Woman Thought Pretending to Be Someone’s Girlfriend at a Wedding Would Be Fun Until She Wished She Hadn’t — Story of the Day

Stuck in an elevator with a stranger was bad enough. But when Lena found out Dylan—a charming, suit-clad mystery man—needed a fake date for a wedding the next day, things got even weirder. A power outage, a bold proposition, and one tempting question: Would she really say yes to a total stranger?

She exhaled sharply, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she strode down the boutique hotel’s hallway.

The air smelled of fresh lilies, their floral sharpness mixed with the faintest trace of citrus and polished wood.

It was the kind of scent that clung to weddings—the kind that brought memories of champagne toasts, aching feet in high heels, and teary speeches that went on too long.

A fitting reminder, considering her best friend had gotten married last week.

Lena reached the elevator and jabbed the button, as if sheer determination could speed up the machinery.

The soft chime of the elevator arriving barely registered in her brain before she darted inside.

Just as the doors started closing, a blur of movement caught her eye. A man lunged in after her, his shoulder bumping into hers as her suitcase wobbled dangerously.

“Sorry—” he started, a breathless chuckle in his voice. He straightened, brushing an imaginary wrinkle from his crisp suit.

Lena barely spared him a glance. “No worries.”

And then, everything stopped.

Lena’s stomach clenched. A thick, loaded silence filled the small space.

She pressed the button repeatedly. Nothing.

“Oh, no. No, no, no,” she muttered, pressing her palm against the cool metal doors as if she could will them open.

Beside her, the man let out a deep sigh and leaned against the wall. “Classic. Always when you’re in a rush.”

Lena finally turned to him fully. Sharp blue eyes. Tousled blond hair. A suit that looked like it belonged on a magazine cover.

“I take it you have somewhere important to be?” he asked, his lips quirking in amusement.

“A dinner with a friend,” she muttered. “She got married last week. We planned this before I leave town.”

“Ah,” he nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Funny coincidence. The wedding I’m going to is tomorrow.”

Lena blinked. “Wait. You’re—”

“Dylan.” He extended a hand, palm up, as if this was the most normal introduction in the world. “Groom’s best friend. And emergency wedding date seeker.”

“Uh, folks? Seems like we’ve got a small power outage affecting the elevators. We’re working on it. Might take a bit.”

Lena closed her eyes briefly. “Perfect.”

Dylan chuckled. “Look on the bright side. At least we’re not alone in here.”

She shot him a look. “Right. Because being stuck with a stranger is somehow better than being stuck alone.”

He shrugged, flashing a lazy grin. “Depends on the stranger, doesn’t it?”

They stood in awkward silence for a moment. The hum of hotel activity beyond the metal doors felt distant, as if they were suspended in time.

Lena turned to him slowly, brow raised. “Excuse me?”

“I need a date for the wedding.” He smirked, leaning against the wall like this was just another casual conversation.

“My ex is going to be there, and I’d rather not be the guy sitting alone at the singles table. Think of it as a fake date for a noble cause.”

Lena let out a short laugh. Was this guy serious?

“You’re really asking a total stranger to be your plus-one while we’re trapped in an elevator?”

Dylan shrugged, completely unbothered. “So, is it a yes or a no?”

Lena never thought she’d actually go through with it.

The whole thing had sounded ridiculous—a fake date with a man she barely knew, just to help him save face at a wedding. And yet, here she was.

She smoothed her hands down the fabric of her red dress, the one she had almost left hanging in the back of her suitcase.

It wasn’t her usual style—too bold, too eye-catching, too much.

Dylan stood beside her, a glass of champagne in one hand, his other resting lightly on the small of her back. Steady, effortless, completely at ease. Unlike her.

She forced a polite smile as yet another guest approached, throwing curious glances her way.

Weddings were strange like that—everyone wanted to know who you were, why you were there, if your presence meant something.

Dylan, on the other hand, played the part perfectly.

He leaned down, murmuring in her ear, “That woman in the blue dress has been trying to figure out if we’re engaged for the past ten minutes.”

His eyes twinkled. “Tempting. But then I’d have to plan an even faker proposal.”

They moved through the ballroom like they had done this a hundred times before—his touch easy, his words charming, his smile like a safety net.

And then there was the dance.

The moment his fingers laced with hers, the moment he guided her into a slow, fluid rhythm, Lena forgot for a second that this wasn’t real.

His grip was firm but gentle, the kind that told her to trust him. The warmth of his palm against her waist sent an unfamiliar shiver down her spine.

As the bride and groom swayed in the center of the dance floor, Lena tilted her head up. “So, tell me,” she murmured, “what’s the deal with this ex of yours?”

Dylan took a sip of champagne, and for the first time all night, his smile flickered. Just for a second.

“Maya,” he said, rolling the name on his tongue like it was still a part of him. “We dated for a while. Things got… complicated.”

Lena raised a brow. “Complicated how?”

He exhaled slowly, eyes flicking down to the golden liquid swirling in his glass. “She thought I wasn’t serious enough. That I didn’t have time for her.”

“And did you?”

Dylan paused, then let out a dry chuckle. “Maybe not. But I was trying.”

Before Lena could respond, someone called Dylan’s name.

She turned just in time to see her.

Maya.

Tall. Poised. Beautiful in that effortless way that made other women feel like they were trying too hard.

Her presence filled the room with a quiet kind of power—like she knew she belonged anywhere she went.

And when she reached Dylan, she hugged him.

Not a casual, polite hug. Not an awkward, we-used-to-date hug.

Something in between. Something that made Lena’s chest tighten in a way it shouldn’t have.

She wasn’t supposed to care. This wasn’t real.

The reception was in full swing—laughter, clinking glasses, music that vibrated through the floor—but Lena barely heard any of it.

Her fingers gripped the stem of her champagne glass a little too tightly as she watched Dylan and Maya across the room.

Too close. Too familiar. Too much. Their voices were low, their expressions unreadable. Whatever they were saying, it wasn’t for her to hear.

And yet, she couldn’t look away.

This was supposed to be a game. A favor. A night of harmless pretending. But now, her stomach twisted, and she hated the feeling.

Dylan.

Lena blinked, dragging her gaze from Maya. She forced a smile, the kind that didn’t reach her eyes. “Great. You and Maya catching up?”

Dylan’s frown was subtle but there. “Not really. She just wanted to check in.”

Check in. Right.

“Lena,” he started, voice softer now, careful. “You know this isn’t—”

“Not real?” she cut in, her heart hammering. “Yeah. I know.”

The words felt wrong.

“Thanks for the night, Dylan,” she said, turning on her heel. “But I think I’m done playing pretend.”

And then, she walked away.

Lena had her bag packed before the sun had fully risen. She had spent the night convincing herself that walking away was the right choice. No messy feelings. No unnecessary complications. Just a clean break.

But as she slung her bag over her shoulder and stepped into the hotel lobby, her chest felt heavier than it should. Maybe it was just the lack of sleep. Maybe it was something else.

She turned the corner too fast, and suddenly—collision.

Hot coffee sloshed dangerously close to her dress as Dylan stumbled back, gripping his cup to stop the spill.

She cursed under her breath. Of course. Of course, she had to run into him now.

“I was just—” she started, but Dylan wasn’t buying it.

“Leaving?” His eyes locked onto hers, sharp, searching. “Without saying anything?”

Lena exhaled, torn between pride and something that felt a lot like longing. “It was just supposed to be a one-time thing, right?”

Dylan was silent for a beat, then let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his hair.

“Yeah,” he admitted, voice rough. “That’s what I thought, too.” He hesitated, then took a step closer. “Until I realized I didn’t want it to end.”

Lena’s pulse stumbled. “What?”

“Last night,” he said, his voice softer now, steady, “I watched you walk away, and all I could think about was how much I didn’t want you to go.”

“I don’t care about Maya,” he cut in, his tone firm, certain. “I don’t care about anyone else. I care about you.”

Lena wanted to believe him. But doubt—fear—clawed at her. “What if this is just—”

“It’s not,” Dylan interrupted, seeing right through her hesitation. “You feel it, too. Don’t you?”

She swallowed hard.

Yes.

Yes, she did.

So, for once, she stopped overthinking.

A kiss that was warm. Real. Nothing like pretending.

Dylan smiled against her lips. “Does this mean you’ll stay?”

Lena laughed softly. “Maybe. But only if you promise to stop getting us stuck in elevators.”

Dylan chuckled, his hand slipping easily around her waist. “No guarantees.”

And with that, Lena finally let herself fall.

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