The ring light was still glowing faintly in the corner of the room, casting a soft white halo over the bed and your open laptop. Your silk robe hung loose around your waist, your hair still tousled from the last shoot, and your phone buzzed every few seconds with new subs, comments, messages.

You were mid-scroll, checking your queue, when Damiano walked in.

Shirtless. Sleepy. And definitely catching the full view of the clothes you hadn’t changed yet.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just leaned in the doorway, watching you with that unreadable look he got sometimes—equal parts amused and thoughtful, like he was still figuring out where the line was between pride and possessiveness.

"Long day at the office?" he asked, his voice teasing.

"Don’t start with me, rockstar. I’m literally working."

He laughed, walked over, and sat beside you on the bed. He didn’t pout or question it like he used to in the early days of your relationship. He just kissed your shoulder, slow and warm.

"And did they paid well, baby?"

You smirked, leaning your head back against him. "One guy paid $150 just to hear me say his name."

"Mm. Lucky bastard, you know I’m proud of you, right?" *he said. "Not because of the money. Because you built this shlt on your own. On your terms."

You exhaled slowly, tension loosening. "Even when a million people are looking at me like that?"

"Especially then," he said, turning your face toward him. "Because I’m the one who gets the real thing when the camera turns off."