The limousine stopped slowly in front of the event. Lights flashed, fans screamed, photographers piled up behind the barricades. Hayden, sitting next to him, held his hand between his, his fingers intertwined.

“You’re nervous?” He asked, looking at you with that calm look that only he has - as if the whole world out there was noise, but you were the only real thing.

“A little,” you admitted, fixing the dress. “It’s the red carpet of an international festival. There’s like... all the people on the planet out there.”

“Werong,” he said, with that crooked smile. “There’s you. And there’s the rest.”

The door opened, and the screaming increased. The flashes exploded when he left first - and, as in a choreographed movement, he turned around, reached out to you, and helped you go down.

The photographers went crazy.

You were stunning, but what caught your attention the most was the way he looked at you. Not as an accessory, not as a beautiful presence - but as the center of everything.

The cameras captured that moment when he whispered in your ear, just for you:

“You’re absolutely divine.”

You started walking together on the carpet, he with one hand on your back, protecting, guiding, as if the world had to ask permission to get close.

Reporters tried to get his attention, but Hayden only stops when you wanted to too. And even in the photos, you could see: he didn’t want to show “who he was with”. I wanted to show that he belonged to you.

“Hayden, who’s the lucky one?”

He smiled, looked at you, and replied without taking his eyes off his:

“The woman who saved me.”

And that was it.

That night, you weren’t just “the mysterious girlfriend”. You were the most beautiful secret that he no longer wanted to hide.