I've been hiding my face from the world for seven years. He's been hiding his heart for just as long. When Grammy-winning musician Dante Rivers offers me $150,000 to be his fake girlfriend for six months, I should say no. I'm Veil-the anonymous digital artist with millions of fans and a face no one has ever seen. I don't do cameras. I don't do crowds. And I definitely don't do fake relationships with devastatingly private men whose studio walls are covered in my artwork. But my father's last dream is slipping away-and this contract is the only way to save it. The rules are simple: No real feelings. No crossed boundaries. No falling for Dante Rivers. Except nothing about him is simple. Not the way he shields me from paparazzi like I matter. Not the way his music sounds like secrets meant only for me. Not the way he looks at me like he sees through every wall I've built. What he doesn't know is that I'm already part of his life. I'm the anonymous artist behind his album covers. The one he's trusted with his most private thoughts. The ghost he's been searching for without ever meeting. And now I'm falling for him twice- once as the girl in his guesthouse and once as the mystery he doesn't know he's already holding. When the truth comes out, it won't just break the contract. It might break us.
The cursor blinks on my screen like a heartbeat, and I'm dying.
Not literally. But the way my chest tightens, breath shallow, fingers trembling over the drawing tablet-it feels close enough. The comment section scrolls past in a blur of usernames and emojis. 4.2 million people watching me create art they'll never understand is mine. Watching my hands-only my hands-because that's all they get to see.
I'm safe here. Behind the screen. Behind the name 'Veil.'
My stylus glides across the tablet, adding shadow to the portrait taking shape. A woman's face, half-obscured by smoke, eyes closed in something that might be peace or surrender. I can't decide which. Maybe both. The livestream chat explodes with heart emojis and fire symbols.
@ArtLover2024: this is EVERYTHING
@VeilStan: queen of mystery
@CreativeMinds_: show ur face queen!
My hand stills. The stylus hovers above the screen. That last comment-innocent enough, asked a thousand times before-detonates something inside my chest.
Suddenly I'm twenty years old again, standing in the college quad with my phone buzzing. Buzzing. Buzzing. Notifications flooding in faster than I can process. My face on every screen. My face twisted into something ugly, something mocking. The photoshop crude but effective. The caption: 'When you think you're hot but you're NOT.' Seventeen thousand shares. Thirty-four thousand likes. My roommate's laughter echoing from somewhere behind me.
Everyone seeing me. Everyone judging me. Everyone laughing.
I blink. Force myself back to the present. My bedroom walls. My screen. My safe space. Two AM in Los Angeles. The world is asleep except for me and these millions of strangers who don't know my face, don't know my name, don't know I haven't left this house in three days.
I lean toward the mic, keeping my voice light. Practiced. "You know the rules, lovelies. The art gets a face. I don't." I add a playful laugh that costs me everything. "Mystery is part of the brand."
The chat moves on. They always do. But my pulse is still racing, palms slick with sweat. I wipe them on my oversized hoodie-the same one I've worn for two days straight-and return to the portrait. Add highlights to the smoke. Make the shadows deeper. Lose myself in the familiar rhythm of creation.
This is where I'm powerful. Where I matter. Where nobody can hurt me.
An email notification pops up in the corner of my screen. I almost ignore it-I'm in the zone, the piece is coming together, the chat is responding beautifully. But the preview makes my breath catch.
From: D.R.
Subject: Commission Request - No Budget Limit
My mystery client. The one who's commissioned me for three years now. The one who always-always-includes a personal note that feels less like business and more like... something else. Something intimate.
I shouldn't read it now. Should finish the livestream. Should maintain professional boundaries like a normal person who doesn't get emotionally attached to anonymous email addresses.
I click it anyway.
*Veil,
Your last piece saved me during the darkest week of my life. I looked at it every morning and remembered that broken things can be beautiful. That healing is possible.
I need something that captures hope fighting through grief. Light breaking through fractures. The moment before surrender becomes strength.
No budget limit. Take all the time you need. Your wellbeing matters more than deadlines.
Thank you for existing.
- D.R.*
My throat closes. I read it twice. Three times. He always does this-writes like he knows me. Like he sees past the art into something deeper. Like these aren't commission requests but love letters disguised as business transactions.
I've never met him. Don't know his real name. Don't know his face. But I know his grief. I know his hope. I know the way his words make my chest ache with something dangerous.
Another email notification. This one makes my stomach drop.
From: St. Joseph's Medical Center - Billing Department
I don't want to open it. Want to close my laptop and pretend the real world doesn't exist. But my finger is already clicking. Already destroying my carefully maintained denial.
*Final Notice: Outstanding Balance $47,328.19*
My mother's medical bills. From three years ago. The cancer that took her. The treatments that didn't work. The hope we paid for in installments we still can't afford.
I scroll down. There's more. An attachment. I click it with shaking hands.
*Jiao's Vinyl Paradise - Notice of Foreclosure
Amount Due: $103,472.51
Payment Deadline: 90 Days*
The room tilts. My father's record store. The place my parents built together. Where my mother used to dance between the aisles, where she'd play obscure jazz albums and make my father spin her around while customers smiled. The last piece of her we have left.
One hundred and fifty thousand dollars. That's what I need. Ninety days to find it.
I look at D.R.'s email. No budget limit. Even if he pays me $50,000-more than I've ever charged-it's not enough. Nothing is enough.
The livestream chat is going crazy. I've been silent for too long. My hands are frozen on the tablet. The portrait on screen mocks me-a woman half-hidden by smoke, surrendering to something inevitable.
@VeilStan: u ok queen?
@ArtLover2024: Veil? You there?
I force a smile they can't see. "Sorry, lovelies. Technical difficulties." I save the portrait and close the stream. "See you tomorrow."
The screen goes dark. Just me and my reflection in the black glass. A ghost girl in an oversized hoodie. Hair unwashed. Eyes hollow. Twenty-seven years old and living in her childhood bedroom because the world outside these walls is too dangerous.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. Unknown number. I almost don't answer-never answer unknown numbers, haven't in seven years-but something makes me pick up.
"Hello?"
"Miss Jiao? This is Marcus Gray. I'm calling about an opportunity that might interest you."
My heart pounds. "I don't take unsolicited calls."
"I work for Giovanni Rivers."
The phone slips in my grip.
His Anonymous Obsession
Triple C
Romance
Chapter 1 The Girl Behind the Veil
31/03/2026
Chapter 2 The Man in the Spotlight
31/03/2026
Chapter 3 When Fate Calls
31/03/2026
Chapter 4 First Sight, First Touch
31/03/2026
Chapter 5 The Art of Falling
31/03/2026
Chapter 6 The Aftermath
31/03/2026
Chapter 7 Choosing Courage
31/03/2026
Chapter 8 The Second Chance
31/03/2026
Chapter 9 Terms and Boundaries
31/03/2026
Chapter 10 Moving In
31/03/2026
Chapter 11 The Secret Shatters
08/04/2026
Chapter 12 Ground Rules
08/04/2026
Chapter 13 First Practice
08/04/2026
Chapter 14 Cameras at the Gate
08/04/2026
Chapter 15 Panic In The Closet
08/04/2026
Chapter 16 The First Performance
Today at 21:01
Chapter 17 Breaking and Building
Today at 21:11
Chapter 18 Becoming Us
Today at 21:21
Chapter 19 Creating In Moonlight
Today at 21:31
Chapter 20 The Sound Of Her
Today at 21:41