The flash flickered in sync with the shutter click, as the model in front of
the backdrop effortlessly shifted poses. He was a small man with delicate,
almost feminine features—a famous unisex model who exuded charm while
posing with an expensive perfume, perfectly embodying its image as a
fragrance for all genders.
"Give me a slightly more confident look... That's it, perfect," a rich, smooth
voice instructed, never taking their eyes off the camera. A few more clicks
later, the slender figure finally lowered the camera and announced a short
break to prepare for the next scene.
"Hey, Peach, how do I look? Am I killing it or what?" The model practically
bounced over, half-skipping with excitement; his exaggerated enthusiasm
made Peach chuckle as he casually flipped the camera screen around for
him to see.
"Don't you trust my skills or what, Ran?" Peach teased as he unhooked the
camera from his neck. He moved to a nearby chair, plopped down, and let
his younger colleague check the photos. Meanwhile, he went over the
images again on his own device.
Aran beamed from ear to ear until his cheeks puffed up, his sparkling eyes
glued to the images on the screen. "Who wouldn't trust you, Peach? I
already knew the photos would be amazing—that's why I couldn't wait to
see them!"
And Aran wasn't exaggerating. Peach, or Peachayarat Janekit, was one of
the country's top photographers. His skills were extraordinary. Even models
who lacked standout features or fame could turn heads after being captured through his lens. Many actors and celebrities owed their success to a
handful of Peach's stunning photographs.
Aside from his exceptional talent, Peach also had an impeccable reputation
in the industry. Known for his professionalism, flawless manners, and calm
demeanor, he had never been involved in a scandal or bad press—not even
once.
However, despite excelling in his career, his love life was a complete
disaster, almost tragically laughable. After being dumped by his third
girlfriend for the same reason as the previous two, Peach had resigned
himself to the idea that love might not be in the cards for him.
"Peach, Peach! Are you coming to the wrap-up party tonight?" Aran asked,
finally satisfied with the photos and turning to him. His wide, innocent eyes
held a slight pleading look that made Peach smile in amusement.
The dazzling model had been close to Peach since his early days in the
industry. Some would even say that Peach was the one who helped launch
his fame. Still, their bond had always remained superficial—a professional
relationship at best. To Peach, Aran was nothing more than a younger
brother to be fond of.
The only problem? Aran's personality was annoyingly possessive and
overly dramatic—enough to make anyone roll their eyes.
"Have you told Tawan yet? If you two start fighting at the party, I'm
kicking you both out," Peach warned, crossing his arms. The small model
immediately looked guilty, shifting uncomfortably before sheepishly
admitting he hadn't mentioned it yet. Without another word, he dashed off
to his dressing room, probably to call and report to his partner before
getting ready for the next photo session.
Peach let out a long sigh before getting up to inspect the next set. Taking
out his phone, he checked his messages and skimmed through his schedule.
After a moment, he opened the blue bird app to catch up on the news while
waiting.
His scrolling stopped when a particular headline caught his attention. It was
the latest buzz about a young entrepreneur—half Thai, half Russian—who
was making waves as a rising star in the perfume and jewelry industry. Not
only was he famous for his sharp business acumen, but his striking looks
and on-and-off romances with multiple actresses had propelled Theerakit
Kian Arseny to the peak of fame.
Peach glanced at the neatly placed perfume bottle on set, then refocused on
his phone, shaking his head slightly with a faint smile.
His boss was truly a cunning guy.
This thought briefly crossed his mind before he returned to his work.
Though technically his "boss," the term only applied in the sense that the
man was the CEO of the company Peach was doing ads for. The likelihood
of their paths actually crossing was practically zero.
What he really needed to worry about was hoping his young model
colleague wouldn't drag him into some new drama that night.
With long strides, Peach made his way toward his small car, deciding to
stop by his condo first before joining the others at a trendy restaurant-pub in
the heart of the city.
Once at the condo, he parked in the underground garage, locked his car, and
grabbed his things before heading to the building entrance. Tapping his
access card on the security panel, he entered the elevator and pressed his
floor.
The mirror reflected a young man with sharp features and a slim figure,
standing just over 175 cm—perhaps closer to 180 cm. His build was lean
but fit, with the toned look of someone who took care of himself.
He wasn't dazzlingly handsome or extraordinarily beautiful, but he had the
kind of face you'd never grow tired of looking at.
The elevator chimed softly as it reached his floor. Peach walked to his unit,
tapped his card against the smart lock, and pushed the door open when he heard the click.
His condo was a standard studio—not very big, but just right for one
person. The layout divided the space into a living area and a bedroom, with
a small kitchen on one side and a bathroom on the other. At the end, there
was a tiny balcony, just big enough for a washing machine, a drying rack,
and a few small plants that added a touch of green to the space.
Peach's room was simple and understated, just like him. Peach organized
his things; he prided himself on being quite tidy, though his version of
"organized" often made sense only to him. After putting everything in
place, watering his plants, and grabbing something from the fridge to
prevent his stomach from growling later, he headed to his closet to pick an
outfit for the night.
Sliding open the closet door, he was met with his usual collection of plain,
solid-colored T-shirts in dark shades and a row of well-fitted jeans. He
decided to stick with the same pair of jeans he was already wearing and
swapped his casual T-shirt for a short-sleeved button-up. He left two—
maybe three—top buttons undone, just enough to reveal a hint of his fair
chest. After a quick spritz of cologne, he was ready to head out.
Honestly, Peach hadn't been too surprised when his last girlfriend left him
two months ago. His life was simple—probably too simple—just like his
personality. He wasn't one for grand gestures or flashy displays. What he
offered was stability—someone who appreciated the little things and took
care of daily life together.
Most people described him as the perfect confidant—someone who gave
great advice, made others feel at ease, and radiated warmth.
Reliable, dependable… but never someone to fall in love with.
The thought made him chuckle to himself, recalling the exact words his ex
had used to break things off. The phrase had almost made him blurt out a
sarcastic response:
"Oh, so you want someone unreliable? Should I be a parasite instead to be
the chosen one?"
Of course, he hadn't said any of that at the time. When it came down to it,
all he managed was a sad smile as he watched her walk away, hand in hand
with her new boyfriend.
Ah, the tragic love life of Peachayarat.
He thought, pushing aside the lingering frustration and getting back into his
car. Two months after the breakup, Peach had more or less returned to
normal. Sure, he wasn't exactly eager to run into his ex, but at least he
could think about it without cringing.
Sliding back into the city's congested traffic, he reminded himself why
Friday nights were pure chaos. It was as if the entire city had collectively
decided to let loose after an exhausting week.
The roads were packed, with barely an inch of space between cars. After
nearly an hour of stop-and-go agony, Peach finally arrived at the restaurant
and headed inside to join his friends at their table, ready to let the night
unfold.
The place was a restaurant-pub with live music, not the kind of crowded,
chaotic spot you'd call a full-on club. It was lively enough to feel energetic,
making finding his friends' table a rather cozy experience.
Tonight's gathering was a wrap party for the autumn collection photoshoot,
which featured a full set of perfumes and matching accessories—almost ten
complete looks. The shoot had taken nearly a week, combining both video
commercials and still photography. Sure, there was still a mountain of
editing and post-production work ahead, but celebrating what they had
accomplished so far was a great morale boost.
Peach was led to a seat near the head of the table. He offered a polite,
subdued smile and sat down quietly. Across from him was Aran, the
campaign's star model, who greeted him enthusiastically, like an excited
puppy seeing its owner.
Unfortunately, Aran didn't seem to notice the piercing glare Peach was
receiving from Tawan, the model's boyfriend, sitting right beside him.
"If you stare at me any harder, Tawan, I might end up pregnant," Peach
joked with a smile as he reached for the cocktail ingredients to mix his own
drink. There was no way he was trusting his team with that; they were
always scheming to spike his drinks for fun.
Tawan responded with an exaggerated glare, his sharp eyes narrowing in
mock warning. One arm rested on the back of Aran's chair in a way that
made it clear exactly who the model belonged to. Peach chuckled to
himself, keeping his thoughts to himself this time.
It wasn't surprising, though—Aran was dazzling. His beauty had a softness,
with large doe-like eyes that shone with warmth and charm. Yet, the sharp
definition of his jawline gave him an undeniable masculinity. It was an
irresistible combination, drawing the attention of everyone in the room,
both women and men alike.
Peach glanced at Tawan—a man who embodied masculinity in the most
traditional sense. His sharp, angular features, toned muscles, and imposing
183 cm height practically screamed "alpha male." There was a slight
intensity to his demeanor—a fiery temper that Peach had had to rein in
more than once to keep things under control.
He's a main character, no doubt about that.
Peach, who had recently gotten hooked on a new series, shook his head
slightly. If he had to evaluate it, those two were destined to be in the
spotlight—leading roles from beginning to end. Meanwhile, he was more
like the supporting cast—the best friend who gives wise advice, lights the
way for the hero, or sometimes stirs things up just for fun.
He didn't mind playing that kind of role, but every now and then, it felt a
little lonely.
After filling up on food and satisfying his hunger, he lingered for a while
with a drink. But soon, he decided to call it a night. He had driven here himself and still had work to do later. Getting drunk wasn't an option.
Standing up, Peach headed to the restroom, planning to splash some water
on his face and freshen up before leaving. But the moment he opened the
door, he was met with an unexpected sight—Aran, the petite model,
cornered by three men dressed in black.
What the hell is this mess now?
Peach cursed internally but quickly stepped in, his long legs closing the
distance in seconds. At the back of his mind, he silently swore at Aran's
scowling boyfriend—so quick to glare at him with contempt, yet apparently
nowhere to be found in a situation like this. Outwardly, however, Peach
kept his composure, forcing a slight smile as he tried to defuse the tension
in the room.
"Hey, Ran, why have you been gone so long?" he called out casually,
though he had no idea when Aran had even left the table. Smoothly, he
reached for the younger man's arm and maneuvered him behind himself as
naturally as possible. "Are you drunk? Are you okay? You didn't bother
these gentlemen, did you?"
Peach kept talking, acting as if he hadn't noticed Aran opening his mouth.
Before the younger man could say a word, Peach tightened his grip on his
arm—a silent warning. He knew just how sharp Aran's tongue could be. If
he let him speak, this situation would spiral out of control.
Turning to the men surrounding them, Peach offered a polite smile, hoping
to ease the tension. That was when he finally noticed the figure casually
leaning against the sink at the back of the room.
The man looked mixed-race, with straight black hair slicked back, revealing
a broad forehead. Under the neon lights, his hair shimmered with hints of
brown. His sharp, commanding eyes were the color of storm clouds, and his
chiseled jawline only added to his intimidating presence. He wore a long-
sleeved shirt with the top three buttons undone, the sleeves rolled up to his
elbows, revealing firm muscles and a glimpse of tattoos. Flanked by two burly men in black suits, he exuded an air of authority that made the small
bathroom feel even tighter.
The scene screamed danger—so much so that Peach felt an overwhelming
urge to run right then and there.
"It seems my friend here caused you some trouble. I'm very sorry about
that. Please don't take it to heart," Peach said, tightening his grip on the
other man's arm and inclining his head politely.
Peach wasn't the type to escalate situations, especially when the other side
radiated that kind of threat. If a quick apology could smooth things over or
give him a chance to escape, he would gladly take it.
"Well, if you'll excuse us," he added with a forced smile, turning on his heel
and pulling Aran out of the restroom without waiting for permission. He
dragged the smaller model with him, not letting go until they were safely
out of danger.
So much for freshening up before driving home. That little scare had
sobered him up more effectively than a splash of cold water.
Once they reached a quiet spot, Peach finally turned to face the younger
man, questions piling up.
"What the hell happened back there, Ran? Who were those guys?"
"I have no idea! I didn't do anything!" Aran huffed indignantly, his cheeks
flushed—partly from anger and partly from the alcohol running through his
veins. "That mafia-looking guy tried to touch me! So, I fought back. Then
he called his goons to scare me. What an asshole!"
Peach resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. Sure, he knew this kid
was good-looking—enough to attract the kind of sleazy guys who thought
with their egos and hormones. But Aran's idea of conflict resolution clearly
needed some work.
Barely bigger than a bean, alone in a room full of dangerous-looking men,
and still talking back? It was a miracle he hadn't ended up dead or worse.
Did this guy have no survival instincts at all?
He was about to say something to defuse the situation when, suddenly, he
was yanked back. A strong hand grabbed his shoulder hard enough to hurt
before shoving him aside without a shred of compassion. Luckily, he
managed to keep his balance, but not before the railing he grabbed for
support scraped his palm, leaving a stinging cut. His arm throbbed from
where it had hit the edge.
Peach turned around, his heart sinking in fear at the thought that the
dangerous man from earlier had followed them. But to his surprise, the
person glaring at him, ready to tear him apart, was none other than the stern
celebrity.
Tawan stood there, holding the petite model against his chest. His rough,
biting tone didn't match the protective gesture.
"What the hell is going on here?" Tawan growled, his voice like a whip. His
grip on Aran tightened as if to keep him from escaping. "You've been gone
for ages—turns out you were off messing around with this damn
photographer, huh?"
"Tawan, listen to me!" Aran struggled in the iron grip, trying in vain to
break free. "It's not what you think! Peach helped me, that's all!"
Aran's protest only seemed to fuel the fire. Tawan's frustration grew as he
responded, and then, without another word, he took the smaller man with
him, his arm wrapped around him as if he were a possession. Before
disappearing, Tawan shot Peach a glare so sharp it felt like a dagger to the
gut—a clear warning to stay away.
Peach remained frozen, trying to process the whirlwind of chaos that had
just erupted. Were his thoughts lagging behind the storm of emotions that
had just unfolded?! A part of him wanted to scream about the hellish mess
that had just swept through the room. But all he did was let the yellowed, worn-out pages flip through his hands. A part of him wanted to express
what he felt, but he didn't.
On the way out, he started wondering if maybe he should take on fewer jobs
related to Aran. He didn't want to be the reason for more misunderstandings
or tensions between them. Besides, he wanted to make it clear to Tawan that
he had no interest in getting involved in their drama.
The problem was that Aran had just become the brand ambassador for
Arseny. With a full contract tying him to the entire autumn collection,
avoiding the couple was going to be nearly impossible.
Peach sighed again, a resigned "whatever" settling in his chest. He hadn't
done anything wrong, but trouble kept finding him. At this point, all he
could do was shrug it off and focus on work. The rest? That was no longer
his problem.
He walked to his car and stopped beside it. Just as he was about to get in, a
sharp pain in his arm reminded him of the cut. Changing his mind, he
rummaged through the trunk for a bottle of water, thinking it would be a
good idea to rinse the wound. He also figured he might need to stop
somewhere for a tetanus shot. It was too dark to see what had cut him, and
if it had been rusty metal, that could be a real problem.
Peach grabbed the water bottle and awkwardly tried to unscrew the cap
without using his injured hand. His clumsy fumbling made him think about
the man he had encountered earlier in the bathroom—the one with the
dangerous vibe.
He had to admit, the guy was ridiculously handsome, no doubt about that.
But the air of danger surrounding him was hard to ignore. Still, what had
impressed Peach the most weren't the man's looks, but his smoke-gray
eyes.
They were stunning, almost hypnotic—the kind of eyes that made you stop
in your tracks. He even caught himself wishing he had a camera to capture
them. There was also something eerily familiar about them, as if he had seen them somewhere before. Their beauty, almost like shifting smoke, was
rare enough to ignite the photographer's spark in him.
"Need help with that?"
The deep voice startled Peach. He looked up and flinched slightly when he
found himself face-to-face with those same smoke-gray eyes he had just
been thinking about.
Great. Looked like that troublesome freshman was dragging a new mess
straight to him.