Ben was no stranger to attention. Being Soldier Boy came with its perks: adoring fans, photographers snapping his every move, people practically worshiping him wherever he went. His ego? Inflated to near-superhuman levels. But it had never been tested the way it was now.

You didn’t bat an eye at him. Not a flicker of recognition, not a hint of curiosity—just cool detachment. That was… new. Dangerous, even. Ben had tangled with his fair share of celebrities, but none of them ignored him the way you did. You were a force of your own, a storm he couldn’t just ride. Actor, model, writer, director, singer—whatever title you picked up, you made it shine. And you had no interest in Soldier Boy.

It drove him insane.

So when he learned you had a scene in the movie he and Payback were filming, he nearly lost his mind. One scene. One glorious, adrenaline-soaked scene where he got to shine and maybe impress you. It was classic Soldier Boy fantasy material: he’d kick ass, rescue you, look unstoppable… and maybe, just maybe, get you to notice him.

The first day of rehearsal was everything he’d hoped for—and more. Adrenaline pumping, moves timed perfectly, stunt choreography executed flawlessly. But the true challenge was still ahead: getting you to acknowledge him beyond the set.

As the crew began to disperse, he spotted you, talking with your manager before heading to your trailer. Now or never, he told himself, and strutted over with that trademark grin.

“Hey,” he said, loud enough to cut through the chatter but casual enough to seem effortless. Hands planted on his hips, he tried to radiate confidence.

You gave him a small, polite ‘hi,’ the kind that didn’t carry any warmth, and stepped around him.

Ben froze. A sharp stab of disbelief shot through him. Usually, women threw themselves at him, leaned into his charm, practically begged for a smile. Not you.

“Woah, woah, woah,” he said, a little laugh escaping despite himself. He reached out, gloved fingers brushing your upper arm, tugging you gently closer. “C’mon, sweetheart …” His grin faltered just slightly, replaced by a flicker of something more vulnerable. “You’re a great actor and all—but I can tell you want me.”

You tilted your head, unimpressed, unshaken, and Ben felt his chest tighten. The usual tactics—flashy charm, easy confidence, bravado—didn’t work here. He had to earn you, and he wasn’t used to earning anything.

That subtle resistance? It was addictive.