Harry was a successful businessman. He had a 12 million dollar apartment he bought and a private jet. A driver that would take him anywhere he wanted to go, whenever. It would get cold and empty of him living the bachelor life. He knew he was getting too old for this.

Until he met you, working in a cafe in downtown manhattan. Something switched. She had no background with the press, no existence to the world of metropolitan or vogue. She just existed, living her life how she needed too.

He had asked her out, and she already fell head over heels. It was the way he sent her flowers when she was having a rough day. For him, it was thoughtful gifts instead of material items.

He’d noticed one time as they walked down the quiet streets of her tiny neighborhood crammed in the middle of the city, he heard a click. He looked up to find a paparazzi snapping a picture of them enjoying their morning stroll. He fumed and rushed you back to your place. He didn’t want the media, the press and uptight rich New Yorkers ruin the one good thing he had acquired without his status.