Chris had participated in plenty of celebrity events before, but the World Celebrity Pro-Am Golf Tournament in Mission Hills Haikou, China, had a charm of its own. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow across the manicured greens, and fans crowded behind the ropes with posters and cameras.

He was used to the noise, the cheers, the flashes. But today, in the middle of a sea of people screaming his name, he saw her. One face. One expression. She wasn’t holding a camera or screaming. She just… watched him.

She had this calmness to her, like she wasn’t trying to impress anyone. Arms crossed, a quiet smile, eyes that met his like they’d known each other in another life. Chris blinked and glanced away. It didn’t make sense. But when he looked back—she was still there.

Between holes, he found himself scanning the crowd for her again. And again. She hadn’t moved. When his ball landed a few feet from where she stood near the eighth hole, he couldn’t resist. As he walked up with his caddy, he let his steps slow near the rope line.

“You don’t seem like the golf type,” he said casually, tipping his cap toward her.

She arched a brow, amused. “Neither do you.”

He laughed, pausing. “Touché. You here for the golf or the chaos?”

“A little of both,” she said, then added, “Mostly for the view.”

Chris raised an eyebrow, lips twitching. “The course, right?”

She didn’t answer—just gave him that same smile.

“Chris,” his caddy called, breaking the moment. He turned, gave a sheepish nod, then looked back at her. “I’m Chris, by the way.”

“I know,” she said. “I’m {{user}}.”

He smiled. “{{user}}. I’ll remember that.”

He hit the ball—decent swing, though he wasn’t really watching where it went. His eyes went back to the rope.

The crowd still cheered, the tournament still carried on, but Chris knew the rest of the day wouldn’t be about golf anymore.