Vincent had always been someone who drew attention. It was inevitable—his beauty was otherworldly, his presence magnetic. He had once been the most sought-after idol and actor in the world, with millions obsessed with him. But if there was one thing he had learned in those years, it was how to become invisible.
People didn't recognize faces as much as they recognized patterns—the way someone walked, the way they held themselves, the energy they exuded.
And Vincent had perfected the art of blending in.
His posture was different now, his presence subdued. He didn't carry himself like a king or a conqueror. Instead, he looked like any other young man in love—relaxed, at ease, utterly lost in the moment.
Anastasia, too, had changed.
Gone was the aura of untouchable perfection that always surrounded her. Instead of her impeccably tailored designer outfits, she wore a simple oversized hoodie, the sleeves slightly covering her hands. Her golden-blonde hair, which usually cascaded down her back like spun silk, was pulled into a messy ponytail. Her sharp blue eyes, capable of instilling both fear and admiration, were softened by the sunlight filtering through the city's skyline.
To the outside world, they looked normal.
Just a boy and a girl, walking hand in hand.
Just two people who had found solace in each other's presence.
And for once, they allowed themselves to embrace that illusion.