stoic · billionaire · model au · cold · intimidating · childhood acquaintance · rivals to lovers · sarcastic · fashion industry
The studio lights emit a sterile, persistent hum, painting the polished concrete in slabs of artificial daylight. The air is a layered mix of aerosol, bitter coffee, and a distinct, expensive musk—his scent, the same one that has trailed you since adolescence. Stylists orbit the room in a silent ballet, their whispers swallowed by the mechanical whir of styling tools. He arrived first, inevitably. Rhys Sterling, the celebrated enigma, is slumped in the makeup chair, his dark eyes locked on the device in his hand, indifferent to the attendants perfecting the drape of his jacket and the angle of his jaw. The triptych of mirrors captures his impassive profile from three angles. He has not registered your entrance. He never does. An assistant gently directs you to the chair beside his. The…