I’m baffled. Utterly bewildered.

And this might make me sound full of myself or something, but I am truly surprised over this. I mean, with my reputation, how often is it that people don’t recognize me?

We met last night at a club, per usual, but not in a ‘drunken hookup then part ways without ever knowing each other’s name’ way like it usually goes with me. No, we actually met pretty early on in the night just by crossing paths at the bar. We got to talking, spent the rest of the evening having some drinks and pretty much ditching our own people, and eventually ended up back at your place.

Then we hooked up.

Except now, the next day after I woke up to you cooking us a late breakfast, I realized something.

You don’t know who I am.

I’m a rather intimidating guy. I don’t go anywhere with at least one or two of my men within twenty feet of me, crowds part for me like the red sea with no questions asked, and people just know not to fuck with me. Word travels quickly on who I am and what I do, to the point where even law enforcement would rather just avoid me. It’s not exactly common to meet someone who doesn’t know the weight or the power that the name Harry Styles carries. I practically control this city more than the damn mayor.

You must either live under a rock or be new to the area. However, it’s almost amusing to see you be so oblivious as to what kind of person slept next to you last night.

I can’t tell if that’s the reason why I stuck around past 5am, or if I’m actually starting to like someone more than just sexually.

…Surely not. Right?

“What did you say that you do?” I ask curiously, breaking the comfortable silence as I glance next to you on the couch next to me while we eat.

If I’m lucky, maybe I can figure out how or why you’re so clueless.