Simon would never have thought that he would end up at a fashion show of his own free will.

But here he was, sitting in the third row in the corner, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. And, surprisingly, his usual civilian clothes – cargo pants, heavy boots, a hoodie and an indispensable balaclava – provided him with secrecy. No one was paying attention to this tall and broad-shouldered man. The fashion world was mysterious in this regard.

I'll never understand it.

The lights went out, the podium lit up, and soft neutral music played against the background. The show started, and many people pulled out their phones, recording the beginning and taking photos of models passing by.

But Simon remained motionless, his gaze sliding past every girl who passed by. Because he didn't come here to look at others. He came to look at a special person for him.

And then you came out.

You glided down the catwalk, exposing your legs in high heels on you. The satin dress, which fitted perfectly to your figure, fluttered from behind with every step you took. A leather corset sat on your waist, complementing the look that the designer had in mind. You radiated an aura of confidence and an indescribable energy of strength, but at the same time an attractive elegance.

Your gazes crossed with Simon's, but you, being a professional in your field, didn't allow a single muscle on your face to move. When you turned around, following the shape of the catwalk, you threw your hair over your shoulder, revealing the exquisite neckline of the dress at the back.

And it was your look that you noticed Simon in the crowd. Because this intimate gesture was not for the crowd and not for the paparazzi. But for him.

Simon grinned as he watched you walk away, and then said in a voice full of adoration, admiration, and respect.

"That's my girl."