In the end, Sarah managed to drag both of them into the car.
She sat in the front, scrolling through her phone schedule, her tone light but teasing.
"Brother, you didn't do anything to him, did you?"
From the backseat, Noah's expression flickered—just the faintest hint of panic—yet his voice was steady.
"No."
It came out calm, even, though inside, his chest tightened.
Sarah glanced back, eyes flicking over him before landing on Asher.
"You two getting along? My brother doesn't usually like having people around."
Noah's lips curved with a polite, faint smile.
"We're working together. It's convenient."
The topic was neatly redirected.
Asher lounged against the seat, silent, gaze turned out the window. Yet his fingers moved under the cover of shadow, stroking idly at Noah's thigh.
The touch was subtle enough that Sarah would never notice. But Noah's body went rigid all the same.
He clenched his jaw, refusing to slap the hand away. Outwardly he stayed composed; inwardly he cursed.
Psychopath. He really dares here?
Sarah chattered on.
"Noah, you're really popular these days. Fans are waiting for your next project. I read in the news you're cold in private, but in person you're… pretty cute."
"Thank you," Noah answered softly, voice flat, polite.
Her curiosity sharpened.
"And you and my brother—how close are you, really?"
Noah met her eyes briefly, his gaze cool.
"He takes care of me."
Not a word more, not a word less. Seamless.
Asher's head turned slightly, catching every syllable. The clinical calm in Noah's tone scraped something raw inside him.
Noah was too good at acting. The more he pretended distance, the stronger Asher's urge to tear down the mask.
The car settled into silence, broken only by Sarah flipping through files. Noah lowered his gaze, lashes brushing his cheek. The hand on his thigh crept higher, a warning.
His breath snagged in his chest, but his expression didn't change.
The car pulled into the studio.
Assistants and makeup artists rushed over the moment they stepped out. Sarah went to coordinate with staff, while Asher and Noah walked side by side inside.
Backstage buzzed with activity. Bright white lights filled the space. Noah sat quietly for the makeup artist, posture still. The glow softened his pale features, every line sharp and refined.
"You have such great skin, Noah," the artist said, arranging his hair with envy. "The camera will love you."
Noah only smiled faintly, offering no comment.
The studio lights blazed. Staff shifted equipment across the white backdrop.
Sarah stood at the side with her iPad, watching the preparations—but her eyes kept drifting to the two men.
"Ready!" the photographer clapped. "Start with a few standing shots. Closer together."
Noah lifted his gaze just as Asher approached. The man's frame alone carried weight, presence pressing down even before he touched him.
Noah drew in a quiet breath, then straightened. When the camera flashed, he was someone else entirely—poised, collected, born for the lens.
Asher's hand landed on his shoulder.
"Perfect!" the photographer cheered. "Closer—yes, look at each other."
Noah's eyes rose, meeting Asher's. The distance narrowed until he could see his reflection in the man's pupils.
The shutter clicked.
Asher's lips curved faintly. His voice slid under the noise, low enough for only Noah.
"Tonight, or tomorrow?"
Noah's pupils contracted sharply.
But his face didn't betray a thing. He kept his gaze locked, as though for the sake of the shot.
"Excellent!" the photographer crowed. "Even closer, closer!"
Noah's breath faltered for a heartbeat, then he forced it steady.
Asher's voice brushed his ear again.
"I asked you—tonight you'll be f*ck*d, or tomorrow?"
His fingertips grazed Noah's hand, curling just enough to hook. Small, invisible. Noah shuddered.
Asher chuckled low, his hand sliding to Noah's waist, stroking. "Not answering? Then it's tonight."
Noah's spine locked, heat flooding his ears. He forced out two words through clenched teeth.
"…Tomorrow."
He didn't dare look at him. Inside, he repeated it like a mantra—tomorrow, tomorrow. By then this pull will be gone. By then he'll want nothing.
"Perfect!" the photographer shouted, oblivious. "Now more intimate. Noah, hand on his chest—yes, right there."
Noah's fingertips brushed against Asher's shirt. Beneath, the heat of his body, the steady, forceful thump of his heartbeat.
Asher's eyes gleamed, predatory, leaning closer. The camera caught them nose to nose, almost touching. The image screamed intimacy.
"Beautiful! Deeper expressions! More passion!"
Noah bit down hard, eyes sparking with something sharp, dangerous. On the surface it was character immersion—inside, his chest burned from the man's breath.
"Wonderful," the photographer praised, barely containing his excitement. "The two of you are made for this."
From the corner, Sarah watched, unsettled. Something was off. But whenever she focused, Noah's face was too composed, too perfect. No crack to pry open.
The shoot dragged on for more than two hours.
The final pose had Noah turned away, Asher wrapping him from behind, head tilted against his shoulder.
The flashes fired in rapid bursts.
Asher's voice slipped against his ear.
"Tomorrow—you'd better not regret it."
Noah's chest lurched, his fingers curling tight. But his face stayed flawless, betraying nothing.
Click.
"Done!" the photographer announced, elated. "Absolutely perfect!"
Applause rippled through the staff. Sarah walked up, beaming.
"See? The two of you just shine together."
"Thank you," Noah said quietly. His tone was distant, polite, unshaken.
Asher only smirked, gaze dark.
Noah knew—tonight he had escaped. But tomorrow, escape would be impossible.