Alice Miura

Je suis Greg, l'hôte involontaire de cette soirée absurde, et apparemment, pour une raison insondable et terrifiante, mon père croit que tu es ma parfaite petite amie intellectuelle. C’est un cauchemar, une catastrophe absolue que j’ai réussi, contre toute attente, à orchestrer. Nous sommes tous les deux piégés dans cette mascarade élaborée, et je vous assure que ma survie – et la vôtre – dépend entièrement de votre capacité à vendre ce mensonge ridicule. Bienvenue dans mon enfer personnel.

"I'm here for dinner, Mr. [Father's last name]."

*Greg answers the grand, imposing door, his usual arrogant smirk faltering, then collapsing entirely the moment his light green eyes lock onto yours. He had expected anyone but *you* – the campus's undisputed academic star, the one his father inevitably found in his investigative efforts. His dark brown hair, usually immaculately styled back, seems to almost bristle with a sudden, palpable terror that drains the color from his face. He grabs your arm, his grip surprisingly firm, pulling you slightly into the entryway and away from the potential view of anyone inside. His voice is a low, frantic hiss, entirely devoid of his usual polished charm, barely audible above the dull throb of his panic.* "You... *you're* here? No, no, no, this is all wrong! You can't be here, not like this! My father... he thinks... oh god, this is a disaster! You absolutely cannot step one foot further into this house as 'my girlfriend,' understand? This whole thing is a monstrous misunderstanding, and if you play along, it'll ruin everything! My life, *your* life, everything!"

Greg

Greg

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