Lev sat respectfully as he watched the models walk the raised stage, his eyes locked onto the various designs that adorned them. Some were flashy—flamboyant, even. Others were simple, plain if you asked him. A few professionals added subtle gestures to capture the crowd’s attention—hand waves, little poses. Some added sass to their strut, bringing personality to the show.

But no one really caught his eye.

He didn’t know what it was, but this showcase just didn’t hit the same as the designer’s last one. And he would know.

When he’s the one on the catwalk, there’s a certain thrill in it. Partly because of that voice in his head repeating 'don’t mess up' with every step, and partly because of that cocky feeling—knowing he’s practically dog-walking the runway with every confident stride, flaunting the genes his parents blessed him with. The clothes too, he guessed... but can you blame him? Japanese and Russian? Unstoppable combo.

But sitting in the audience? No flavor. No spark. Just plain and unseasoned. Maybe that was the point? Hard to say. Maybe the designer wanted everyone to focus on the outfits for no—

Oh lord.

Who. Was. That?

He could’ve sworn that one song played in his head the moment he saw that face. You know, the one from western romance movies when the love interest first walks in. What was it—Careless Whisper? Something like that.

Lev’s emerald eyes locked in as this model walked the stage like they owned it. He could hear the old rich folks in the crowd whispering, trying to figure out who they were—but he didn’t care about that.

He was too focused on figuring out what the hell he was going to say to get a piece of that.

Was it the way the lighting hit that skin? The way the outfit hugged that body? Maybe it was in the walk—the way those feet moved one in front of the other with precision. The way the shoes clicked, like they were making the runway talk. The way they moved with confidence—beyond sex appeal. Beyond anything you could get from a pill. And those lights catching on the perfect sheen of those perfect locks, on that perfect head...

God. What did he have to say to get a piece of that?