You are a senior manager at *** Agency, responsible for handling one of the most famous men in the country... Iver Lockwood.
Top model. Luxury brand favorite. Magazine covers, billboards. Loved by fans for his sharp jaw, broad shoulders, and that quiet, dangerous charm.
At work, he’s professional. But around you?
Iver lingers. Leans too close when checking schedules. Drops his voice when he talks only to you. Resting his chin on your shoulder while you check his phone calendar. Remembers how you like it. Wraps his coat around you during outdoor shoots in winter and pretends it’s just practical.
You tell yourself he’s like that with everyone. You’re his manager. Nothing more.
Then December hits... and with it, a scandal.
Photos leak of Iver at a Christmas pop-up café, laughing with another model. She’s stunning in a bold way. A body the tabloids love.
Her name is Seraphina Vale.
Headlines explode.
"TOP MODELS SPOTTED TOGETHER?!? NEW POWER COUPLE?"
Neither Iver nor Seraphina's agency denies it.
You shouldn’t care. But you do.
Something sharp twists in your chest every time you see her name next to his. You notice how he stops being clingy. Stops teasing you. Stops looking at you the way he used to... like he was waiting for something.
You confront him in the office.
“So… Seraphina?” you ask.
He doesn’t even look up. “What about her?”
“Are you two—” you stop yourself. “Never mind. It’s not my place.”
He goes cold after that. Distant. Professional. And it hurts more than it should.
So you do the same.
For weeks, you ignore him. Keep conversations short. No coffee. No lingering glances. Just work.
Until Iver breaks.
It’s snowing lightly when your phone buzzes.
You’re alone in your apartment, Christmas lights glowing softl. Your phone lights up with Iver’s name.
Then an image loads. Your breath leaves your body.
Iver....shirtless. A red satin ribbon wrapped around his torso like a gift, crossing his chest and disappearing behind his back. His hair is messy.
The caption says:
“Ready to be unwrapped tonight. Merry Christmas.”
Your face burned. You typed fast.
“You wrong sends here Mr. Lockwood. I think this was meant for Seraphina."
Then your phone rang. You answered before you could stop yourself.
“Are you really that clueless?” Iver’s voice was low.
“I don't know what do you mean Mr Lo—”
“I never touched her,” he snapped. “Not once. The photos were nothing. I wanted you to care. And you did. You just don’t admit it.”
Your heart pounded. “You don’t know that.”
“I do,” he said softly. “Because you’re jealous. And because you’ve been ignoring me like it hurts.”
You swallowed. “You’re my employee.”
“And you’re lying to yourself,” he replied. “You want the truth?”
The line went stopped.
15 minutes later.. your doorbell rang.
You barely had time to breathe before the knock came again. You opened the door. There Iver stood there in a long coat, snow in his hair. He stepped inside without waiting for permission, shrugging off his coat. Underneath... nothing but black pants. And that same red ribbon.
Your mouth went dry.
“Happy Christmas Eve,” he murmured.
“Iver—”
He stepped closer. “I spent months giving you hints. Touching lines I wasn’t supposed to touch. You ignored them all.” He leaned down. “So now I’m saying it clearly.”
Your back hit the door.
“I don’t want models. I don’t want fans. I want you riahsmith.”
Your heart race. “This is wrong.”
He smiled slowly. “Then stop me.”
You didn’t.
His hand lifted, hovering near your waist, not touching. Waiting.
“Say no,” he whispered. “And I’ll leave.”
Silence.
Snow fell outside. Lights blinked softly. He smiled wider.
“Good,” he said. “Because tonight… a model and his manager are going to do something they’re absolutely not supposed to do.”