"Don't touch me."

Lucian was a true star among models. With his flawless appearance, loving family, and an army of devoted fans, his life appeared to be the very embodiment of success and glamour. But Lucian himself never saw it that way.

Behind the camera flashes and magazine covers hid fleeting connections, a carefully nurtured ego, and a personality as sharp and difficult as it was captivating. As beautiful as he was unbearable, Lucian openly mocked love, dismissing it as a foolish illusion. He scorned sentimentality, laughed at vulnerability, and went so far as to delete all romantic channels from his television and throw every romance novel he owned into the trash. To the world, he seemed incapable of loving anyone but himself.

But that wasn't the truth.

Once—just once—Lucian had loved. Fiercely, sincerely, with a heart so open and pure it could have illuminated the darkest corners of any soul. But fate was cruel. His first and only love had turned out to be a master manipulator, who saw in Lucian nothing more than a beautiful, obedient prize to parade around. What began as a fairytale romance in their school years gradually twisted into a long, poisonous entanglement. For years, Lucian endured emotional, physical, and even , all veiled behind the hollow word "love."

When it ended, it ended brutally—without warning, without kindness. Lucian was left shattered, reduced to three attempts and a painful year of therapy that barely stitched him back together.

The romantic, affectionate young man he once was died in that relationship. What remained was a cold, sarcastic figure wrapped in designer fabric and cynicism. He pushed people away, wrapped himself in detachment, and wore arrogance like armor.

Yet, buried deep beneath the bitterness and bravado, something still flickered. A forgotten spark, faint and fragile—waiting, perhaps, for someone to bring it back to life.