Chapter Seven
M aya
Maya woke to silence in her own suite.
No warm body beside her, no lingering scent of Dom's cologne on her sheets. Just the pale morning light filtering through her windows and the hollow ache in her chest that had settled there after walking away from him the night before.
She'd barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw that moment at Club Inferno when Dom had held her so tenderly, when she'd felt him on the verge of saying something important.
The way his voice had caught, the emotion in his eyes—and then the sudden retreat, the walls slamming back into place with almost audible force.
She showered and dressed mechanically, checking her phone for any message from him about today's shoot. Nothing. The professional silence spoke volumes about how he intended to handle what had happened between them.
After what seemed like hours of waiting, she finally gave up and knocked on his door.
"Come in."
Dom was at his laptop, fully dressed in a crisp white shirt and dark jeans, looking every inch the professional model.
No trace of the man who'd almost let his guard down completely the night before, who'd held her like she was the most precious thing in the world before remembering he wasn't supposed to care.
"Good morning."
"Morning." He didn't look up from his screen. "I've been reviewing our schedule. Colleen wants outdoor shots today."
"Okay. Hey, about last night—"
"Last night was exactly what we agreed it would be," Dom interrupted, finally meeting her eyes. His expression was distant.
Something cold settled in her stomach. After everything they'd shared, he was reducing it to just sex.
"Is that really what you think happened?"
"That's what I know happened." He closed his laptop with a snap.
The casual dismissal hit Maya like a slap. She'd felt his emotional walls crumbling, had seen the moment when he'd almost surrendered not just his body but his heart. Now he was acting like none of that vulnerability had existed.
"Fine." Maya swallowed her hurt. "Let’s get going."
If he was determined to pretend that moment of honesty had never happened, she would document the lie. The camera saw what people tried to hide, and she was beginning to understand that might be the only way to preserve what was real between them.
The photo shoot that followed was a study in controlled tension. Dom posed with practiced perfection against the backdrop of Connecticut's autumn forest, but she saw the strain around his eyes, the way he held his shoulders like he was bracing for impact.
"Turn slightly to the left," Maya directed, her voice professional even as her heart ached. "Good. Now look directly at the camera."
Despite his carefully controlled expression, there was pain there—carefully hidden but unmistakable to someone who'd learned to read his micro-expressions. She clicked rapidly, capturing the moment before he remembered to mask it completely.
"That’s perfect," Maya said softly, though they both knew nothing about this was perfect.
They worked in near silence for an hour, the space between them charged with everything they weren't saying.
She studied him through her viewfinder, memorizing the angles of his face, the way the autumn light reflected in his dark hair.
If this was all she could have of him—these stolen moments of honesty when he forgot to perform—then she would make them count.
"I think we have enough," he said finally, straightening from his pose against a massive oak tree.
"Actually, can we try a few more?" She adjusted her camera settings, moving closer. "Something less posed. More real."
He sneered. "This is as real as it gets, Maya."
"Is it?" She lowered her camera, meeting his gaze. "Because the man I see through this lens looks like he's fighting a war with himself."
"You're reading too much into it."
"Am I?" She raised the camera again, this time focusing on his eyes. "Tell me what's wrong. You've been on edge all morning."
"Nothing's wrong. I'm fine."
But he wasn't fine, and she saw it clearly now. The slight tremor in his hands, the way he kept checking his phone, the barely contained energy that suggested he was holding himself together through sheer force of will.
"Dom, what happened? Did you get bad news?"
For a moment, his composure cracked. "Jake called this morning. Three more brands pulled out. Apparently, my unpredictable behavior makes me too much of a risk."
"I'm sorry."
"It doesn't matter. What matters is salvaging what's left. This campaign with you—it's my last shot. I can't afford any more distractions."
After everything they'd shared, after that moment when she'd felt him ready to open his heart, she was just a distraction.
"I see."
"Good. Then we understand each other."
But she was already raising her camera again, this time capturing the exact moment his facade cracked. The resulting image would be devastating—all edges and barely contained desperation, the kind of vulnerability that would make people stop and stare.
"Stop," he said.
"Why? This is good. This is what Colleen wants—authentic emotion."
"That's not authentic, it's invasive."
She lowered her camera, studying his face. "When was the last time someone actually saw you? Really saw you, not just the image you project?"
"That's not what this is about."
"Isn't it?" She stepped closer, her frustration finally boiling over. "You're so afraid of being vulnerable that you'd rather push away anyone who might actually care about you."
He went very still. "Care about me?"
Maya held his gaze. "Yes. Care about you. The real you, not the brand or the reputation."
He stared at her steadily. For a moment, she thought he might actually acknowledge what had almost happened between them the night before.
Then his phone buzzed with an incoming call, and the moment was over.
"We should head back." Dom glanced at the screen. "I have calls to make."
She nodded, swallowing her disappointment. But as they packed up the equipment, she made a decision. If he was determined to keep her at arm's length, to pretend that moment of vulnerability at Club Inferno had never existed, then she would find another way to preserve what was real between them.
Back in his suite, she downloaded the day's photos while he disappeared to take his calls. The images from their confrontation were particularly powerful—Dom's mask slipping to reveal the vulnerable man underneath. Without hesitation, she copied them the unguarded folder.
Over the following days, the folder grew. Maya documented everything—the way Dom's hands looked when he thought no one was watching, the concentration on his face during their increasingly intense private encounters, the rare moments when he forgot to guard his expressions.
She was careful, discreet. Never bringing her professional camera into their private moments, never violating the obvious boundaries.
But everything else was fair game—candid shots between poses, artistic compositions that captured their evolving dynamic, sketches that processed what the camera couldn't quite convey.
Each night, Dom would summon her with a text.
Maya would go to him, craving the surrender and connection even as she recognized the pattern forming.
Dom pushed her boundaries with methodical precision, introducing her to new forms of pleasure and pain that left her gasping and transformed.
But afterward, he would retreat behind those impenetrable walls, discussing the next day's schedule while Maya lay vulnerable in his bed.
The contradiction was killing her.
By the third morning, she felt like she was drowning in the tension between what they shared in private and his determination to keep things purely physical. She was falling in love with a man who refused to acknowledge she existed beyond their arrangement.
That afternoon's shoot was different. He seemed particularly on edge, his jaw clenched with barely contained stress. When she tried to direct him into more natural poses, he snapped.
"Just take the fucking pictures. Stop trying to psychoanalyze me through your lens."
"I'm not psychoanalyzing you," Maya shot back. "I'm trying to capture something real for once instead of this perfect mask you insist on wearing."
"This mask is what pays the bills."
"This mask is what's destroying you."
Dom's eyes flashed dangerously. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Don't I? When was the last time you admitted you needed something more than just physical release and professional success?"
"That's enough."
"Is it? Because I'm tired of pretending. Tired of accepting scraps of intimacy while you hoard your emotions like they're state secrets."
Dom went very still, and Maya saw she'd hit a nerve.
"What exactly are you asking for?"
"Honesty. About what this is, about what you're feeling." She stepped closer. "Stop treating me like I'm just another convenient arrangement."
For a moment, his mask slipped completely, and Maya saw the pain underneath. The loneliness, the fear, the desperate need he was fighting so hard to deny.
Then he stepped back.
"This is exactly what we agreed it would be," he said coldly. "If you want something different, you're free to leave."
Her heart cracked. "You bastard."
"Problem?" His voice was calm, but she saw the slight tremor in his hands.
"Yeah, actually. My problem is that I'm falling for a man who's too scared to admit he might feel the same way."
For a split second, she saw everything she'd hoped for flash across his features. Then he turned away.
"Let's get back inside. We're done for today."
She wanted to scream. Instead, she packed her equipment up, her heart breaking a little more with each lens she capped.
Back in his suite, Maya went through the ritual of downloading photos while Dom made business calls in his bedroom. The images from today's confrontation were particularly revealing—his composure cracking to show the vulnerable man beneath.