Unfiltered Romance

The Santorini night unfolded like a velvet curtain, the soft glow of string lights strung across the villa's terrace casting a warm, golden hue. The crew had long since cleared out, leaving behind an unusual stillness. Vivien sat at the far end of the terrace, wrapped in a light shawl, staring out at the sparkling Aegean Sea.

The day's events lingered in her mind—the laughter, the chaos, the unfiltered moments that somehow made her forget the cameras and the carefully curated persona she had spent years crafting.

"Mind if I join you?"

Ren's voice broke through her thoughts. He emerged from the villa, a fresh bottle of wine in hand and a playful grin that she was growing far too accustomed to.

Vivien gave him a sideways glance. "You could try asking 'May I' like a civilized person."

Ren chuckled, setting the bottle on the table as he pulled out a chair across from her. "But where's the fun in that?"

The clink of the wine bottle opening punctuated the silence, the sound sharp and clear in the stillness of the terrace. Ren poured two glasses, sliding one toward Vivien with an exaggerated flourish, his grin as mischievous as ever.

"To chaos," he said, raising his glass, his voice carrying a playful edge.

Vivien arched an eyebrow, tilting her head slightly. "To chaos? That's what you're toasting?"

Ren leaned back in his chair, letting the warmth of the moment soften his usual bravado. The glimmer of mischief in his eyes shifted, replaced with something deeper, almost thoughtful. "Why not? Chaos keeps life interesting. Like today—unplanned, messy, and somehow… perfect."

Vivien hesitated, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her glass. She wasn't used to moments like this—unguarded, unscripted, and oddly sincere. With a faint smile tugging at her lips, she lifted her glass. "Fine. To chaos. And to surviving it."

Their glasses clinked, the sound crisp in the cool night air, echoing softly against the hum of the sea. For a brief moment, the world felt smaller, quieter, as if it had folded in around them, leaving just the two of them suspended in the shared stillness.

For a while, they drank in silence, the hum of the distant waves filling the gaps in their conversation. Ren tipped his chair back, balancing precariously on two legs as he gazed at the stars.

"You know," he began, "this might be the first time I've actually enjoyed working."

Vivien tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?"

Ren shrugged, still staring at the sky. "Most of the time, this job feels like performing. Smiling for the camera, saying the right things, being the guy everyone wants me to be. But with you…" He paused, his chair dropping back onto all fours as he met her gaze. "It feels real. Even when you're glaring at me."

Vivien smirked. "Especially when I'm glaring at you."

Ren laughed, a sound that was warmer than his usual teasing tone. "Maybe. But you're different, Hart. You don't let me get away with anything. It's… refreshing."

Vivien's expression softened, though she quickly masked it with a sip of wine. "Don't read too much into it. I just have a low tolerance for nonsense."

"Sure," Ren said, his grin widening. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

The bottle of wine slowly emptied as their conversation drifted into unexpected territory. Ren shared stories about his early days as an influencer—the missteps, the awkward live streams, the constant pressure to stay relevant.

"I think the worst was my first brand deal," he said, shaking his head. "They wanted me to promote this awful protein shake. I had to pretend I loved it, but it tasted like wet cardboard. I spent the entire shoot gagging between takes."

Vivien laughed, a sound that startled even her. "I can't believe you agreed to it."

"Hey, I was broke and desperate," Ren said, leaning forward. "What's your worst campaign moment?"

Vivien hesitated, swirling the wine in her glass. "There was a yoga retreat I promoted a couple of years ago. It looked amazing in the photos, but when I got there, it was basically a glorified campsite with mosquitoes the size of my fist."

Ren winced. "Ouch."

"Yeah," Vivien said, laughing softly. "I spent most of the trip hiding in my car, trying to figure out how to make it look glamorous for Instagram."

Ren shook his head, his smile fading slightly. "It's crazy, isn't it? The lengths we go to make everything look perfect."

Vivien nodded, her gaze drifting toward the sea. "Sometimes I wonder if it's worth it."

Ren tilted the bottle, letting the last drops of wine fill their glasses. The sound of the liquid pouring echoed faintly in the quiet night. As he set the empty bottle aside, he lifted his glass, his expression uncharacteristically serious.

"To something better," he said, his voice low, almost reverent.

Vivien's brow furrowed, her glass hovering mid-air. "Something better?" she repeated, her tone cautious, as if unsure whether to let herself step into whatever vulnerable territory he was navigating.

"Yeah," Ren said, his gaze locking onto hers with an intensity she wasn't prepared for. "To moments like this. Real ones. No cameras, no hashtags, no pretending. Just… us."

The weight of his words lingered between them, a tangible pause that felt heavier than the night air. Vivien hesitated, the practiced composure she clung to in public slipping away. Her heart fluttered uncomfortably, her walls instinctively pushing back against the sincerity in his tone.

Slowly, she raised her glass, meeting his steady gaze. "To something better," she said softly, her voice lacking its usual sharpness.

Their glasses clinked again, but this time, the sound wasn't loud or celebratory—it was quiet, intimate, a connection that neither of them fully understood but couldn't deny.

The stars above seemed brighter now, scattered like diamonds across a velvet sky. The soft murmur of the sea below filled the silence, lulling the villa into a peaceful stillness. The string lights on the terrace cast a warm, golden glow that softened the edges of everything, including Vivien's carefully guarded demeanor.

As the conversation between them dwindled, Vivien shifted in her chair, wrapping her shawl tightly around her shoulders. The wine had brought a faint warmth to her cheeks, but it wasn't enough to stave off the cool breeze rolling in from the sea.

"I should get some sleep," she said, her voice reluctant, almost apologetic.

Ren stood as well, the scrape of his chair on the stone terrace breaking the quiet. He slid his hands into his pockets, watching her with a look that Vivien couldn't quite decipher. "Goodnight, Hart," he said, his tone softer than usual, free of the usual teasing edge.

Vivien paused at the doorway, her hand resting lightly on the frame. She turned back to him, her lips parting as if she wanted to say something, but whatever it was got lost in the moment. Instead, she offered a small, almost shy smile. "Goodnight, Ren."

And then she disappeared inside, the faint click of her door echoing in the stillness.

Ren stayed where he was, leaning forward against the cool stone railing as the villa behind him fell silent. The faint sounds of the crew's earlier laughter had faded hours ago, replaced by the rhythmic crash of waves against the cliffs below.

He traced the rim of his empty glass with his finger, his thoughts drifting to the conversation he'd just shared with Vivien. The laughter, the teasing, the brief glimpses of vulnerability—it had been unlike anything he'd expected when they'd first started this campaign.

Ren's smile flickered as he thought about her words, her hesitance to trust, her sharp wit masking something much deeper. For someone so composed, so guarded, Vivien Hart had an unexpected ability to disarm him.

"It wasn't just the wine," he murmured to himself, his grin softening into something more introspective.

Leaning back, Ren tilted his head toward the stars, the moonlight casting faint silver streaks across his features. His phone buzzed on the table behind him, no doubt another notification about their viral moment or a reminder from his manager. He ignored it, his focus firmly on the stillness around him.

The truth was, for all his confidence and charm, Ren wasn't used to moments like this—moments that weren't about entertaining, performing, or winning over an audience. With Vivien, he felt… real. And that scared him more than he cared to admit.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "What are you doing, Ashford?" he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "She's probably already regretting this."

But deep down, he knew she wasn't. Not entirely.

Ren glanced toward the closed door of Vivien's room, his thoughts wandering to the next day. Another shoot, another opportunity to push her buttons, to see that rare, unguarded smile that she probably didn't even realize she had.

For the first time in a long time, Ren felt something he couldn't quite name—an anticipation that wasn't tied to his career, his brand, or his usual mischief. It was tied to her.

He pushed off the railing, picking up the empty wine bottle and glasses. With one last glance at the moonlit vineyard, he headed inside, his footsteps soft against the stone.

Tomorrow was another day, another chance to unravel the mystery of Vivien Hart. And for the first time in a long time, Ren wasn't just looking forward to the work—he was looking forward to her.