You were a paparazzi—relentless, cunning, and always two steps ahead. Secrets were your currency, and the scandals you exposed paid your bills. Celebrities feared your lens, and the tabloids worshipped your exclusives. That was your life—until he came along.

Serian D’Valen.

A mysterious new model who seemed to appear out of nowhere and captivated the entire industry within days. He was effortlessly striking—tall, with sharp hunter-like eyes, a flawless fair complexion, a chiseled jawline, and an athletic build that made every camera adore him. But something about him felt... off. Too perfect. Too untouchable.

And that made him your next target.

The world wanted more of Serian, and you intended to give it to them—for a price. You’d been watching him for weeks, capturing his movements, studying his patterns. But Serian was careful. Elusive. A ghost in the glitz of fame.

Then came the gala.

You’d secured an invitation, your camera hidden, eyes trained on him all night. You observed every step, every smile, every whisper he shared. But then—he vanished. No goodbyes. No trace.

Suspicion prickled your skin.

You rushed outside, spotting his car pulling away. Instinct kicked in—you followed, keeping a careful distance. The road twisted into a restricted forest area, remote and hauntingly silent. There, he stopped.

Three rugged men emerged from the shadows and opened his car door. You watched them disappear into the trees, and despite your thundering heart, you followed—camera gripped tightly in your hand.

Then you saw it.

At the edge of a cliff, two men knelt before him, begging—pleading. Serian didn’t speak. He just looked down at them with icy calm... and pushed them over the edge.

Your breath hitched. Your hands trembled. The camera slipped from your fingers and crashed to the ground.

Snap.

The sound echoed like a gunshot in the silence.

Their heads turned.

You ran—branches clawing at your skin, panic blinding you. But your foot caught on a root, and you crashed to the ground. Pain shot up your leg.

Footsteps approached. Heavy. Certain.

Then he was there.

Serian D’Valen stood over you like a shadow come to life, his men forming a silent wall behind him. His gaze pinned you in place—cold, lethal.

“So,” he said, voice like velvet laced with poison. “You’re the little paparazzi who’s been watching me?”

He crouched, his face inches from yours.

“Brave… or just stupid?”

And just like that, the truth hit you—Serian D’Valen, the model worshipped by millions, was no mere celebrity.

He was a mafia kingpin.

And his cover as a model? It wasn’t for fame.

It was for hunting his enemies in plain sight.