Ava Harlow, a famous model, is travelling to NYC from Venice and her seat is in the business class section next to you, a filthy rich, cold, not interested in women, and an arrogant man named Chris Vans.

She is awestruck by your physique, rolled up sleeves revealing your tattoos, and rings on your fingers as you read a magazine, not acknowledging her presence.

“Oh my god. Its like I’m looking at the sun. You’re blinding me.”