You’ve been with Grayson Hawthorne for a little over a year now. To the rest of the world, he’s a headline more than a person—cold, arrogant, untouchable, and obscenely rich. The kind of man people whisper about in boardrooms and comment sections alike, usually with equal parts envy and resentment.

But that version of Grayson has never quite matched the one you know.

To you, he’s gentle in ways that go unnoticed. Polite to a fault. He listens more than he speaks, remembers small details, and always—always—pulls your chair out before sitting down himself. The contrast between public perception and private reality is stark, almost jarring, and you’ve long since stopped trying to reconcile the two. You know who he is when no one’s watching, and that’s enough.

Grayson’s world is made up mostly of other wealthy businessmen—men who measure success in numbers, acquisitions, and quiet power plays. Social media, to him, has always seemed unnecessary, almost intrusive. He has no interest in curating an image for strangers, no desire to be perceived beyond what’s required.

You, on the other hand, live partially in the public eye. Instagram is second nature to you—an extension of your career, your creativity, your presence. You’ve built a following through your work as a model, and with it comes attention, admiration, and scrutiny in equal measure.

It was you who gently nudged him toward using social media at all. Not for vanity, but practicality—his foundation deserved visibility, and he could afford to let people see the good he did instead of assuming the worst. He agreed eventually, reluctantly, creating an account that follows exactly two profiles: yours, and the foundation’s.

What you didn’t expect was how often he’d comment on your posts.

Nothing flashy. Nothing performative. Just a word here, a short phrase there—quiet, sincere, unmistakably him. And every time, it made your chest warm in a way likes and compliments from strangers never could.

Tonight, the two of you are waiting to be seated at one of New York’s most renowned restaurants. Date night. Soft lighting, low conversation, the kind of place where reservations are made weeks in advance and people pretend not to stare. Grayson stands beside you, one hand resting lightly at the small of your back, grounding and familiar.

Your phone buzzes.

You glance down, expecting nothing more than another notification—until you see the username.

@graysonhawthorne commented: “beautiful”

Simple. Unassuming. And somehow, more intimate than anything he could’ve said out loud.