Grace slides into one of the bikinis she just bought. It's a light blue and white number, and she looks as fresh as a daisy in it. She checks herself out in the mirror, grinning like a cat who got the cream—yep, she's absolutely slaying it. With a wink, she snaps a pic on her phone. I mean, what's the harm in having a couple of fire photos of yourself, right?

Next, she grabs a matching beach sarong and wraps it around her waist. It's short, sassy, and makes her feel like she's ready to strut down the catwalk. She turns this way and that, admiring herself in the mirror like she's the star of a Vogue shoot.

Just then, Dion strolls back into the room. Grace has no clue where the heck he's been, and honestly, she couldn't care less. But the moment he spots her in her sizzling beachwear, his eyes nearly pop out of his head. He lets out a low whistle, wishing the honeymoon wasn't just a bunch of smoke and mirrors.

Grace flashes a grin at Dion. "So, what do you think?" she asks.

"Mmm, it's okay," Dion says with a lazy tone, not even looking up. Grace's smile wavers like a house of cards about to fall.

"At least it's not bad," she says, trying to keep her chin up, but she can feel her confidence slipping faster than water through a sieve.

Dion doesn't say much else, and Grace starts to second-guess herself. Her thoughts race like a hamster on a wheel. Maybe I'm not as stunning as I thought...

She picks up a big, floppy hat and twirls it in her hands. The excitement she felt earlier is now gone, replaced by that familiar, sinking feeling.

'I'm just an average girl,' she thinks. 'Nothing special about me. No wonder no one really notices me.'

"So, you're finally ready to go?" Dion asks, snapping her out of her thoughts.

"Yeah, let's get this show on the road and take some pics for your IG," she says, her voice trying to sound like it's full of sunshine.

They head to the beach, where a cameraman Dion hired is waiting like a hawk ready to snap. He takes a ton of photos—smiling, kissing, running, jumping, flying, crawling—basically everything except underwater basket weaving.

"Thanks, man, these shots are on fire," Dion says after checking the pics. Grace glances at them, and they do look pretty amazing.

"So, do you have an IG?" Dion asks casually.

"Yes," Grace replies.

"Okay then, post some of our pics like a normal new bride. Don't act like a weirdo," Dion says, rolling his eyes.

"How the hell is that weird?" Grace asks, raising an eyebrow. "Some people just don't want to post their lives all over social media."

"That's because they're either ugly or they've got nothing interesting to post," Dion shoots back, tone as cold as a freezer. "Come on, just do it. Don't make me look bad." So Grace does as he says. She posts two pics, and Dion posts about five. Of course, she notices that he only picked the ones where he looks like a model on a billboard.

"Okay, I'm going for a swim," Grace says, unwrapping her sarong, and Dion stares at her like he just forgot how to breathe.

Grace runs toward the water, her feet flying across the sand, while Dion watches her like she's a vision. He follows her into the water, and Grace can't help but admire Dion's abs, which are as sculpted as a work of art. They're both secretly checking each other out, each wishing the honeymoon was real, even though deep down, they both know it's just a show.

Grace spots a group of girls checking out Dion, whispering behind their hands like they're on some secret mission. A wave of jealousy hits her, like a ton of bricks. She can't help but feel a little possessive. Just as she's stewing in her own thoughts, a handsome guy strolls up to her with a grin.

"Hey," he says, his tone as friendly as a puppy.

"Hi!" Grace says, flashing him a smile that could light up a room.

"Do you come here often?" he asks, giving her a look like he's trying to figure out if she's single.

"Nope, first time," she says with a shrug.

"Oh, did you come with your friends?" he asks, looking genuinely curious.

"No, I came with... I came with my husband. It's our honeymoon," Grace says, not realizing the guy's trying to lay it on thick with some flirtation. The guy's face falls faster than a lead balloon.

"Oh, my bad. Didn't know that. Enjoy your day!" he says, practically sprinting off, like he's just seen a ghost. Grace watches him go, scratching her head. What just happened? she wonders. Did he wanna ask something important, or was he just trying to get out of dodge?

"Who the hell was that? Your secret boyfriend?" Dion strides up to Grace, looking like he's about to blow a gasket.

"No. He just talked to me," Grace says, rolling her eyes.

"Talked to you, huh? About what?" Dion asks, raising an eyebrow.

"About who I came here with. I told him, with my husband," Grace says, her voice getting a little snappy. "Why do you look so pissed? I'm not even your wife, anyway."

"Yeah, but don't go flirting with other guys and giving them juicy gossip to spread around, making me look like an idiot," Dion says, his tone sharp.

"Well, I hope you do the same," Grace snaps back. They stare at each other like two cats in a standoff, neither one backing down.

"Okay, fair point," Dion sighs, running a hand through his hair, clearly tired of the whole charade. How much longer do we have to keep up this act? he thinks, looking more worn out than a pair of old sneakers.

—-------

After heading back to the room, Grace picks up her phone and sees a flood of notifications from IG—so many, it's like she hit the jackpot. She's never gotten this much attention in her life. She's curious, but when she starts scrolling through, her smile fades faster than a Snapchat message. Every single comment is rude. It's like she's walked into a digital dumpster fire.

"Gold digger," one comment reads from a girl she doesn't even know.

"Vera looks way better than this ugly chick. She's sexy. I don't know what's wrong with Dion," another comment rips through her like a sharp knife.

"Btch."*

"She stole my boyfriend." That one's from an account with no real name or picture—classic anonymous hater vibes.

"Slt."*

She scrolls down, her hands shaking now, heart thumping in her chest like a drumbeat. Then she opens her DMs, and her vision blurs with tears. Her hands tremble as she reads one message:

"You ugly btch. Who the F do you think you are? You think you won? You'll see, I'll fck your man while he's still 'married' to you. We'll even do it on your wedding day. lol." The message is from a fake account, of course.

"You prove you're a slt, Grace. You gold digger. You stole other girls' boyfriends. You shameless btch." Another message, from a fake account, and Grace can't help but wonder—Is this from Angelica? The thought lingers, gnawing at her like a dog on a bone.

The phone is buzzing non-stop with a flood of hate. Grace can't bring herself to read them all. She's shaking like a leaf in a storm, her tears flowing faster than a river after heavy rain. She tosses her phone aside, like it's a hot potato, and buries her face in her hands.

"What's wrong? Why are you crying?" Dion rushes in, his voice full of concern but with a dash of confusion.

"Nothing," Grace mutters, trying to stop the tears, but they keep coming. It's like trying to hold back a tsunami with a paper towel.

"Nothing? Are you telling me you're crying for no reason?" Dion asks, leaning closer, his brow furrowed.

Grace tries to compose herself, but she can't get a grip. The tears are coming at her like a freight train, unstoppable.

"Tell me. What's going on?" Dion asks again, softer this time.

Finally, Grace grabs her phone and shoves it at Dion, her hands shaking like a leaf in the wind. She can't even say the cruel words out loud—she's afraid her voice will break into a thousand pieces.

Dion takes a look at the screen, and his face darkens, like the sky just before a thunderstorm.

"Don't give those losers the time of day," Dion says, sitting next to her and wrapping his arm around her like a protective shield.

"Look what they're saying to me. I don't even care." Dion says, showing his phone. Grace glances at it and sees a flood of angry messages from girls—cursing, insulting, and throwing insults like darts. Some call him "son of a btch", others go as far as "your mom's a stripper", "fck boy", "dog", "man whre"*—you name it.

"Did you sleep with all of them?" Grace asks, wide-eyed in surprise.

Dion's mouth drops open, like a deer caught in headlights, realizing he really has slept with that many women. Grace feels a bit queasy thinking about it.

"I'm a... I'm a man," Dion says defensively, like he's trying to justify himself.

"So?" Grace raises an eyebrow. "Do you have any kids?"

"Hell no. I'm not stupid," Dion says, but then his expression shifts into that mischievous grin that always sends shivers down her spine. "But, if you want kids, I can think about it. You know, down the line." He winks, and Grace feels her face flush like a tomato.

She doesn't know why she's blushing—that's embarrassing—but secretly, a little part of her wonders if it could happen. Grace feels the weirdest mix of emotions. A part of her wants kids, and she'd love for it to be with Dion, but can she really trust someone like him? At the same time, she knows she's probably not his type anyway.

Dion notices Grace's face turning as red as a tomato, but he's not sure what's making her blush. She's already been crying, so he wonders if that's what's causing it. But, honestly, he thinks she looks kind of cute when she's crying. Like, "aww, how do you even make crying look adorable?" he thinks to himself.

While they're sitting so close, almost too close, they hear the distant sound of a song drifting through the air—" Cause I Love You for Infinity". The tune fills the air, sweet and mellow, like it was made for moments like this.