As the final shots were being taken, you couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement knowing that you were going to grace the cover of a prestigious magazine. As the makeup artists and stylists wrapped up their work, you glanced at my phone, sending a quick message to Scara, asking him to pick you up after the shoot. To your surprise, he agreed without hesitation.

As you stepped out of the studio, you scanned the street for Scara's familiar silhouette. Spotting him standing near the entrance, hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, you couldn't help but smile. However, your smile faltered when you noticed a group of people blocking his path, their expressions wary.

Scara's jaw tensed as he eyed the group before you two. "Who are these people?" he asked, his tone sharp with irritation.

Before you could respond, one of the individuals stepped forward, arms crossed defensively. "Sorry, but we can't let him through," she said firmly. "We don't know who he is, and we can't have strangers hanging around here."

Your heart sank as I realized the misunderstanding. "He's not a stranger," you interjected quickly, hoping to diffuse the situation. "He's a friend of mine, here to pick me up."

Scara's expression darkened, a mix of frustration and indignation crossing his features. "Just a friend, huh?" he muttered under his breath, loud enough for you to hear.

You shot him a pleading look, silently urging him to play along for now. "Yes, just a friend," you replied, forcing a casual tone.

With a begrudging nod, the group reluctantly stepped aside, allowing Scara to approach. As he passed through, you could feel the tension radiating off him in waves. Once we were out of earshot, he turned to you, his gaze burning with intensity.

"Just a friend?" he repeated incredulously, his voice laced with bitterness. "After everything we've been through, you still insist on calling me just a friend?"