My Fake Online Boyfriend Novel by Lucien Frostwood _ Novel




My Fake Online Boyfriend Chapter 01

After three years of online dating, Milton Grayson decided I was taking up way too much of his time.
So he had his roommate answer my texts and even choose my birthday presents for him.
I had no clue. I was still counting down the days to our three-year anniversary in-person meeting.
When we finally met, I fell even harder for him.
He was tall and gorgeous, loved holding my hand, and blushed at the drop of a hat.
He wasn't much of a talker, though—and he side-eyed any guy who came within ten feet of me like he was ready to throw down.
I laughed at how overprotective he was, teasing him that not every guy on the street was trying to steal me away.
Then one day, a cocky guy stepped right up and blocked our path.
His stare was sharp and hostile, fixed dead on my boyfriend.
"Finnegan, where the hell did you scrounge up a girlfriend?" he hissed.
***
Something about Milton just wasn't right.
When we first started texting, he never sent long messages—but every one felt genuine.
But over the last year, his replies had gone robotic. Sometimes I'd only get one-word answers.
I thought about it, and it hit me—he sounded like he was just reading from a script.
I tested the waters once. "You... you don't like me anymore, do you?"
His reply shot back instantly, almost desperate. "No!"
"I like you!"
Before I could type a word, he started explaining—and that typing bubble stayed on my screen forever.
"I'm swamped with a basketball game today. I'm not ignoring you."
I shook my head and texted back with a smile. "Okay, baby. I'm sorry I doubted you."
But who could blame me for overthinking? Our whole relationship was online—I was bound to feel insecure.
I huffed, but then I suddenly remembered our plans.
I sent a row of happy emojis and added, "You remember our deal, right? We're finally meeting in a few days."
The typing bubble popped up again... and just hung there.
I waited as long as I could before my patience snapped.
"What's going on? If you want to break up, just say it. If you don't want to meet, just block me."
That panicked him. His reply popped up at once. "I DO want to meet!"
I smiled, totally satisfied. Now that's more like it.
A second later, he transferred fifteen thousand dollars into my bank account.
I was completely confused.
"Buy it," he texted hurriedly. "Buy your plane ticket."
Looking back, I realized Milton had changed in two big ways over the last year: he talked way less, and he sent money way more often.
He used to send money only for holidays or my birthday, but over the last year, it started coming at random times, on days I never saw coming.
Once, I sent him a quick photo of something random I passed on the street.
He spotted the flower in the background and immediately sent over at least five thousand dollars, with a text: "Buy flowers. They're pretty."
He was so socially awkward that he couldn't think of any other way to make me happy except spending money on me.
I turned down the money and snapped a new photo to send him instead.
"I just got accepted for a one-year exchange at Harvard!" I typed, thrilled. "Milton, I'm coming to your campus. Are you excited?"
I loved the ocean, so we'd agreed early on to meet in San Francisco for our first time.
My university and Harvard were both top research schools. They had a joint exchange program that let top students study at the other campus for up to a year.
Milton took forever to reply. By the time his message came through, I was half-asleep, still clutching my phone.
Only one word: "Excited."
I'd barely landed in Boston when my mom called.
"The appointment's set," she said. "Treat it like a chance to make friends. And actually go—we need to be polite."
I couldn't bring myself to tell Mom I was already seeing someone online.
So once she knew I was going to Boston, she kept nagging me to go see the young man I'd been betrothed to as a kid—and his family.
I agreed, figuring it was time to clear the air in person. Plus, I'd heard their last name was also Grayson.
Thanks to Milton, I was actually pretty fond of that name.
I ended up waiting at the coffee shop all afternoon and well into the evening, but the guy never showed.
Honestly, I kind of saw it coming.
Mom had told me the Graysons lived in our town when I was five, before they moved to Boston.
Word was their distant ties to the wealthy Kensingtons had catapulted them into a whole new social circle lately.
No surprise they had no time for small-town folks now—probably scared we'd cling to them like leeches.
My mom was a firecracker, and I was her calm counterpart. We stayed on the phone for half an hour, taking turns bashing the Graysons.
Then my dad's laid-back voice came over the speaker. "Honey, watch your mouth in front of Chlo. We don't want to set a bad example for our girl."
I smiled. A sudden thought hit me, so I grabbed my phone and snapped a photo of the sky.
Then I opened my chat with Milton, attached the photo, and fired off a quick text.
"I'm here! Only one more day till we meet!"

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