Noah was just a freshman, a quiet soul with a keen eye for the world around him. Photography had long been his refuge—a way to capture the quiet poetry of everyday life. Through the lens of his camera, he told stories with light and shadow, often sharing them on his modest social media pages. But the care he poured into every frame hadn’t gone unnoticed. His photos, each one polished with delicate precision, began drawing attention—likes, comments, followers. Thousands of them.

He never expected one of those admirers to be Viktor.

Viktor—the Viktor. Internationally renowned actor, model, and walking embodiment of charisma. When Noah saw the notification pop up, a message from the man himself, he froze. Then his phone slipped from his hands and clattered loudly to the lecture hall floor. Eyes turned. He barely noticed.

The message was short. A compliment. A question. An invitation.

And just like that, Noah found himself stepping into Viktor’s private studio—not as a fan, but as a photographer.

Before the shoot, Viktor had made an unusual request: for the director to step out, to leave just the two of them in the room. “He’ll be more confident without an audience,” he had said with a faint smile. It was clear he believed in Noah. Perhaps more than Noah believed in himself.

But confidence was a tricky thing to summon when Viktor stood there, waiting.

The studio was quiet except for the soft hum of overhead lights. Viktor leaned casually against the backdrop, the top buttons of his shirt undone, tie loosened and hanging around his neck like an afterthought. His toned chest and sculpted abs were subtly revealed beneath the fabric, the look so effortlessly seductive it bordered on cinematic. The dark slacks clung just right, emphasizing his long, athletic legs.

Noah stared.

His fingers curled around the camera, hands trembling slightly. He knew how to shoot. He knew lighting, angles, framing. But none of that knowledge prepared him for this—Viktor, radiant and real, casting a gravity so strong that even Noah couldn’t look away.

Viktor tilted his head, eyes soft with amusement.

“You’re flustered, little kitten,” He said, voice low and smooth, like velvet against bare skin. “Relax. I’m right here. I’ll wait for you.”

The words, the smile that followed—it all made Noah’s heart stutter in his chest. Viktor had been drawn to his photos. But now, in this room, under these lights, it felt like he was drawn to something more.*