at that. "Sounds like a bad spy novel."
"Would you rather I say we met at the coffee machine and locked eyes over a spilled espresso?"
He shrugged. "At least that one's believable. I do drink coffee."
Marek's voice rang out from the doorway as he strolled in with two steaming cups. "A double shot of 'you're doomed' for each of you."
He handed Iris one cup and placed the other dramatically on Aldrin's desk. "Look, I'm all for theater, but if you two are going to pull this off, you'll need more than witty banter and matching tragic pasts."
Aldrin turned slowly. "You've been thinking about this, haven't you?"
"Like you wouldn't believe," Marek grinned.
Ainsworth stepped in behind him with a tablet of his own. "We've taken the liberty of crafting a... relationship playbook. You know, just in case things get dicey."
Iris blinked. "You made a whole file?"
"Three files," Ainsworth said proudly. "One for body language, one for inside jokes, and one full of plausible couple quirks. You're welcome."
Aldrin frowned. "Why do we need quirks?"
"Because real couples have tells," Ainsworth replied smoothly. "Like when you do that thing where you lean slightly toward Iris when someone questions her. That's protective. But if you do it too much, it screams possessive. And Iris? You talk faster when you lie."
"I do not."
"Really?" Marek said. "Because you just did."
Iris narrowed her eyes at him. "I hate all of you."
Marek patted her shoulder. "A small price for romantic survival."
Aldrin sighed and looked down at the coffee cup. "This isn't going to end well."
"Oh, it might," Ainsworth said cheerfully. "But probably not in the way you expect."
Aldrin glanced at Iris—her eyes focused on the screen, jaw tight with tension she was trying to hide—and then back at the two agents who were enjoying this way too much.
"You're both off field rotation for one week," he said.
Marek grinned. "Worth it."
—
Later that evening, Iris sat in her apartment, going over the details for tomorrow's "family dinner." She hadn't told her parents much—just that Aldrin was serious, successful, and yes, very real.
Her phone buzzed again. Another message.
MOM: Can't wait to meet him! Hope he's ready for your father's "talk."
She stared at the screen, a lump forming in her throat. This was spiraling faster than she expected. Aldrin had faced criminal masterminds, but parental scrutiny? That was another battlefield entirely.
There was a knock at the door.
She opened it to find Aldrin standing there, sleeves rolled up, blazer slung casually over his shoulder. He held out a folder.
"Figured you'd want the final draft of our backstory."
She took it silently, heart hammering against her ribs. "Thanks."
He didn't leave immediately. "You alright?"
She nodded. "Yeah. Just… can't believe we're doing this."
Aldrin gave her a look, half-smile tugging at his lips. "Isn't that what you said before the Revenant op?"
She exhaled a laugh. "That was easier."
He turned to go, then paused. "Iris."
"Yeah?"
"If they ask how we met," he said, glancing over his shoulder, "just tell them I couldn't stop looking at you."
Then he left her there—speechless, stunned, and silently cursing the man who made pretending feel so dangerous.