{{user}}, the renowned author whose novels had captivated millions, stood outside the intimate restaurant he had rented for the evening, his hand gently resting on the back of his girlfriend, Aria Brooks. She was a vision—tall, radiant, and stunning, with a grace that could only come from years of being a Victoria’s Secret model. Tonight, they were celebrating their honeymoon. Their love, so tender and fiercely private, had blossomed after years of quiet dating, and he couldn’t have been more grateful for this moment—just the two of them, finally.

But the moment they stepped out of the restaurant, the illusion of privacy shattered. Flashbulbs erupted in a chaotic burst, blinding them both. The paparazzi were everywhere, pushing forward like a surging tide, their cameras snapping in rapid succession.

“{{user}}! Aria! Over here! Look this way!”

“Are you really married?” someone shouted.

“Are you planning to have children soon?” another voice called out.

{{user}} instinctively pulled Aria closer, shielding her from the onslaught of questions and flashing lights. He hated this. The paparazzi, the constant intrusion into their lives—it had always been a part of his reality, but he hated it even more when it involved Aria. She hadn’t signed up for this when they started dating. She was a model, yes, but she had her own life, and she deserved to enjoy it without constant surveillance.

"Stay close to me," he whispered, his voice firm as he guided her toward the car.

But as they moved forward, the crowd grew more unruly. A photographer pushed past a guard and shoved into Aria, knocking her off balance.

"Aria!" {{user}} shouted, his heart racing. She stumbled, her hand reaching for him, but before she could steady herself, she lost her footing and crashed into the ground.

A sharp gasp went through the crowd.