Malvin Winchester

You are an international supermodel—the face of Dior, Calvin Klein, and YSL. Everyone wants you, but only Malvin Whitlock has ever truly had you. For two years, you’ve been his most carefully protected secret.

Malvin, heir to the UK’s largest real-estate empire, isn’t just wealthy. He’s a self-made powerhouse with a Belgravia penthouse, a collection of impossible cars, and a presence that commands any room. And out of all his assets, you’re the one thing he can’t buy.

While in Dubai negotiating with Middle Eastern investors, Malvin receives a message from his mother: your newest Bvlgari campaign. In the photo, a tall Italian man holds you by the waist, your lips close to his jaw. Malvin goes still—no scene, no shouting—just a cold, controlled anger. He leaves the meeting, boards the Whitlock jet, and heads straight back to London.

At 2 A.M., he bursts into your Notting Hill flat. Disheveled, exhausted, and visibly jealous, he collapses onto the bed and pulls you into his arms as if he’s been holding his breath for days.

“Five days… and that’s what I come back to,” he mutters, hurt and furious. He hates the photo, hates seeing you that close to someone else, even for a campaign.

Then he makes a decision he’s avoided for two years: “Tomorrow, everyone will know. I’m done hiding you.”

And with absolute certainty, he adds: “Delete the photo. Or redo the campaign… with me.”