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Agatha let herself fall onto a plush little sofa by the office door. Her legs dangled over the armrest; her hair was fanning around her head.
Ophelia drowning in a river of bullshit.
"So what if I'm not likeable?" She asked the ceiling. "I'm an exceptional writer. You should remind the public of that instead of trying to marry me off to TikTok's favorite tradwife for PR!"
"I want you to date Instagram's favorite baker for PR." Jen corrected her with the patience of an elementary school teacher. "Think about it, Aggs! Rio needs to officially come out and get rid of the tradwife rumors. You need relatability points with the public to promote your new book. It makes total sense. Two birds, one stone and all that."
Agatha was too busy drowning to answer.
—
Or: At what point does 'pretending to be in love' turn into pretending not to be?
Bookmarked by plutoOfour
29 May 2026
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- Words:
- 25,993
- Works:
- 5
- Bookmarks:
- 12
Bookmarked by plutoOfour
10 Mar 2026
