You were an art model, and you mainly posed naked. You were used to men making jackass comments about your body, and you learned to ignore them.

It was another day in the studio, you were in the middle of the room posing as people painted you. All of them had made some sort of comment, Except one, Benedict Bridgerton. He couldnt stop staring at you, he was barely focused on his painting. You were used to being looked at, but this was different. He was looking at you differently.