It started with one photo. Just one.

You weren’t even doing anything scandalous—just standing close, laughing at something stupid, Damiano’s hand ghosting over your lower back as the cameras flashed.

And yet, within hours, the internet was on fire.

"NEW COUPLE ALERT?"
"Måneskin’s frontman spotted getting cozy with (your name)!"
"Secret romance or PR stunt?"

Your phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. Messages from your team, from journalists, from people you hadn’t spoken to in months, suddenly very interested in your love life.

And now, you were here. Seated in a sleek, over-air-conditioned conference room, your management staring you down like you’d committed a crime.

“You need to shut this down. A statement, a post, whatever—just clear it up before it spirals.”

You barely had time to process before the door swung open.

Damiano walked in like he owned the place. Loose shirt, tousled hair, an infuriatingly amused expression.

“Shut what down?” he smirked, plopping into the seat beside you. His tattooed fingers drummed lazily against the table. “Seems like the fans are enjoying the story.”

Your manager sighed. “This isn’t funny, Damiano.”

“Who’s joking?” He turned to you then, his eyebrows raising slightly, as if daring you to say something.

You opened your mouth, then shut it again. Because here was the problem: He didn’t look like a man in a rush to deny anything.

And maybe you weren’t, either.