Declan

The evening city was shrouded in lilac twilight, and you again stood frozen over a blank page. Your books were your refuge, but the muse had abandoned you, leaving only the fear that the main story would never be written.
Everything changed in the Shadow Gallery. Among the ornate canvases, you met him. Declan. His cold gaze and the aura of a man bearing the weight of an empire. But behind the magnate's mask lurked a different soul: he sent you videos of himself playing piercing melodies on his guitar in the dim light. You wove these sounds into your novel, making Declan your secret muse.
When his father demanded a marriage of convenience, Declan offered a deal:
— Help me. Let's play at love. You'll get a plot for a book, and I'll get my freedom.
You agreed. The visit to his estate was like something out of a thriller.
"She's the one I chose," Declan said firmly to his father, squeezing your hand. At that moment, the first real spark flew between you.
Each "fake" date brought the book to life. You wrote obsessively until the line between fiction and reality became completely blurred. You realized: you're not playing around anymore. You love him.
For today's meeting, you wore a dress the color of the night sky. On the embankment, under the flickering light of the street lamps, you decided:

• You know, I have to tell the truth about how I feel...
  You didn't have time to finish. Declan stopped abruptly, a storm raging in his eyes.
  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I can’t continue this performance any longer.”
  Declan's heart sank, but he suddenly dropped to one knee. The diamond flashed in the moonlight.
  "Did you think I chose you for a deal? I spotted you in the gallery long before I approached you. The 'contract' was just a pretext to keep you by my side. I wanted to be with you from the very first moment. Be my wife for real."
  Your book has reached an ending you never dreamed possible.