Kairo Reyes adjusted the lens of his secondhand camera, crouching beneath the fading glow of the city's golden hour. The shutter clicked—fast, clean, intimate. Another candid smile frozen in time. Another stranger he'd never see again.
He stood and exhaled, brushing dust off his jeans.
Another shoot for a client who'd pay just enough to keep the lights on, maybe cover rent if no one flaked this week.
He walked home with his camera bag slung over one shoulder, the weight familiar, like a part of him. His phone buzzed.
"Hey, Kairo. Loved the pics! You're sooo talented 💕"
"But I don't think I'm ready for anything serious rn… hope we can still be friends?"
He didn't reply.
He didn't have to. He knew the script by now.
They always said the same thing—right after telling him how "different" he was. Right after weeks of pulling him in with compliments and promises and late-night texts about forever.
Different. Right.
Different meant "until I find someone better."
He reached his tiny apartment. One bulb flickered in the ceiling. Laundry in the corner. A corkboard covered with Polaroids.
Each photo had a name underneath. Most were girls. All were smiling. All were gone.
He picked one at random. Tessa.
She'd been into books and bubble tea.
Told him he looked like someone in a K-drama.
He smiled at the memory. Then pulled the pin out and dropped her photo in the drawer with the others.
That made eleven.
Kairo Reyes, heartbreaker by accident. Broken-hearted by design.
He powered up his laptop and opened his email. One new message stood out, titled:
"Photoshoot Request – URGENT (Private Client)"
The sender's name? Selene Vaughn.
A name he didn't recognize.
A name that would change everything.
Kairo clicked the email open, curiosity tugging at him. The message was short, almost too short.
Hi Kairo,
I need a photographer for a private shoot this weekend. Discreet. Clean work. High pay. You were recommended.
—Selene Vaughn
Contact: 555-1930
There was no portfolio link, no mention of who recommended him, and no last-minute bargain about payment.
"High pay."
Two words that always made him suspicious—but also always made him answer.
Saturday came faster than expected.
The address led him out of the city, past traffic and noise, into a quieter district filled with modern homes hidden behind high gates. Selene's place wasn't a mansion, but it was money. Sleek architecture, wide glass walls, vines trained up steel beams like art.
He rang the bell.
Moments later, the door opened—and there she was.
Selene Vaughn.
Tall. Pale skin. Dark red lipstick. Everything about her was perfectly placed—like she walked out of a magazine. But what struck him most wasn't her beauty.
It was her stillness.
The way she looked at him like she already knew him. Like she had expected him years before he arrived.
"Kairo Reyes," she said smoothly, like tasting his name. "You're early."
"You're… Selene?"
"In the flesh." She opened the door wider. "Come in."
Her house smelled like cedarwood and cold perfume. A grand piano sat untouched in the corner, and black-and-white photographs lined the hallway walls—her, it seemed, but from another life.
"You live alone?" he asked.
"For now," she replied.
She led him into a room lit with natural light. "This is where we'll shoot."
The walls were bare. No props. No wardrobe rack. No makeup crew.
Just Selene, dressed in all black. And him.
"I want these photos for myself," she said. "No modeling agency, no magazine. Just something real. You understand that, don't you?"
Kairo nodded. "More than most."
The camera felt heavier than usual in his hands. Maybe it was the silence. Maybe it was the way Selene looked at him—like she'd seen him somewhere before.
But as the session began, she relaxed. She moved easily in front of the lens. Confident. Unbothered.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Then—halfway through—she said something that froze him.
"You've had your heart broken a lot, haven't you?"
Kairo blinked. Lowered the camera. "What?"
Selene smiled slightly. "It's in your eyes. Every time you press the shutter, you look like someone who's trying to hold onto something that always leaves."
He didn't respond. Not at first.
Then he said quietly, "You get used to it."
Selene looked at him for a long moment, unreadable. Then she turned back to the light.
"Don't," she whispered. "Getting used to it is the worst part."
The photoshoot ended an hour later. She paid him in cash—double his usual rate.
As he packed his gear, she walked him to the door.
"One more thing," she said.
He turned.
"If I break your heart," she asked, "will you add me to your collection too?"
Kairo didn't answer. He just stared at her.
Because for the first time in a long time…
He had no idea if she was joking.