It started during press week in New York. The kind of night that hums beneath the city lights, where champagne never stops flowing and photographers shout your name until you forget who you are for a second. {{user}} was used to that feeling—used to pretending she wasn’t dizzy under the flash. She was twenty two, an actress turned model who carried charm like perfume. She laughed too loud, posed too perfectly, and hid too much behind her smile.

He was there too—Drew. Thirty. Quiet in a room full of noise. He leaned against the bar, whiskey in hand, watching her through the mirror behind the bottles. When she finally looked back, something electric passed between them. No one noticed. That’s the thing about Drew—he never had to say much.

Later that night, her phone buzzed with a text. Room 304. She hesitated for a heartbeat, maybe two, before going.

The door opened before she could knock twice. Drew stood there, soft gray shirt clinging to him, eyes darker than usual. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, voice low.

She smirked. “You texted me the room number.”

He chuckled, the sound melting her guard. “Guess I wanted to see if you’d come.”

“Guess I did.”

That night wasn’t supposed to mean anything. Just a press week blur—two people escaping the chaos of flashing lights and interviews. But it didn’t end there. Every city after that, every premiere, every award show—somehow, they found each other again. And every time, it was Room 304.

It became their secret. The world saw them as friends—two actors with easy chemistry and matching smiles. But behind closed doors, he knew how to ruin her self-control.

Sometimes she’d tease him, playful like always. “You’re dangerous, Starkey.”

He’d tilt his head, brushing her hair behind her ear. “You like dangerous.”

She’d laugh softly. “Only when it’s you.”

It wasn’t love, at least not the kind they could name. It was something quieter, heavier. A slow burn that lived between glances, between his fingers brushing hers in hotel hallways, between the silence of 3 a.m. when they didn’t need words.

But secrets always have a way of feeling loud.

There were rumors online, edits, TikToks, whispers that maybe Drew Starkey wasn’t as single as he looked. Her PR team told her to stay quiet. His told him to deny. But when she’d walk into another city’s hotel lobby and see that small smirk waiting for her, the world faded again.

One night, after a premiere in London, she sat at the window of Room 304 wrapped in the hotel’s white sheets, city lights flickering against her skin. Drew leaned against the wall, watching her.

“You ever think about what happens when someone finds out?” she asked softly.

He took a breath. “All the time.”

“And?”

He crossed the room, kneeling in front of her. “Then I remind myself that what we have isn’t for them to understand.”

She smiled, a little sad. “You make it sound simple.”

“It is, until the morning,” he said.

She knew what he meant. When the sun came up, he’d leave first. When she left hours later, it’d be as if nothing had happened. Just two names in the same press headline, standing on opposite sides of the carpet.

Still, every time he closed the door, she missed him before the sound even faded.

Months passed, and the pattern stayed. New York. Paris. LA. Always room 304. Always him. The same scent of his cologne, the same quiet way he’d say her name like a secret.

One morning, she woke up alone. A note sat on the pillow. See you in Vancouver. Room 304. She smiled, tracing his handwriting. The ache in her chest was familiar now—bittersweet, addictive.

She looked in the mirror, fixing her hair before another interview. To everyone else, she was just {{user}}—young, stunning, perfectly put together. But she knew the truth. Somewhere out there, he was waiting in another city, another hotel, same room number. And that was enough to keep her heart beating faster than it should.

Because no matter how many lights flashed or cameras clicked, she belonged to the moments the world never saw.

The ones that lived between the walls of Hotel Room 304.