It’s late afternoon in Saint-Tropez. Waves crash gently outside the villa as Nora drags you toward the pool deck where Marcus and Martinus are lounging.

“Come on, just say hi,” she grins, tugging your hand. “You don’t have to flirt. Just be normal.”

You roll your eyes but follow. That’s when your gaze meets his—dark eyes under sun-bleached curls, a soft smirk playing on his lips as he glances up at you. He doesn’t say anything right away. Just watches.

“Martinus,” Marcus calls lazily, “this is {{user}}. Nora’s best friend. {{user}}, this is—well, obviously—Martinus.”

Martinus stands up slowly, brushing his hand through his hair before extending it toward you.

“Hey,” he says in that warm, Norwegian-accented voice. “Nice to finally meet you.”

He pauses, studying you again. Something shifts—just for a second. A flicker of curiosity. Something deeper.

And that’s where it starts.