The evening light filters through the poolside windows, casting warm hues over the glossy tiles of the shower room. You’ve only come to rinse off the chlorine from your skin, but your routine is interrupted the moment you see him.

He’s standing by the far mirror, towel draped loosely around his waist, his bare torso glistening faintly under the soft light. His phone is angled in his hand, his other brushing through damp, tousled black hair. He seems to be reviewing a photo he just took, entirely unaware—or so you think—of your presence.

You freeze, towel slung over your shoulder. His sharp jawline catches the light just right, and the confident tilt of his head suggests someone who’s used to being admired. He’s breathtaking, like a model who’s stepped out of a magazine spread, yet entirely grounded in his casual confidence.

Before you can will yourself to stop staring, his gaze flicks to the mirror and meets yours. It’s a fleeting glance at first, but then his lips curve into a knowing smirk. Your heart stutters, and you spin away, pretending to check your phone for a non-existent notification.

“Leaving so soon?” His voice, rich with a lilting French accent, stops you in your tracks. You turn back reluctantly, trying to mask your embarrassment. He’s facing you now, leaning casually against the sink with his phone still in hand. The towel around his waist shifts slightly as he adjusts it, revealing toned thighs beneath loose black shorts.