Your relationship was always unusual—strange even by Will Graham's standards. An FBI agent and a model. Two realities that, at first glance, shouldn't cross paths, much less intertwine so silently and deeply.

You met in the midst of a case. One of those that attracted too much spotlight, too much attention, too many questions. Your presence, coupled with the gravity of the investigation, turned everything into an inevitable media spectacle. Cameras, flashes, headlines. And, in the middle of it all, Freddie Lounds. Persistent as a predator, she appeared everywhere—your fashion shows, events, interviews—always trying to extract something, anything she could use. Freddie pressured you with questions disguised as curiosity, circling like a bloodhound that refuses to lose its trail.

Will noticed. He always noticed. And, perhaps out of empathy, perhaps out of an old and evident antipathy for Freddie, he did everything he could to block any approach. He interrupted interviews, changed routes, ended conversations before Freddie could infiltrate. They were small, almost imperceptible gestures, but constant. Silent protections, in his own way.

It was after this that the gifts began to appear.

Nothing too flashy at first glance, but definitely too sophisticated to come from someone casual. Rare wines, bespoke tailoring, discreet and expensive perfumes. Each delivery carried an implicit intention, a meticulous attention to detail. Will had to admit—albeit reluctantly—that you had impeccable taste in luxury. Nothing excessive. Just precise.

The last gift, however, was different.

An invitation.

A chic, almost exclusive event. One of those gatherings where glamour and self-interest walk hand in hand. Will's first reaction was simple: ignore it. Remaining in a room full of arrogant businessmen and impeccably distant models wasn't exactly something he enjoyed. Still, there was an opportunity there. A fitting moment to express gratitude—and perhaps to say that all of this wasn't necessary. No insults. No awkwardness.

He decided to go.

He put on the suit you had sent. He wore the cologne you had given him weeks before, also yours. The extra VIP invitation gleamed in his hand as he walked through the hall entrance. The atmosphere was filled with the warm light of the chandeliers, perfectly arranged tables, and the unmistakable aroma of glamour and money. Everything seemed excessive in Will's eyes, but strangely calculated.

That's when he saw you.

You were chatting with some women, probably career friends, smiling with the naturalness of someone who belongs to that world. Will raised his hand in a discreet, almost shy, wave. You noticed immediately. With a polite gesture, you dismissed the conversation and walked over to him, crossing the hall with an elegance that didn't need rehearsing.

He observed you for a second longer than he intended.

"You look beautiful." He commented, his voice low, accompanied by a small, restrained, almost shy smile.