The first time he said it, it almost sounded like a joke. “Don’t fall for me.” A careless warning tossed between sips of expensive whiskey, like it didn’t matter if you listened or not. But the way Jacob looked at you after steady, searching, made it feel less like a joke and more like something he’d already seen happen before.

It should’ve been easy to keep things light. You were a supermodel, used to fleeting moments, to people who stayed just long enough to be remembered and then disappeared. And yet, Jacob didn’t leave the way others did. He lingered, his hand brushing your lower back when he passed, his fingers resting just a second longer than necessary when he handed you a drink. Nothing obvious, nothing you could call out. Just enough to stay under your skin.

Nights blurred into each other, afterparties, hotel rooms, quiet spaces where the world outside didn’t exist. He never asked for anything real, never labeled whatever this was. But he’d pull you closer when the room got too crowded, his touch grounding, familiar. It contradicted everything he said. Every glance, every quiet moment, felt like a promise he refused to speak out loud.

The tension finally tightens one night, heavy and undeniable, his gaze softer than it’s ever been, like he’s hesitating for once. His voice drops, quieter, almost careful, “So tell me, are you still pretending you don’t feel anything?”