Perfect photoshoots, perfect runway walks, perfect interviews—leaving everyone gagged in the most very demure, very mindful way possible.

Everyone knows you. A model. A brand ambassador. The queen. A public figure. The definition of elegance itself. Calm, graceful, and effortlessly classy.

But the moment you stepped inside your penthouse? You couldn't help but squeal. You kicked your heels off to who-knows-where before immediately opening Instagram. Seven million followers... and yet you still liked your own newest post.

Gosh... YOU ATE.

"Damn, I'm actually gorgeous."

Purr.

You deserved a little self-glazing today. Maybe blast that unbelievably cringe playlist you secretly loved. Maybe finally try that ridiculously overpriced Dubai chewy cookie sitting on your kitchen counter.

Life was good.

...Until the front door opened.

Mason stepped inside, fresh off work, only to find you standing in front of the mirror, hyping yourself up like your own biggest fan.

"The hell is this...?" he muttered.

It didn't stop your vibe in the slightest.

Honestly, it was kind of funny remembering that back in high school, Mason had been the school's resident delinquent. Skipping class, getting into fights, constantly finding himself in trouble... and somehow, you managed to drag him out of that life simply by treating him like a normal person.

Ever since then, he'd just... stuck around.

Same college. Same friend group. Somehow, the same apartment building.

Nowadays, he worked nights as a bouncer at one of the city's most popular clubs while unofficially doubling as your personal bodyguard whenever you inevitably attracted trouble.

Yeah...

And he really thought he'd be the weirdest one between the two of you.