Zane Calloway flinched.
Not metaphorically. Not internally.
His shoulders jerked, breath hitching so sharply it hurt, the moment the notification lit up his screen.
Adrien Camille: I know who you are.
The club noise crashed back into him all at once—bass rattling his ribs, laughter slicing the air, lights strobing too bright. A girl's arm was looped loosely around his shoulder, her perfume thick and sweet, another's fingers grazing his forearm like they'd earned the right.
Zane pulled away immediately.
"Hey—" one of them protested.
"Sorry," he muttered, already sliding out of the circle. He sat down hard on the edge of a booth, elbows on knees, phone clutched in both hands like it might explode.
His pulse was feral.
I know who you are.
He exhaled slowly, tried to steady himself, thumbs hovering.
He typed.
Deleted.
Typed again.
Deleted harder.
Finally—
Zane: yeah.. pff silly me…
Sent.
The three dots didn't appear.
Silence.
He stared at the screen, jaw tight, then swallowed and typed again.
Zane: you're really good at the violin.
Sent.
Nothing.
The club felt too loud now. Too close. He leaned forward, forearms braced against his thighs, eyes locked on his phone like it owed him something.
Minutes dragged.
His chest tightened.
He typed again, slower this time.
Zane: Iwanted to watch some of your performances…
Sent.
Still nothing.
Then—
Seen.
His breath caught painfully in his throat.
He waited.
Ten seconds.
Thirty.
A full minute.
Nothing.
Heat crawled up his neck, embarrassment mixing with something sharper, more dangerous. He pressed his lips together, then typed one last message, fingers trembling just slightly.
Zane: and you're a good model too. I watched some of your commercials.
The message sent.
He leaned back, staring up at the dark ceiling, heart slamming so hard he thought he might be sick.
Adrien Camille stared at his phone like it had personally offended him.
The room was dim, only the soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminating clean lines and neutral tones. He sat on the edge of his bed, shoulders tense, violin case resting against the wall like an accusation.
Zane Calloway.
The name pulsed in his mind.
Compliment after compliment. Awkward. Earnest. Persistent.
Adrien scoffed under his breath.
He typed.
Adrien: wow since when did I get myself a stalker
Sent.
He tossed the phone onto the bed, leaned back on his hands, jaw clenched.
A beat passed.
Then another.
The phone buzzed.
Zane winced at the message, lips pulling into a nervous smile despite himself.
Stalker.
"Fuck," he whispered.
But he typed anyway.
Zane: okay that sounds bad when you put it like that 😭
Sent.
Immediately followed by—
Zane: I didn't mean it in a creepy way
Zane: I just… noticed you. You're everywhere lately.
He paused.
Then—
Zane: Isaw you yesterday… with that girl. Is she your girlfriend?
The moment the message sent, regret slammed into him like a fist.
His stomach dropped.
Why would you ask that?
Why would you care?
The typing indicator didn't appear.
Seconds stretched into something heavier.
His hands were clammy now.
Adrien stared at the question.
Ji-Won's face flashed in his mind—her laugh, her hand hooked possessively around his arm, the way his mother had watched them like an investment maturing.
His jaw tightened.
He typed sharply.
Adrien: none of your business. how about that.
Sent.
He felt the words settle—cold, clipped, final.
He dropped his phone onto the bed and exhaled hard, running a hand through his hair.
Why did that annoy you so much? he thought.
The phone buzzed again.
He ignored it.
Then another vibration.
He sighed, picked it up.
No new message.
Instead—
His own fingers moved.
Adrien: anyways. goodnight.
Sent.
He stared at the screen for half a second longer, then locked it and tossed it aside. He lay back, arm over his eyes, breathing slowly.
Why did Zane Calloway keep slipping into his thoughts like that?
Why did the idea of him watching—noticing—feel… unsettling?
Adrien groaned softly.
"Get a grip," he muttered into the quiet.
On the other side of the city, Zane swallowed hard when the message came through.
Goodnight.
Final. Dismissive. Polite in a way that shut doors.
He stared at it, chest tight, then typed back.
Zane: yeah. goodnight.
He locked his phone and dropped it into his pocket, forcing himself to breathe.
The girls were still there when he stood up—smiling, curious, clearly waiting.
Zane smiled back this time.
The night blurred after that.
Drinks stacked. Laughter came easier. The music sank into his bones, loosening something knotted too tight. He danced. He joked. He let himself enjoy being wanted without overthinking it.
At some point, a familiar voice cut through the noise.
"Well, if it isn't Camille Group's new golden boy."
Zane turned.
His ex, Evan Cole stood there, leaning against the bar like he owned the place—sharp grin, styled hair, confidence polished by internet fame.
"Jesus," Zane laughed. "Didn't expect to see you."
Evan clinked their glasses together. "Congrats on the ad. You look unfairly good."
"Thanks," Zane said sincerely.
They talked.
About nothing. About everything.
Evan ordered more drinks. Pushed them into Zane's hand with a grin. "Come on, live a little."
Zane drank.
Too much.
The world tilted pleasantly.
At some point, Evan leaned closer, voice low. "You deserve this spotlight, you know."
Zane smiled, warm and loose.
Then Evan's hand slid to his waist.
Pulled him closer.
Their faces were inches apart.
"Maybe we celebrate properly," Evan murmured.
Zane barely had time to react—
A flash.
White. Sudden. Blinding.
Zane jerked back instantly, heart slamming into panic mode.
"What the—"
He spun, searching the crowd.
Nothing.
No phone raised. No obvious culprit.
Just bodies. Movement. Noise.
Gone.
Cold dread seeped into his veins.
He shoved through the crowd, breath coming fast, nearly running out of the club. The night air hit him like a slap as he sprinted home, lungs burning, mind spiraling.
What if it gets posted?
What if Camille Group sees it?
What if Adrien sees it?
By the time he burst through the apartment door, his mom jumped in surprise.
"Zane?"
He didn't answer. He locked himself in his room, slid down the door, hands shaking as he pressed them over his face.
Headlines formed unbidden.
NEW CAMILLE GROUP MODEL CAUGHT KISSING ONLYFANS STAR
SCANDAL ROCKS RISING MMA ATHLETE
His chest tightened painfully.
And worse—
What would Adrien think?
Disgusted? Amused? Disappointed?
A soft knock sounded.
"Zane," his mom said gently through the door. "You don't have to tell me now. But I'm here when you're ready."
Her footsteps retreated.
Zane stayed there, breathing hard.
Then his phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A single message lit the screen.
He stared at it, heart pounding.