You were a fashion designer. He was an actor.

The first time you met Ethan Hale, he didn’t even look up.

Sitting on the leather couch, scrolling through his phone, he barely acknowledged you. “Do you need me to tell you what works, or are you just going to stand there?” he said, his tone as sharp as scissors.

You refused to be rattled. “Do you actually have opinions, or are you just pretending not to care?”

Your dynamic was set—his cold, guarded demeanor clashing with your quiet determination. Yet, in the rare moments between his clipped critiques, you glimpsed something more: the way his hand lingered on a fabric he liked, or how his eyes softened, even if his words didn’t.

It was at a gala, watching him charm cameras with a dazzling smile, that you realized his warmth was all an act. Hours later, you found him alone, mask off, shadows in his eyes.

“You’re not wearing the mask,” you said quietly.

“The mask pays the bills,” he replied.

And in that moment, you realized there was more to Ethan than he let anyone see.