The flash pulsed in rhythm with the shutter, illuminating the model standing confidently before the backdrop. He was small-framed, his features delicate enough to blur the line between masculine and feminine—a well-known unisex model whose charm transcended gender. Each movement was fluid, effortless, perfectly matched to the expensive perfume he was promoting, embodying its identity with striking precision.

“Give me a little more confidence… yes, like that. Perfect.”

The voice behind the camera was calm and smooth, never wavering as the photographer continued shooting. After several more clicks, the camera finally lowered, and the man announced a short break to prepare for the next scene.

“Peach! How do I look? I totally nailed it, right?”

The model bounced toward him with childlike excitement, his exaggerated enthusiasm drawing a soft laugh from Peach, who casually turned the camera screen around.

“Don’t you trust me at all, Ran?” Peach teased, unhooking the camera from his neck as he sat down, letting the younger man eagerly scan through the photos.

Aran’s face lit up instantly, eyes sparkling as he stared at the images. “Of course I trust you! That’s why I couldn’t wait to see them. I already knew they’d be amazing.”

And he wasn’t wrong.

Peachayarat Janekit was one of the top photographers in the country—renowned for his ability to capture beauty where others failed to see it. Under his lens, even ordinary faces became unforgettable. Many models and actors owed their rise to fame to a handful of Peach’s photographs. Beyond talent, his reputation was spotless: professional, calm, polite, and scandal-free.

Ironically, the only part of his life that never went smoothly was love.

Three girlfriends. Three breakups. All for the same reason.

Peach had long accepted that romance simply wasn’t his strength.

“Are you coming to the wrap-up party tonight?” Aran asked, finally pulling his gaze from the screen. His eyes held a hopeful glint that made Peach smile despite himself.

Aran had known Peach since his early days in the industry—some even said Peach had helped launch his career. But to Peach, Aran was nothing more than a younger brother. An overly dramatic, possessive younger brother.

“Did you tell Tawan yet?” Peach asked flatly. “If you two start fighting again, I’m throwing you both out.”

Aran froze, guilt written all over his face. Without another word, he bolted toward the dressing room, no doubt to report in to his boyfriend.

Peach sighed and returned to work.

While waiting, he checked his phone, absentmindedly scrolling through news. A headline caught his attention—buzz surrounding a young half-Thai, half-Russian entrepreneur dominating the perfume and jewelry market.

Theerakit Kian Arseny.

Handsome, wealthy, brilliant. Infamous for his complicated love life.

Peach glanced at the perfume bottle on set and chuckled faintly. His boss truly knew how to build hype. Still, the chances of them ever meeting were close to zero. He pushed the thought aside and focused on finishing the shoot.

After work, Peach returned briefly to his condo before heading out again. His studio apartment was modest but neat—clean lines, muted colors, a reflection of his personality. He changed into a button-up shirt, left a few buttons undone, sprayed cologne, and headed out.

He wasn’t surprised his last relationship had ended. Peach wasn’t flashy. He didn’t make grand gestures. What he offered was stability, warmth, and quiet care.

People loved confiding in him. They trusted him.

But no one ever fell in love.

The memory of his ex’s words made him laugh bitterly as he drove into the city’s chaotic Friday traffic.

By the time he reached the restaurant-pub, the place was alive with music and chatter. It wasn’t a club—just energetic enough to feel warm. Tonight was a wrap party celebrating a long, exhausting photoshoot.

Peach took his seat quietly. Across from him sat Aran, greeting him with the enthusiasm of a puppy.

And right beside Aran was Tawan, shooting Peach a glare sharp enough to cut.

“If you keep staring like that,” Peach joked lightly, “I might end up pregnant.”

Tawan narrowed his eyes while tightening his arm around Aran in a clear display of possession. Peach merely chuckled and turned away.

Aran was dazzling—soft yet sharp, beautiful yet masculine. Tawan, on the other hand, was raw dominance incarnate. They were born to be main characters.

Peach, meanwhile, felt more like the supporting role.

After eating and nursing a drink, Peach decided to leave early. He headed to the restroom to freshen up—

—and froze.

Aran stood cornered by three men dressed in black.

Peach moved instantly, slipping between them and pulling Aran behind him. “Ran, where did you go?” he asked casually, gripping the younger man’s arm in warning. “Are you okay?”

He finally noticed the man leaning against the sink.

Tall. Mixed-race. Slicked-back dark hair. Smoke-gray eyes sharp enough to make Peach’s instincts scream danger. Tattoos peeked from rolled sleeves. Authority radiated from him, filling the cramped space.

Peach swallowed his fear and bowed politely. “I’m sorry if my friend caused trouble. Please don’t take it personally.”

Without waiting for permission, he dragged Aran out.

Once safe, Peach rounded on him. “What happened?”

“That guy tried to touch me!” Aran snapped. “I fought back!”

Peach barely held back a groan. Before he could respond, a hand shoved him aside violently.

Tawan.

He pulled Aran into his chest, fury blazing. Accusations flew. Peach tried to explain, but Tawan wouldn’t listen. He left with Aran in tow, throwing Peach a glare full of warning.

Peach stood there, stunned.

He hadn’t done anything wrong—but trouble kept finding him.

Avoiding Aran would be ideal, but with Aran now Arseny’s brand ambassador, that was impossible.

With a weary sigh, Peach headed to his car. Only then did he notice the cut on his hand. Searching his trunk for water, his thoughts drifted back to the man in the restroom.

Those smoke-gray eyes.

Dangerous. Hypnotic. Familiar.

“Need help?”

Peach startled, looking up—

—and found himself face-to-face with those very eyes.

Trouble, it seemed, wasn’t done with him yet.

The man stood only an arm’s length away, and at this distance, his height became impossible to ignore—nearly brushing one hundred ninety centimeters. Broad shoulders and a solid, athletic frame gave him the presence of someone built for dominance, the kind of mixed-race physique that looked more suited to a battlefield than a bar parking lot.

Under the clearer lights, his smoky gray eyes were even more striking—unnervingly so. They held a depth that felt almost hypnotic, as if staring too long might pull you under. His sharp jaw was shadowed with a few days’ worth of stubble, lending him an intimidating, rough edge that made Peach’s instincts scream danger.

Yes, he was undeniably handsome. But it wasn’t the kind of beauty that made your heart flutter—it was the kind that made you consider running for your life.

“You’re not opening that with your injured hand,” the man said calmly, extending his palm as if the matter was already settled.

Peach blinked, momentarily thrown off. His guard remained high, but after a brief hesitation, he handed over the bottle. The man twisted the cap open effortlessly and returned it.

“Thanks,” Peach murmured, stepping aside as he poured water over the cut, washing away the dried blood.

“That’s what you get for sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong,” the man remarked coolly.

Peach paused, then smiled faintly and continued rinsing the wound. “You’re not wrong. It wasn’t my business. But I couldn’t just leave that kid there. If I can help someone, I probably will.”

He dried his arm with tissues, inspecting the scratch. It wasn’t deep, but a tetanus shot would be necessary.

“Helping people like that will only get you into trouble,” the man said, crossing his arms.

“I’m always in trouble,” Peach replied lightly. “I’m used to it.” Then, after a brief pause, he added with a resigned sigh, “But seriously—could you not hit on the kid? Every time there’s drama, I’m the one stuck in the middle.”

The man’s expression darkened instantly.

“There is nothing I want that I cannot have.”

The words landed heavily in the air.

Then Peach burst out laughing.

He tried to hold it back, but it only made him cough, laughter spilling out until he had to wipe tears from his eyes. The darker the man’s glare became, the harder Peach laughed.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, lifting a hand in surrender. “I didn’t mean to laugh—it just caught me off guard. Who actually talks like that? It’s so over-the-top. Straight out of a tyrant’s handbook.”

The scowl deepened, forcing Peach to tone it down quickly.

“Look, if you like Ran, why not approach him properly?” Peach suggested. “He’s still single. Try being… normal?”

The man looked unimpressed. “Why would I waste my time?”

The sheer arrogance of it made Peach nod slowly. Ah. One of those.

This guy was a walking trope—dominant, controlling, aggressive. The kind of man romance novels labeled mafia boss in bold letters.

“Control yourself,” Peach said casually, leaning against his car. “No one enjoys being pressured or bossed around—unless they’re into pain.”

The man scoffed. “It’s just sex.”

“Even more reason to do it right,” Peach countered, his tone turning serious. “Sex is supposed to be mutual. Enjoyed by both people. Not something you force or bargain for.”

He spoke with confidence, though his own experience was limited. Three failed relationships, a few distant one-night stands. Still, the principle mattered.

The man fell silent, brows furrowing as if grappling with a foreign concept.

Peach yawned quietly. He was exhausted—beyond exhausted.

“Give me your phone.”

Peach snapped awake. Confused but too tired to argue—and far too aware of the armed bodyguards nearby—he handed it over.

The man tapped on the screen briefly before returning it.

Peach hesitated, then blurted, “You look familiar. Have we met before?”

The man froze. Something flickered in his eyes before he scoffed.

“That’s the dumbest pickup line I’ve ever heard.”

Peach laughed again—full, genuine, uncontrollable.

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I swear I’m not flirting. You just… really look familiar. Especially your eyes.”

The tension eased slightly.

“I’ll think about it,” the man finally said, turning away.

Only after he disappeared did Peach release the breath he’d been holding.

Elsewhere

Theerakit Kian Arseny sat behind his desk, fingers tapping slowly.

Few knew the truth behind the Arseny name. What began as arms trafficking had evolved into technology, then luxury—perfume and jewelry serving as a pristine front for an empire built on power.

He was used to taking what he wanted.

Yet tonight, something felt… off.

The model had caught his attention—but it was the photographer who lingered in his thoughts. Calm. Warm. Unafraid. Laughing at him.

No one ever laughed and survived.

And yet Peach had.

When the background reports arrived, Thee skipped over the model’s file and opened the photographer’s instead.

Clean. Ordinary. Simple.

Annoyingly interesting.

He dialed the number without hesitation.

“I’ll be downstairs in an hour,” he said. “We’re having breakfast.”

Confusion crackled on the other end of the line—but Thee hung up, already smiling faintly.

For the first time, work felt… easy.

Peach had always been a creature of the night.

Sure, he could force himself out of bed in the morning if a shoot demanded it, but when it came to work that required real focus—photo editing, layout composition, video cutting—his brain only truly woke up after sunset. Nighttime was quiet, uninterrupted, perfect for creativity.

So even after returning from the event completely exhausted, Peach still sat down in front of his computer. One draft turned into another, and before he realized it, the sky outside his window was already beginning to lighten. When he finally collapsed into bed, it was well past five in the morning.

His next job wasn’t until the afternoon. Staying up all night shouldn’t have been a problem.

What he hadn’t counted on was his phone ringing at ten a.m.

Half-asleep, Peach almost ignored it. He rolled over, burying his face into the pillow—until he caught a glimpse of the name flashing on the screen.

Theerakit Kian Arseny.

He was instantly awake.

Those smoky gray eyes had haunted him all night. The memory of them had nagged at the back of his mind, restless and persistent, until he had dragged himself out of bed at dawn and gone digging through his old work archives. It had taken him less than ten minutes to confirm what his instincts already knew.

The man from last night—the one radiating danger—was the CEO of Arseny, the luxury brand Peach was currently working with.

His temporary boss.

So when that name appeared on his screen, everything clicked into place. His phone being taken last night. The unexpected call. The strange sense of familiarity he hadn’t been able to explain.

The real question was why.

Why was Theerakit calling him instead of Aran?

Peach didn’t let those questions escape his head. He dragged himself up, washed his face, took a rushed shower, and stood in front of his closet—staring.

He hesitated far longer than he should have.

Peach lived simply. Quietly. He avoided nightlife, preferred staying home, and when he traveled, he did it alone—camera in hand, chasing silence instead of crowds. His wardrobe reflected that simplicity: basic T-shirts, neutral pants, functional button-ups. He owned exactly one suit, reserved for emergencies.

Now, faced with meeting a half-Russian mafia boss in broad daylight, his minimalist lifestyle suddenly felt like a disadvantage.

This wasn’t a date. Not even close. But showing up too casually felt disrespectful—while wearing a full suit felt ridiculous.

In the end, nearly an hour passed before he settled on slim black pants and an oversized gray button-up. He skipped coffee entirely, adjusting the strap of his crossbody bag as he hurried downstairs, not daring to keep the other man waiting.

The moment Peach stepped outside, a sleek black luxury car rolled to a stop beside him.

The rear window lowered just enough for him to see those smoky gray eyes.

His spine straightened automatically. Peach lowered his head in a polite nod and walked toward the car. His hand hovered over the front passenger door.

This wasn’t hospitality. This wasn’t courtesy.

This felt more like a summons.

Sitting farther away increased his chances of escape—if things went wrong.

He opened the front door.

“Sit in the back.”

The command was low, calm, and absolute.

Peach froze.

For half a second, he considered refusing. Then his brain supplied a vivid image of dying before he even got coffee.

He stepped back out, circled the car, and slid into the back seat—resigned.

He sat stiffly, brows furrowed, mind racing. Had he offended Theerakit last night? Had laughing crossed some invisible line? If this was retaliation, why daylight?

“You’re tense,” Thee remarked, eyes sharp. “You weren’t like this last night.”

Peach forced a polite smile. “I might’ve had too much to drink. Sorry if I said anything inappropriate.”

“I didn’t say it was inappropriate.”

The teasing edge in Thee’s voice made Peach bristle.

“Well, last night I didn’t know who you were,” Peach blurted, running a hand through his hair.

Thee paused, then smiled faintly. “So you’re afraid now?”

“I was afraid last night too,” Peach replied flatly. “Anyone would be scared of someone flanked by armed bodyguards.”

“Then nothing’s changed.”

Peach rolled his eyes.

This man’s idea of normal was exhausting.

“So,” Peach said, exhaling. “Why did you call me, Mr. Arseny?”

Thee watched him with open amusement. Even the driver glanced at the rearview mirror, clearly startled by his boss’s mood.

“How’s your arm?”

Peach blinked. “It’s fine. Just a scratch. I already got the shot.”

A pause. “I called about the model.”

Of course.

“You told me to start by flirting,” Thee continued calmly. “Teach me.”

Peach stared at him.

“You… want me to teach you how to flirt?”

“Yes.”

Whatever fear remained evaporated, replaced by disbelief. “Sir, I got dumped two months ago for being ‘too boring.’ You want me as your dating coach?”

Thee smiled. “You give good advice. And you’re close to him.”

Peach opened his mouth, then closed it.

Unfortunately, Thee wasn’t wrong.

With a resigned sigh, Peach leaned back. “What do you even think of Aran?”

Thee considered. “He’s close to my type. I wouldn’t mind sleeping with him.”

“And anything else?”

“Interesting. Pretty.”

Peach smacked his forehead.

“But he said he doesn’t want a one-night stand,” Peach pressed. “That matters. You can’t just force people into things.”

Silence stretched.

“You said he’s different from the others,” Peach continued carefully. “So why not try something normal? Talk to him. Get to know him.”

“But sex is my focus.”

Peach stared out the window, imagining an iced Americano.

“Make it part of the picture,” Peach said slowly. “Not the whole thing.”

Thee studied him, then nodded once. “Help me.”

Peach sighed. “We’re not that close.”

“I don’t need much.”

The car started moving.

“Just call me Thee,” Thee said. “Where are we going?”

“To lunch.”

Peach rubbed his face. “Coffee first. Please.”

Thee smiled.