I know it sounds crazy, but I did it anyway. I invited a man I’d known for just one day to go on vacation with me. Why? Simple. My ex, Mark, was going there with his new girlfriend, and I wasn’t about to let him have the last laugh. I wanted to show him I’d moved on, too—even if that meant faking it.

It all started at a café in the city. I was venting to a friend about how Mark was taking our dream vacation with another woman. I must have been loud because the man at the next table turned to me with a smirk.

“If you need a fake boyfriend, I’m available,” he joked.

That was the moment I decided to do something insane. His name was Daniel. Handsome, confident, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. We hit it off instantly. There was something effortless about him, like he belonged in my life.

Two days later, we were boarding a plane to Santorini.

Daniel played the role so well that, at times, I forgot it was an act. He held my hand, whispered in my ear, and made me laugh until my stomach hurt. The moment we “accidentally” bumped into Mark and his girlfriend at the hotel bar, I saw the flicker of jealousy in his eyes. I presented my new boyfriend and we exchanged a few words.

Mission accomplished.

But what I didn’t expect was how real it started to feel. Daniel wasn’t just a convenient distraction; he was a dream. He treated me like I was the only woman in the world. And the way he looked at me… I felt something I hadn’t felt in years.

Then everything changed.

It was our fourth night in Santorini. Daniel and I had stayed up late on the balcony, sipping wine and talking about everything and nothing. He kissed me that night, and I kissed him back.

When I finally crawled into bed, I fell asleep feeling… happy. Like maybe this crazy idea wasn’t so crazy after all.

Then, before dawn, I was jolted awake.

Someone was in my room.

A rough hand gripped my shoulder, shaking me violently. A voice was screaming my name.

“WE HAVE TO GET OUT! NOW!”

My heart pounded as I opened my eyes. Mark was standing over me, his face pale, his eyes wild with fear.

“What the hell, Mark? Get out!” I yelled, trying to push him away.

But he wouldn’t let go.

“No, listen to me,” he hissed. “Something’s wrong. He’s not who you think he is!”

I blinked, my mind sluggish from sleep. “Who?”

“Daniel! He’s dangerous!”

I shoved Mark off me, grabbing my phone. “You’re insane! Get out before I call security!”

Mark ran a hand through his hair, clearly panicked. “I found his wallet. He left it on the bar last night. His real name isn’t Daniel. He’s been using a fake identity.”

The words sent a shiver down my spine. I wanted to dismiss it, but something about the way Mark was shaking made my stomach churn.

I turned to the other side of the bed. It was empty.

Daniel was gone.

Mark handed me a folded piece of paper. “I looked him up. That name belongs to a man who disappeared two years ago.”

I scanned the page. A news article. A missing person’s report. My breath caught.

Then, before I could react, the door creaked open.

Daniel stood there, a strange look in his eyes.

“Good morning,” he said smoothly, his gaze shifting between me and Mark. “What’s going on?”

Mark moved faster than I thought possible. He grabbed my wrist, yanking me out of bed. “We need to leave. Now.”

Daniel took a step forward. “Leaving already?” His voice was calm, too calm.

I hesitated. The man I’d spent the past few days with had been charming, gentle, perfect. But now, standing in the dim morning light, he felt different. Off.

I turned to Daniel. “What’s your real name?”

He smiled. “Does it matter?”

Mark pulled me harder. “RUN!”

And I did.

We sprinted down the hallway, my heart hammering against my ribs. Behind us, I heard slow, deliberate footsteps. He wasn’t chasing us. He didn’t have to.

He knew something we didn’t.

When we burst into the hotel lobby, I turned to Mark, gasping for breath. “What the hell is happening?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I know that man is not who he says he is.”

We spent the next hour in the hotel’s security office. The staff checked Daniel’s room. It was empty—no bags, no trace of him. The credit card on file was stolen. He had vanished.

Back home, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d barely escaped something terrible. I searched for more information but found nothing. It was like Daniel had never existed.

Then, a week later, I received a package. No return address.

Inside was a single Polaroid photo.

It was a picture of Daniel and me on our first night in Santorini, sitting at the bar, laughing. I stared at it, my blood running cold.

On the back, in neat handwriting, was a message:

“You played your part beautifully.”