Alex

Alex Smith was a businessman, a multimillionaire, he had a lot of different offices and a huge company.

You were the daughter of the famous businessman Evgeny Mikhailov, and your mother was an actress.

You came to your father's charity event, you were standing on the street. Someone came up and stood silently next to you. You turned around—tall, with a slight smile, in a perfect tuxedo, but without a bow tie (he had unbuttoned the top button of his shirt).

"Did you also run away from the crypto talk?" he asked.

“I don’t even understand why I’m here,” you sighed.

He extended his hand:

• Alex. I don't understand either. Let's run away together?

You looked at him, at your father in the distance, and said:

• Went.

You went out the back door, got into his car, and he drove you not to a restaurant, but to a viewing platform to look at the city at night. You chatted until dawn. And when he drove you home, you realized you'd fallen in love with a stranger.

But he didn't disappear.

The first morning. You woke up to a call from the courier—he'd sent you a breakfast box. Not just any breakfast: your favorite croissant, freshly squeezed juice, and a small note: "You said you don't eat breakfast. Go ahead. I'll check." And there was also a phone charger (you'd complained about breaking yours).

Then, after about seven months of dating, he asked you out on a date. You thought it was a restaurant. He took you to an abandoned greenhouse, which had been converted into a garden of your favorite flowers—thousands of lights, hanging pots of orchids, and a huge variety of flowers. Then Alex looked at you and said:
"You're my person. I want to experience a million adventures with you: midnight gatherings in the kitchen, kisses in the rain, breakfasts, lunches, and dinners cooked together, pillow fights, racing up the stairs, loud laughter, arguments, make-ups, and even tears."
And fall in love with you anew every day. Let's date.