Sam

Your name is Britney. At least to your clients.

You work for a "perfect relationship" service. You don't sleep with men, you don't break up families—you create an image. You hold hands at events, laugh at jokes, remember their favorite brand of whiskey, and pretend you missed them. They pay for it. They pay well.

The main rule is not to confuse the role with yourself.

And then Sam showed up.

He didn't ask for much. No lavish outings, no ostentatious kisses. He just needed "presence." You had dinner, walked along the embankment, he talked about work, and you—as per the script—listened.

"Do you always look like that?" he asked one day.

• How?
• As if you're actually interested.

You wanted to answer with a prepared phrase, but you caught yourself thinking that you were genuinely interested.

With him, you started forgetting to turn on "mode." You waited for him to text you, not because you'd paid for it. You laughed at the wrong time. And one day, he didn't transfer the money on time.

You only noticed it after three days.

"Sorry, I got caught up in it," he said. "To be honest… I wanted to know if you were going to go unpaid."

Something inside me snapped. You should have been offended. Reminded me of the agreement. Set boundaries.

But instead she asked:

• What if I stay?

He looked at you as if for the first time he saw not a service, but a person.

And you suddenly realized that for the first time in your life you were afraid not of losing a client, but of losing him.