MELISSA'S POV
"Alright," the photographer called, stepping away from his camera, "that's a wrap!"
I exhaled — long and deep.
Finally.
"Perfect work, both of you," Marco said, clapping his hands. "You've got chemistry, and I love it."
I didn't even glance at Xavier. I just turned and headed straight for the dressing area.
I peeled off the silk jacket, grabbed my bag, and changed into my clothes .My curls were still in place, makeup was still looking so nice. But inside? I was done.
He was already waiting near the exit when I walked out.
Of course he was.
"Need a ride?" he asked casually, keys spinning on his finger.
"No."
He raised an eyebrow. "It's about to rain."
"I'll manage."
"It's freezing."
"No."
He smirked. "Still living up to that Ice Princess name, I see."
I rolled my eyes and walked past him.
The air outside was colder now. Grey clouds had taken over, and I could smell the rain before it even touched the ground.
I was halfway down the street when I felt the first drop.
Then another.
Then the sky opened.
Cold drizzle hit my face, turning quick into sheets of water. My clothes soaked through in seconds.
"Fuck, Rain is a bitch."
Cursing under my breath, I turned around — and there he was, still standing under the building's awning like he knew I'd come back.
Xavier lifted one brow. "Changed your mind?"
I glared. "Shut up and unlock the car."
The car heater blasted warm air over my soaked clothess. I hugged my arms across my chest and stared out the window.
"Want me to turn the heat up?" he asked.
"No."
We drove in silence for a few minutes.
I watched the water roll down the glass. Streetlights flickered.
"Address?" he asked.
I gave it to him in one word.
"Got it," he said.
Silence again.
"I didn't know you were modeling," he said after a while.
"Why would you?"
He shrugged. "You just seem like the type to punch someone for putting glitter on you."
I ignored him.
"Is this a one-time thing or… are you going full glam now?"
"None of your business."
He let out a low laugh. "Still charming, I see."
"Still annoying."
The rain picked up speed, slamming against the windshield. I glanced ahead.
The traffic lights were blinking red. Horns were honking in the distance.
A few cars started turning around.
"What's going on?" I asked.
He slowed the car.
Roadblock.
Water was rising down the main road, already flooding past the tyres of a few parked cars.
"Well, that's not good," he muttered.
"Can you go around?"
He turned the wheel. "I'll try another route."
Ten minutes later, the second road was blocked too.
Water covered the road like a moving sheet of glass. The rain hadn't stopped once.
"No way we're driving through that," he said, pulling the car over.
"Great," I muttered. "So what now?"
"There's a shortcut through the west side," he said, checking his phone. "But… it's closer to mine."
I looked at him.
"No."
"You'd rather sleep in the car?"
I didn't answer.
"It's warm and dry. You'll live."
I stayed quiet.
He tapped the steering wheel. "You can stay in the guest room. I won't breathe your air, I promise."
"…Fine."
He smirked. "Knew you couldn't resist."
"Drive."
His apartment was sleek. Clean. Dark tones. Minimalist.
I stepped inside slowly, still damp from the rain, my clothes clinging to my arms.
He shut the door behind us and tossed his keys on a table.
"You want a towel?"
"No."
"You want food?"
"No."
He raised his hands. "Okay. Just trying to be polite."
I slipped off my shoes and walked toward the living room. It smelled like cedar and expensive cologne.
"You live alone?" I asked.
"Yeah."
I nodded.
He disappeared for a moment and came back with a clean white towel anyway.
"Here," he said, tossing it to me.
I caught it.
"Thanks."
I sat down on the couch, still holding the towel in my lap.
He didn't sit beside me — just leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed his arms.
"You look uncomfortable."
"Because I am."
He tilted his head. "Why? It's just me."
"That's the problem."
His mouth twitched like he wanted to smile. "I'm not the enemy, Melissa."
"Could've fooled me."
"Why are you so angry all the time?"
"Why do you think this is about you?"
"Because it always feels like it is."
I stood. "You're my sister's boyfriend."
He looked away, jaw tight.
I shouldn't have said it.
But I did.
And the silence that followed?
Loud.
Too loud.
"Are you… interested in me?"
The question hit like a slap.
I blinked once. Slowly.
"What?" I said, voice flat.
He didn't repeat it.
I stood. "Why would you ask that?"
He shrugged. "The way you look at me."
"I don't look at you."
"You glare like you're trying not to."
I took one step closer. "You're my sister's boyfriend."
He didn't flinch. "That didn't answer the question."
I narrowed my eyes. "You think everything's about you, don't you?"
"Not everything," he said calmly. "Just this."
I glared harder, but he didn't back down.
"You're full of yourself," I said.
"And you're deflecting."
"Drop it, Xavier."
"You sure?"
"Drop it," I snapped.
He studied me for a second longer.
Then turned away before muttering
Jeez I'm kidding.
"I made coffee," he said, voice lighter now. "You drink yours black?"
I didn't answer.
He poured a mug anyway, walked over, and handed it to me.
I took it.
The warmth seeped into my hands.
He walked off and came back with a clean black hoodie and a pair of sweatpants.
"Here. You're soaked."
"I'm fine."
"You're freezing."
I hesitated, then grabbed the clothes. "Fine. Thanks."
"You can use the guest room to change. First door on the left."
I nodded once and walked away.
The clothes were warm. Soft. Smelled like him — fresh, clean, expensive.
I looked at myself in the mirror, his hoodie drowning me, sleeves falling past my hands.
I hated how comfortable it felt.
I stepped out of the room slowly, mug in hand.
He looked up.
Said nothing.
Just stared.
Then his phone rang.
He checked the screen.
His jaw tightened.
His voice dropped. "I'll be right back."