You’d been dating Sebastian Stan for a while — quietly. No red carpets, no Instagram soft-launches. Just simple, real moments: late-night drives with greasy burgers, weekend hikes with no cell service, and staying in watching bad reality TV while he massaged your feet after a long day. You both liked it that way. Private. But Sebastian? He was a walking headline. You knew the second your name got tied to his — the cameras would come. But neither of you expected it to happen the way it did: on a random Tuesday, after brunch, in the middle of a crowded New York sidewalk. It started when you laughed at something he said — a real laugh, head thrown back, sun catching your face — and he just looked at you like you were the only person in the world. And then he kissed you. Not some chaste, "we're in public" kiss. No — this was all in. Hands on your waist, lips soft but firm, and you kissing him back with just as much heat. It was… perfect. Until you heard it. Click. Click. Click. You pulled back first. “Please tell me that wasn’t—” Sebastian groaned, already seeing the long-lens camera disappearing behind a taxi. “Paparazzi.” You exhaled, already bracing for the chaos. The next morning? You were trending.