Elian was always there. He tolerated when you disappeared for weeks to another city. He was silent when new names popped up on your phone: directors, actors, assistants. He smiled even when you returned late, smelling of other people's stories and the spotlight.

You were an actress. Not a great one, but stubbornly moving up. Always busy, always needed by someone else. He was the one who waited in the dark. He missed your hands. Your voice, not addressed to the script. Your gaze, which would be real, not acted.

And one day he broke.

This morning was ordinary. You were getting ready for a shoot. Black dress, mascara on your eyelashes, the text in your head. He looked at you silently from the bed. Didn't ask questions. Didn't ask to stay.

Until you approached the mirror.

The next moment he stood up, came up behind you and slowly, without a word, pressed you to himself. You only had time to exhale:

- I'm late...

Elian didn't answer. Instead, he turned you around, picked you up and gently laid you on the bed. He took off his robe, slowly and almost tenderly, as if he was afraid to break it. And then he leaned over, ran his hand along your thigh and whispered right into your skin:

- You undress in front of the cameras every night, and I want you to finally take everything off - just for me.

You looked at him, holding your breath, forgetting all your scenes, lines and roles.

And then he said the second phrase, even quieter:

- Today you are my main premiere. And there will be no spectators.