Stealing My Perfect Man With A Lie

I had found my perfect man—a walking, talking advertisement for a high-value male. Three years into dating, I finally decided to bring him home for the holidays. But the moment I sent a photo of Damon and me to the family group chat, my phone exploded. “Sister, I know you’re desperate for a man, but are you really scraping the bottom of the barrel like this?” “Are you trying to get out of your blind dates by deliberately finding a scrub to piss Mom off?” I stared, stunned, at my boyfriend standing next to me. He was six-foot-one, with a washboard of eight-pack abs, dressed in a bespoke suit that cost more than my annual salary, and possessed the kind of face that belonged on a magazine cover—think Henry Cavill-level of chiseled perfection. Then, a text from my father arrived, forwarding the photo I’d just sent: “Jade, are you blind? You’ve picked a short, broke, loser for a boyfriend?” I looked at the man in the photo he sent—old, balding, with a beer belly, and looking barely five-foot-three. He was wearing faded, ragged clothes, his expression sleazy as he clutched me to his side. But the worst part? The photo showed no evidence of AI manipulation. No clear Photoshop artifacts. It looked sickeningly real. I raised my head to Damon, who still looked every bit the Adonis I knew. Frantic, I asked friends and strangers nearby to look at him. Every single person saw the same thing my family did: a short, broke, loser. The shock was a lightning strike. I started questioning everything, my own sanity unraveling. Gradually, I descended into a nervous breakdown, eventually committed to a psychiatric facility, where another patient accidentally killed me. When I opened my eyes again, I was back—right at the moment I was about to announce my boyfriend to my family.

1 My parents have always favored my sister, Brooke. Part of me suspected they were simply hoping I’d dump Damon so Brooke could have him. This time, I didn’t send a couple’s photo to the family chat. Instead, I sent Damon’s solo picture, along with a carefully crafted lie. “This is my friend Sasha’s new boyfriend. What do you guys think of him?” Their replies were unsettlingly identical to the last time. “Why would Sasha date a short, broke guy? Is she having some kind of crisis?” “Jade, as her friend, you need to talk some sense into her. Tell her she can do so much better.” “Sister, you have to tell Sasha to break up with him! That’s clearly a toad trying to bag a princess!” I was speechless. Last time, they had a motive: they thought Damon was my boyfriend. But this time, they had no reason to lie about my best friend’s fictional beau. While I was still reeling, my mother’s text popped up. “Didn’t you say you had a boyfriend? It’s the holidays soon, shouldn’t you bring him home to meet your mother?” Dad chimed in: “Exactly! Our little family of four should become a family of five. You’re not getting any younger, Jade.” “Sister, when are you bringing your fiancé home? Don’t you dare follow Sasha’s bad example!” Brooke added. My hand tightened around my phone, my palm slick with cold sweat. I could only imagine the expressions of disgust and contempt that would greet us if I brought Damon home. Damon’s tall, muscular frame came up behind me. He wrapped his arms around me, burying his face in the crook of my neck, a low, playful plea in his voice. “Jade, what did your family say? You are going to take me to meet your folks for Christmas, right?” I looked at his perfect profile, the sunlight hitting him like a spotlight on a Greek statue. How could this man possibly be the short, broke scrub my family described? The sheer height difference… the chiseled jawline… the quality of his tailored clothing… every detail screamed High-Value Male. I decided to play it safe this time. I didn’t immediately agree. “O-of course, I’ll take you to meet them. But first, you have to do me a small favor.” He chuckled, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Anything but small, baby. You know I’d walk through fire for you.” I put my plan into action. “Damon, would you mind going to the park with Sasha later and taking a few photos together?” Damon’s face instantly fell, a look of hurt washing over him. “Jade Miller, are you trying to push your man onto your friend?” I quickly reassured him, lying that I’d lost a dare and that it was a silly request from Sasha. “Just three photos in the park, and you’re off the hook. No physical contact required.” Seeing my earnest, pleading expression, Damon finally softened. “Only this once.” I let out the breath I’d been holding and called Sasha. “Sasha, are you free? I just need you to take three pictures with Damon in the park.” To my shock, Sasha’s rejection was venomous. “Are you serious? You want me to take pictures with that short loser of yours? You might as well just kill me now!” If my family was gaslighting me, fine, but why was my best friend saying the exact same thing? Sasha had met Damon several times before. Why the sudden, violent rejection now? “Jade, I wanted to tell you three years ago. But you were so clearly obsessed, I didn’t want you to do anything stupid.” “You’re such a hopeless romantic. How could you treat that thing like a treasure? I swear, I smelled his stale, old-man scent and wanted to vomit. How have you tolerated him for three years?” My heart hammered in my chest. Was I really that delusional? I always thought his scent—a mix of expensive cologne and something subtly fresh, like a hint of orange zest—was intoxicating… 2 I still refused to believe it. Taking a deep breath, I decided to use a bribe. “If you agree to this, I’ll buy you the new season’s LV shoulder bag.” “Deal. And don’t ask again.” After she hung up, the absurdity of the situation gnawed at me. Even if I used a heavy filter, the discrepancy couldn’t be this huge. Three days later, the photos Sasha sent shattered my tenuous hold on reality. The man in the pictures was the same one my father had sent me in the last life—the balding, low-rent scrub. I stared at the images on my phone. Again, no signs of digital alteration. Just then, Damon walked in the door. I rushed to him. “Damon, did you save the photos from today’s shoot?” “Of course, baby. Wouldn’t want you nagging me for them later.” He handed me his phone. The photos on his screen showed him—the towering, god-tier Damon Kincaid—standing next to Sasha. How? What was going wrong? I took his phone onto the balcony, comparing the two sets of pictures side-by-side. The same park, the same time, the same pose, only the person with Sasha was different. The remaining two pictures yielded the same disturbing result. Damon joined me on the balcony, pulling me into a hug. He leaned down, a pout on his face. “Baby, I did what you asked. Why do you still look upset?” The scent from him—that clean, intoxicating orange zest—was still there, still mesmerizing. But the thought that the man holding me right now could be that thing sent a wave of icy nausea through me. “What? No, no way. I’m just… I’m jealous. That’s why I look unhappy.” Hearing this, Damon instantly brightened. “I completed your mission. Now, you have to kiss me.” I looked at his perfect, angelic face, but the image of the other man flashed through my mind, killing my appetite. I gently pushed him away, offering a forced, nervous smile. “A kiss? That’s nothing. I’ll cook you dinner tonight as a reward.” Damon didn’t seem to notice my unusual behavior. He simply pecked me on the cheek and said, “Sounds perfect.” I went to the kitchen and sent the photo of Damon and Sasha (the one Sasha sent me) to the family chat. “Is this the same man you saw last time?” The replies were immediate. “Has Sasha still not broken up with him? They are a total mismatch! Sasha is five-foot-five; she’s practically taller than him in heels.” “Jade, is your friend brainwashed? What does he even have going for him?” “Sister, look at his clothes! He smells like a Goodwill store. He’s probably wearing his dad’s hand-me-downs!” Just in case I wasn’t convinced, Dad posted a solo photo of the man. “See? This is the exact same guy you posted before, confirmed.” I zoomed in on the solo picture. Same time, same background, same pose. Different person. Why did my photos, and the photos they saw, not match? Damon, wondering why I hadn’t emerged, knocked on the kitchen door. “Jade, why are you staring into space in the kitchen? Want me to take over cooking?” “No, no, I’m almost done. Just wait for me at the table.” I quickly finished two dishes and carried them over. As Damon took his seat, my gaze fell on the distinct butterfly birthmark visible just above his collar. It was Damon’s unique mark. I frantically pulled out Sasha’s photo and the family chat photo for comparison. I froze. The man in the pictures, the scrub, had the exact same butterfly birthmark on his neck. 3 I picked at my food, my mind racing. I watched Damon across the table, then finally spoke, my voice barely a whisper. “Damon… I have a question. Please promise me you won’t get mad.” He turned, smiling his gentle, perfect smile. “I promise. Ask me anything.” “Uh… have people in your past ever commented on your looks?” He paused for a beat. My heart sank. Had I hit a nerve? Did everyone secretly think he was ugly? The next moment, he laughed, taking my hand and guiding it to touch his cheek. “Everyone has always told me I’m handsome. I’ve been voted ‘Campus Adonis’ since high school.” He pulled out his phone, scrolling to photos from his college years. For four years straight, his photo was pinned to the ‘Hottest Guys’ wall, winning the voting contest by a landslide. Seeing my bewildered expression, he playfully flicked my forehead. “What is it? Can’t stand the fact that your husband is naturally gorgeous?” “I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours. You didn’t question me when we first started dating, but now, right before meeting your parents, you’re having doubts. Are you trying to find an excuse to break up with me?” Damon looked at me with mock seriousness. I just pushed my questions down, forcing a smile. I was distracted the rest of the meal, my eyes darting to Damon, searching for any anomaly. I found nothing. Later, lying in bed, I couldn’t stop spiraling. I watched Damon sleeping peacefully beside me, and a thought struck me. Fine, maybe love was blinding, but how could I be wrong about his height? Why did everyone else see him as barely five-foot-three, when I knew for a fact he was six-foot-one? I carefully slid out of bed, making sure not to wake Damon. I checked his shoes by the door. No platform insoles. No obvious lifts. Still not satisfied, I crept to the drawer, pulled out a measuring tape, and tiptoed back onto the bed to measure his height. A ruler wouldn’t lie, even if my eyes did. But Damon kept tossing and turning exactly when I tried to stretch the tape measure, thwarting my attempts. I pulled the tape measure back and stared at his stomach. The man in the picture had a beer belly. Damon had eight-pack abs. Could the abs be faked? Was it some kind of prosthetic muscle suit? I had seen videos on men faking abs. Slowly, tentatively, my hand reached out to touch his taut stomach. Just as my fingers made contact, he seized my hand. Damon’s eyes opened, full of sleepy, teasing laughter. “My little baby can’t sleep? Are you looking for a late-night show, huh?” I instantly broke out in a cold sweat. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice the measuring tape I had just shoved under my pillow. “N-no. I just thought you might be cold. Don’t want you catching a chill… It’s late. Let’s sleep.” I quickly dove back under the covers and closed my eyes, feigning sleep. Damon didn’t let up. He rolled over, pinning me beneath him, his warm lips covering mine. “Baby, the fire you just stoked isn’t going to be easy to put out.” I didn’t find any answers that night, but I was certainly worn out by the morning. I had lost the battle and the war. Damon looked completely satisfied, while I was a wreck. “Baby, when are you taking me to meet your folks?” “You’re so cute, I want to lock you up and keep you all to myself, away from the world.” Damon’s comment made me check my phone. The date I’d promised my family for the big introduction was tomorrow. 4 I thought about how good Damon had been to me over the past three years—gentle, attentive, and incredibly generous. Even if he was short and a scrub, I was resigned to it. But I couldn’t accept him being poor. He’d spent at least six figures on me over the years. That couldn’t be fake. “Tomorrow. Are you happy now?” Damon’s eyes sparkled. He kissed me excitedly. “Why didn’t you say so sooner? I haven’t had time to buy your parents presents.” “Jade, get up! We need to go pick out gifts.” I rolled my eyes playfully at him, but didn’t bother pointing out who had kept me up all night. Damon ignored my glare and pulled out a suit from his walk-in closet—his globally customized, one-of-a-kind designer suit. “Jade, can I wear this to meet your parents tomorrow?” I felt a pang of unease. Last time, my parents had looked at this very suit with such disgust they were practically spitting. But to me, Damon looked like a human clothes rack; everything looked incredible on him, especially this suit, custom-made to showcase his perfect physique. After we tidied up, Damon called ahead to shut down a section of a high-end mall and drove us there in his custom-order Maybach. At the jewelry store, the attendant instantly bowed, addressing Damon respectfully. “Sir, how may I help you?” “I need a substantial amount of investment gold—say, a few pounds. And select the most expensive, tasteful gold bracelet and earrings for the matriarch.” The attendant’s smile was electric. I nudged Damon. “Isn’t that too much? That’s incredibly expensive.” “They’re my future in-laws, baby. Nothing is too much. What’s mine is yours, and theirs is yours too.” Damon also picked out a classic Patek Philippe watch for my father and purchased every single new-release LV bag for my sister. This man couldn’t be poor. I took photos of all the gifts he bought and sent them to Sasha. Her reply was a skeptical warning: “Jade, watch out for a pig-butchering scam! These flashy guys often take out massive loans to buy you extravagant gifts, making you believe they’re rich, only to leave you saddled with the debt. They work with shady loan sharks for a high commission.” “These men are just fronts, honey. Don’t be so naive.” I showed her photos of Damon’s Maybach and our penthouse apartment. “Those can all be rented. Don’t be an idiot and fall for it.” My excitement instantly flatlined, replaced by a cold dread. The next day, I brought Damon home with a knot of anxiety in my stomach. My family’s expressions shifted from initial shock to barely concealed disdain to forced pleasantries. Dad took the gifts from Damon. “You must be Jade’s boyfriend. You really shouldn’t have spent so much. Come, sit and eat.” Mom pulled me aside immediately. “You wasted our time pretending that scrub was your friend’s boyfriend, didn’t you? You were ashamed to admit it was yours!” Brooke immediately covered her nose and sat as far away from Damon as possible, as if he were a biohazard. The dinner was painfully awkward. As Damon and I left, I happened to glance back. I saw all three of them—Dad, Mom, and Brooke—simultaneously flash a subtle hand gesture. A specific, brief movement of their fingers. I didn’t think much of it then. But the moment we got home, the group chat blew up. “Jade, look at what he brought! Fake gold, a fake watch, a knock-off bag! Does he think we’re fools? The whole lot wouldn’t cost a hundred dollars! The nerve of that man to be so pretentious!” “I’m telling you this now, Jade. If you don’t break up with him, I’m cutting you off.” “Sister, you have no idea how bad he stunk at the dinner table. I almost threw up.” I scoffed, leaning against Damon, and typed out my reply: “Stop the act. I know exactly why you all insist my boyfriend is a short, broke scrub.”