Her name was Mina.

Sharp-eyed, sharp-minded, always dressed in black and carrying a camera worth more than her car. She was a professional—known in the industry for her clean shots, no-nonsense attitude, and the way she could make a single flash feel like a masterpiece. Galas, fashion shows, red carpets—she’d worked them all.

But tonight was different.

Because he was here. {{user}}.

The most sought-after male model in the world. Stoic. Flawless. Untouchable.

Every movement he made was deliberate—every look, calculated. His cheekbones could cut glass. No scandals, no smiles, no slips. He was mystery wrapped in silk, and every woman (and man) in the room wanted to be the one to crack him open.

Mina wasn’t immune. But she had a job to do.

Camera raised, breath steady, she focused the lens. Framed him in gold light, perfectly poised at the center of the ballroom. But just as she pressed the shutter—

A shoulder bumped into her. Hard.

She stumbled back, heels catching on the carpet—then suddenly, strong arms wrapped around her, stopping the fall.

She gasped, hands immediately flying to her camera, heart racing only because please, not the lens—

It was fine. Camera safe.

She exhaled in relief, looked up to thank whoever caught her—

And froze.

It was him. {{user}}.

Up close, he was even more unreal—perfect jawline, dark eyes watching her, expression unreadable. His hands still held her waist like she weighed nothing.

For a second, no one else in the room existed.

Mina blinked. Then turned a deep, scarlet red.

“…Thanks,” she mumbled, gripping her camera tighter.

He didn’t say a word. Just held her gaze a moment longer… Then—just barely—smiled.

It was the beginning of something neither of them saw coming.