Morning sunlight poured into the room, casting soft, golden ribbons across everything. It felt warm against my skin even before I was fully awake. For a brief moment, I wasn't sure where I was. All I sensed was heat.
A steady, comforting warmth enveloped my waist. I could feel steady breaths against the back of my neck. A familiar, woody scent wrapped around me like an extra blanket.
I instinctively nuzzled closer, inhaling the faint woody scent that lingered on the hoodie I had taken last night. It was incredibly soft and felt familiar in a way that surprised me. My lashes fluttered open, still heavy with sleep, and then I saw him.
I blinked my eyes open. The heat behind me was constant and unmistakably his.
Sylus. He was sleeping next to me, or rather, holding me. One arm was snug around my waist as if it had settled there overnight. The sweatshirt I wore smelled just like him, and I hated how safe it made me feel. My breath caught as I shifted slightly to see his face.
His hair was messy, and his features looked softer. There was a slight crease between his brows, as if he were still holding onto the weight of the world even in sleep. Those well-defined, sculpted features looked like a masterpiece. Without fully waking, he murmured, his voice rough and tempting from slumber, "Don't look at me like that or I might start thinking you want to wake up in my arms every morning."
My heart raced in my chest. I pushed against his chest, flustered and definitely not prepared for what he might say next. "G-good morning," I managed to mutter.
"Ouch," he exclaimed dramatically, placing a hand over his chest as if I had seriously harmed him. That lazy smile made my cheeks heat up. I quickly grabbed my phone, only to be hit with panic. "Shit," I gasped. Then there was that smile again, the one that made my stomach twist in all the wrong ways. "Morning, Ella."
Heat surged in my cheeks as I fumbled with my phone. When the screen lit up, my heart sank. "Fuck."I have my photoshoot today! Shit -I'm late-I have to leave."
I scrambled around the room, collecting my things in a frenzy. Before I could turn around, a warm presence moved behind me, silent, hard to notice. His arms wrapped around my shoulders, steady and reassuring, pulling me back against him. My heart stuttered as if I couldn't breathe.
He rested his chin on my shoulder. "Relax," he said, his morning voice deep and gravelly. "I'll drop you off. Get ready." He paused, his lips brushing against my hair. "I'm sure your clothes are dry by now… otherwise," he whispered.
My heart froze. "Otherwise?" I said before I could think. He leaned closer, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, his breath warm enough to bring clarity to everything. "…otherwise you will walk out in my clothes and everyone might think you belong to me, Ella." His lips brushed against my jaw, deliberate and possessive. "Only to me."
His words hit me harder than any touch or glance could. My heart, oh, my poor heart, didn't stand a chance. I gripped my phone tightly, my body stiffening. I didn't know I was holding my breath. His lips brushed against my ear as my eyes fluttered closed. What was happening to me?
I slipped away from his grip, murmuring "excuse me" under my breath, and rushed into the bathroom, closing the door with a soft click, hoping somehow my clothes had miraculously dried overnight.
They hadn't. A faint dampness clung to the fabric, cool against my fingers. Sarcasm dripped in my tone, "Perfect," I muttered under my breath. "Absolutely perfect."
Before the frustration could fully settle, his voice slid through the crack of the doorway smooth, unhurried, infuriatingly amused. "Looks like you'll be going out in my clothes then."
I turned. Sylus stood leaning against the doorway frame barefoot, hoodie half-zipped, hair a dark, tousled mess that made him look far too effortlessly… him. His eyes were still warm from sleep, the kind of warmth that settled into you if you stared too long.
Then he straightened and walked toward me, every step deliberate. He held out a leather jacket, and a neatly folded top and skirt resting in the other hand.
"This should fit," he said simply. I stared at the clothes, then at him. "Where did you get these?" "I ordered them last night." My mind blanked. "…Ordered?"
"Mhm." His smile curved slowly, like he enjoyed the way confusion bloomed across my face. "Get ready, Ella." He said it as if he hadn't just casually revealed something… intimate. Like it wasn't strange for him to buy clothes for a girl who had fallen asleep in his arms a few hours back.
Before I could even form the question tightening in my chest, Why would you do that? How do you even know my size? He brushed past the doorway, leaving the faint scent of cedar and something darker trailing behind him.
And I stood there holding the clothes like they were a confession he never said aloud.
His POV~
I didn't sleep much last night. Not because of nightmares. Not because of the storm outside.
Because she fell asleep on me. Her cheek resting against my chest, her breath warming the hollow of my throat, her hair spilling over my arm like silk, it did something to me. Something I didn't care to name yet.
I remember brushing a curl behind her ear, my fingers drifting without permission, playing with those curls, letting my lips touch those strands. She was perfect, too much for me, yet too hard to let go, wasn't she?
The small weight of her waist is beneath my palm. How easily she fit there like she'd always belonged. Pearl white skin, those features wearing my sweatshirt like she was mine already, I pressed a soft kiss on top of her forehead.
That's when I noticed the problem. Clothes.. Her clothes were still damp from the rain.
She'd wake up and panic. She always carried panic quietly, the kind you saw only in her eyes, never her voice. So I shifted her carefully, lifting the edge of my t-shirt just enough to free my phone from my pocket.
She mumbled something in her sleep, catching my shirt, and I froze because even in sleep, she reached for me.
I measured her in the dim light, the only way I could. The curve of her waist under my hand is small, soft. Twenty-nine… maybe thirty. Her shoulder, compared to the length of my forearm, did not reach those biceps. She was Small. Definitely a small. The thought whispered through me with an unreasonable, possessive satisfaction.
I scrolled through pages of clothing, leather jackets, tops, skirts, imagining her in each one. I imagine her wearing them while standing too close. Imagining people staring. I imagine how much that would make my blood boil.
The leather jacket… yes. She'd look stunning. Soft and sharp at the same time, looking up in that size chart, I finally place the order.
And now, watching her clutch the jacket like it was too much, watching her cheeks flush, watching her try to understand. She truly has no idea. No idea how easily she's becoming mine.
Her Pov~
When I stepped out of the bathroom, silence wrapped the apartment in a soft, warm hush. The air felt different, gentler somehow, like the world had briefly agreed to hold its breath with me.
And then I saw him. Sylus stood by the kitchen counter, his back turned. Sunlight spilled over him as if he were the chosen one. It highlighted the sharp cut of his shoulders, the strong lines of his back, and how his shirt, crisp, white, and unfairly perfect, fit his frame. Something in my chest felt waver.
It was too early in the morning for a man to look that good. Yet there he was looking so fucking fine..... was I yearning for him? My heartbeat stuttered. Faster. Then faster "was I?"
When he heard my footsteps, he turned. That small, genuine flicker of surprise before his expression melted into a slow, breathtaking smile hit me harder than I expected.
"You look perfect," he murmured. Perfect. The word slid under my skin like those hands that were too warm and comforting
His gaze traveled down my body fucking deliberate, slow, and appreciative in a way that made me want to curl in on myself or pull him closer all at once. The jacket he'd bought, the top he somehow guessed would fit, my barely-dried hair, and the fitted skirt all of it passed through his eyes like he was memorizing me.
He held out a mug. The moment my fingers brushed his, something electric shivered through me, swift, sharp, and frighteningly pleasant. The coffee smelled faintly sweet, a little bitter… exactly right. Exactly like mine....
"How did you—" My question died on my tongue when he gently caught my wrist and tugged me closer. Not hard. Just enough that my breath tangled in my throat.
Warmth radiated from him. That deep woody scent settled into my bones until my thoughts softened at the edges. He raised his free hand and brushed my bangs back, feather-light. A tiny gesture. But the tenderness in it… God. It was making me question my sanity...
"Your hair was hiding your eyes," he muttered, his voice low enough to pull at something deep inside me. His thumb grazed my forehead with absent-minded familiarity, as if this weren't the first time he'd done it.
If anyone walked in right now, they wouldn't hesitate; they'd assume we were a couple. And for one wild second, I let myself imagine it.
He leaned closer. Not touching, but close enough that his breath warmed my cheek. His eyes were dark, unreadable, devastating, and held mine like he knew every secret I'd never said aloud.
My chest tightened. My pulse throbbed in places I didn't want to acknowledge. His gaze dipped slowly, deliberately, to my mouth. The room felt warm just the two of us. Just this. Just whatever was happening between our breaths.
"Ella," he whispered, his voice morning-rough, light, deep edge, and full of something that made my knees feel unsteady, weakening.
I swallowed. Hard. He watched the movement like it fascinated him. Like he was loving every bit of it. Then softly, almost reluctantly, he exhaled and stepped just an inch closer to me.
"Drink," he murmured, the command gentle and possessive all at once. "You'll spill it if you keep looking at me like that."
I could feel redness creeping up my neck and ears, feeling hot. Suddenly, I got caught. My fingers tightened around the mug. Heat flared in my cheeks, betraying me completely.
I looked away first. Because if I didn't, I wasn't sure what I might do. Or what he might.
The car had a faint smell of him, clean musk, and the warmth of his skin still lingered in the sweatshirt I wore last night. Morning light filtered through the windshield, pale and golden, pooling over his hands on the steering wheel. Strong hands. Veined. Steady.
He drove like it was nothing but a plaything for him, damn.... I sipped the coffee he made, feeling the warmth settle in my chest. I stole glances at him whenever I thought he wasn't paying attention.
He always noticed. He always did. "You're quiet," he said, keeping his eyes on the road. His voice dipped into that low tone that made my breath catch. "Thinking about running away from me?"
A small huff escaped me. "No." "Good," he murmured, and a faint smile ghosted his mouth. "I don't like chasing this early in the morning."
My heart stumbled. The city was awake around us, but riding in his car felt like being in a different universe, one where time moved more slowly and heavily.
"Did you really order clothes for me?" I asked softly. He tilted his head just a bit, as if he found it amusing. "Hmm. I knew yours wouldn't dry in time."
"That's not what I meant." "Then what did you mean, Ella?" My name on his lips sounded forbidden.
I looked away, unable to hold his gaze. "Why do you do all this? For me?" The car filled with a silence that felt thick enough to touch. He exhaled through his nose slowly, weighing something. Then he said, "You make it easy. You are someone who makes it feel worth doing for."
The answer wasn't casual. It wasn't careless. It felt chosen.
My stomach fluttered traitorously. When we reached the shooting area, he parked, turned off the engine, and leaned back to really study me. His gaze peeled away my layers until there was nothing left to hide.
"You'll be fine," he murmured. A thumb brushed my cheekbone. Soft. Intimate. "All the best."
I nodded, feeling too warm and too aware of his touch. I stepped out, trying to steady my heartbeat while adjusting the leather jacket he'd bought for me. His jacket. His.
Inside the studio, bright lights and moving people surrounded me. I could still feel him nearby. Though it had been minutes, I felt the ghost of his hands on my waist.
Halfway through makeup, my phone buzzed.
Asher.
Of course.
I answered. "Ash?"
"Where the hell were you last night?" His voice was sharp, protective, irritated in that older-brother way he never quite admitted.
I froze. Every muscle in my body went tight.
Asher continued, "I called. Six times. You weren't home. You're not answering your door this morning. Ella-what's going on?"
Behind me, the makeup artist paused, sensing my tension.
"I- ..... Ash, relax," I whispered. "I'm fine. I was… with someone."
"With someone?" He shot back, incredulous. "Who?" I hesitated, my pulse racing.
His tone dropped. "Tell me you weren't with him." The way he said it felt as if Sylus were the monster in every warning tale.
My throat tightened. "…Ash, I have to work right now. We'll talk later."
"Ella—" "I'll call you later," I repeated and hung up before he could say more.
My hands shook a little. Tension and nervousness as I saw the scene before me, beautiful hustle and bustle. Cameron had just finished his solo shots when my stylist hurried me forward. She fussed over the last curl in my hair and dusted shimmer on my collarbone.
And what felt like eternity, almost an hour later, I stepped out. The studio lights softened into a golden haze, catching on the rhinestones of my dress. The slit brushed against my thigh with every step. My heels clicked sharply and confidently, echoing off the polished floor.
Every conversation in the room slowed. Every camera turned as if it had a pulse. Cameron froze mid-sip, his coffee cup halfway to his lips. His eyes slowly swept over me, making the air feel electric. For a moment, he wasn't the superstar model with millions of followers. He was just a man trying to remember how to breathe.
A soft breeze from the fans lifted my hair, brushing it against my cheek like a light touch. He finally moved, stepping forward with the fluid grace everyone adored. He took my hand gently, tipping it up and brushing a slow kiss over the back of it. His lips were warm. Too warm.
"How can anyone be this breathtaking?" he murmured, his eyes flicking up to mine. "Miss Clumsy is going to start causing accidents at this rate."
Some people laughed while others swooned. I rolled my eyes, but my cheeks warmed anyway. "Please. You almost dropped your coffee," I shot back. He smirked, that iconic, camera-ready curve of a smirk. "Only because you walked in looking like that."
"Shut up," I muttered, fighting a smile. "No, really. I feel underdressed standing next to you."
"You're wearing a three-piece suit," I said, keeping a straight face. "I stand by what I said."
Before I could argue, the photographer clapped loudly. "Positions! Chemistry! Think passion, think tension, think magazine cover of the year!"
Cameron moved behind me, his hand sliding over my waist. His palm was cold, but the pressure was firm and deliberate, guiding me where the lens wanted me. I inhaled sharply. He noticed. "Don't be nervous," he whispered, his breath brushing my ear. "It's just you and me pretending we're in love."
I swallowed hard. Easy for him to say he looked made for this. He lifted my chin with two fingers, inching closer as if we were about to kiss. My heart raced.
"Fantastic!" the photographer called. "That closeness, keep it!" Cameron chuckled. "Relax, Ella. You're doing great."
"Easy for you," I muttered. "You're used to this." "I'm used to everyone looking at me. It's not my problem you're stealing the spotlight today."
The photographer interrupted us again. "Now turn toward each other! Yess! Cameron, hand on her waist. Ella, lean in. Beautiful!" He leaned his forehead against mine for the shot, close enough that I could see every fleck of gold in his irises.
The click of cameras grew louder. Flashes went off. As it was break time, we both settled downHeee suggested Let's post this as s sneak peek picture on the story." I nodded and went along.
------
Sylus was deep in an important meeting when his phone buzzed. A notification. Her name. He never checked his phone during work, but his gaze flicked down. One glance. One image.
Ella's story. Cameron is leaning in, lips inches from hers. Her smile was soft. His hand cupped her jaw like he had any right. The room around Sylus went silent. His pulse thundered in his ears. The contract in front of him blurred as something sharp twisted inside his chest.
"Sir? Should we continue?" someone asked. He didn't respond. He just signed the deal with an irritated flourish and stood.
"Meeting dismissed," he said, his voice cold enough to drop the temperature.
He walked out before anyone dared to breathe.
The shooting location was full of lights, crew members, and music. Yet everything focused on one scene the moment he saw her.