"Ethan Blackwood," Ava declared, typing the name with a flourish.
I nearly choked on my wine. "You can't be serious. That's the actual guy you just showed me!"
Ava waved her hand dismissively. "No, not the real Ethan Blackwood. Just a made-up guy with the same name. It's perfect—strong, sophisticated, memorable. Besides, it's a common enough name that no one will think twice about it."
I set my wine glass down and rubbed my temples. The combination of emotional exhaustion and alcohol was making it hard to form coherent objections. "This is crazy, Ava."
"Yeah, you've said that already." She continued typing, her fingers flying across the keyboard. "Now, let's build his profile. Thirty-two years old, CEO of... what should we call his company?"
"I don't know. Doesn't matter," I mumbled, picking at the pad thai. Despite my protests, I found myself pulled into Ava's momentum. "Something techy but not too specific."
"Nexus Technologies," Ava suggested, scribbling notes. "Medical technology because it's noble. He's developed revolutionary scanning software that detects cancer earlier than conventional methods."
"Oddly specific."
"The best lies contain truth," Ava retorted. "Dad's misdiagnosis nearly killed him. If better technology had existed..." She trailed off, and I felt a pang of guilt. She was right, but I didn't want to admit it.
I sighed. "Fine. Medical technology. What else?"
"He graduated from MIT, comes from old East Coast money but rejected the family business to build something meaningful. Moved to San Francisco three years ago to expand his company's West Coast presence."
I raised an eyebrow. "You've really thought this through."
"I'm making it up as I go," Ava confessed with a grin. "But I'm good at this. Now, how did you two meet?"
"We didn't meet. He doesn't exist," I reminded her, but my brain was already spinning possibilities. "A charity gala. Three months ago."
"Perfect!" Ava clapped her hands. "That's just long enough to be serious but not so long that people would wonder why they haven't heard of him."
I watched as she crafted a detailed backstory—how "Ethan" had outbid everyone for a private dinner with a renowned chef that I had been desperate to win for Dad's birthday, but then gallantly offered to share the experience when he overheard my disappointment. How one dinner had led to coffee, then weekend trips to Napa Valley, and now we were "practically inseparable."
"I'm going to need something a bit stronger than wine," I muttered, grabbing the bottle.
"Now for the visuals," Ava said, opening a high-end AI image generator on her laptop. "This is where your skills come in. We need photos that look completely real."
I hesitated. Using my company's premium AI tools for personal deception felt wrong. "I don't know, Ava."
"Just one image," she pleaded. "One perfect couple shot to announce your new relationship. If it feels wrong, we delete it."
Two hours and another bottle of wine later, we had created him—an impeccably dressed man with dark hair, striking blue eyes, and a smile that crinkled at the corners in a way that seemed genuinely warm. The AI had merged multiple reference images into something uniquely handsome yet believable. More impressively, we had crafted five flawless photos of "us" together—at a restaurant, walking along the beach, dressed up for a gala, and two casual shots that looked like candid moments captured by a friend.
"My God," I whispered, staring at the images. "They look so real."
"That's the point," Ava replied, scrolling through them. "Now we need to post one with the perfect caption. Something that announces your relationship without seeming like you're trying too hard."
I grabbed her wrist before she could click anything. "Wait. We're not actually doing this, are we? This was just... therapy. Imagination."
Ava looked at me, suddenly serious. "Maya, you can't hide in this apartment forever. You haven't left except for work in weeks. People are talking. They're pitying you. Daniel and Sophia are flaunting their happiness everywhere while you're falling apart."
"I'm not falling apart," I protested weakly.
"Then prove it." She selected the most natural-looking photo—"us" at sunset on Baker Beach, my head resting on his shoulder as we gazed at the Golden Gate Bridge. "One post. See how it feels."
I stared at the image. The woman in the photo looked happy, confident, loved—everything I hadn't felt in months. Something shifted inside me, a tiny flame of defiance flickering to life.
"Fine," I said, taking the laptop. "One post. But I'm writing the caption."
I crafted something simple: "Some people come into your life when you least expect them to. The past few months with @EthanBlackwood have been the happiest surprise. #NewBeginnings"
"That's perfect," Ava approved. "Subtle, not overly gushy, but clear. Now we need to create his profile so you can tag him."
"Wait, you want to create an entire fake social media presence? That's way beyond one post!"
"It has to be convincing," Ava reasoned. "Just a basic profile with a few posts. I'll manage it."
Before I could object further, she'd created a simple profile with three AI-generated photos of "Ethan" alone—one in a sleek office, one hiking in what appeared to be Marin Headlands, and one reading on a terrace.
"There," she said triumphantly. "Now you can tag him."
My finger hovered over the post button. This was absurd, juvenile, potentially disastrous. And yet...
"If I do this, we have an exit strategy," I insisted. "In two weeks, we say he got called away on extended business overseas. The relationship fizzled naturally. End of story."
"Deal," Ava agreed too quickly. "Ready?"
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and pressed post.
"Now we wait," Ava said, refilling our glasses and raising hers in a toast. "To new beginnings. Real or imagined."
I clinked my glass against hers, already wondering if I'd made a terrible mistake.
The answer came faster than I'd anticipated. My phone began buzzing with notifications within minutes. Comments and likes poured in, mostly from acquaintances expressing surprise and delight at my apparent new relationship.
"It's working," Ava whispered, scrolling through the responses. "Oh my God, look—Daniel viewed your story."
My stomach lurched. "Already? It's midnight."
"Which means he was probably checking your profile," Ava said with grim satisfaction. "Sophia probably has notifications set for when you post."
I set my phone face-down on the table, suddenly feeling sick. "This is wrong. We should delete it."
Ava's phone buzzed with a text. She glanced at it and her eyes widened. "Too late. Jenna just asked if you're bringing Ethan to her birthday party next weekend."
Jenna. My former roommate who had sided with Daniel after our breakup. The same Jenna whose birthday celebration would undoubtedly include Daniel and Sophia.
"Tell her I'm not going," I said quickly.
"Absolutely not. This is perfect!" Ava typed rapidly. "I'm telling her you'll be there. With Ethan."
"And how exactly am I supposed to produce a fake boyfriend in real life?" I demanded.
Ava looked up, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "You won't have to. We'll say something came up at the last minute. But now everyone will be expecting to meet him eventually, so they'll believe he's real."
"This is spiraling out of control," I muttered.
"No, it's working exactly as planned." She pulled up another screen. "Let's see what else we can do to solidify his existence."
As Ava continued crafting our deception, I found myself staring at the picture of the man who didn't exist, wondering how a lie could feel so comforting. For one brief moment, I allowed myself to imagine what it would be like if Ethan Blackwood were real—if someone like him had actually chosen me over someone like Sophia.
But then reality crashed back. This was a temporary balm for my wounded pride, nothing more. Soon, I'd have to face the real world again, alone.
My phone buzzed with a text. I picked it up, expecting another comment notification, but instead saw a message from an unknown number:
Interesting post, Maya. We should talk. Meet me at Sightglass Coffee tomorrow at 10 AM. -E
I stared at the screen, blood draining from my face.
"Ava," I whispered, holding out my phone. "I think we have a problem."