A Grumpy/Sunshine Queer Romance
Julian Vale is America’s sweetheart on camera—but behind the lens, he’s falling apart. As one of the fashion world’s most famous models, he’s perfected the art of smiling through pain, hiding bruises beneath designer clothes, and surviving the quiet cruelty of the man who controls his career. No one sees the cracks beneath the flawless surface … until Miles Bennett stumbles into his life.
Miles, a rising Hollywood actor with an annoyingly sunny personality, is everything Julian doesn’t have time for—persistent, warm, and far too good at noticing the truth behind carefully guarded walls. Forced to share a luxury suite abroad for an exclusive photoshoot collaboration, Miles becomes the only person who dares to see Julian as he is: scared, exhausted, and desperate to escape.
But loving Miles comes with a cost. And when Julian’s abuser threatens to destroy them both, Julian faces a choice he’s run from for years—stay silent and safe, or risk everything to speak the truth and reclaim his life. In a world where perfection is survival, what happens when someone finally sees you?
Be Warned: m/m sex
Excerpt:
God, he was beautiful.
I knew I was staring. Couldn’t help it.
The Julian Vale. Right there. Live and breathing—tall and sharp like a blade wrapped in silk, moving through the room like he owned the air itself.
And he’d looked at me. Actually looked. Like he noticed I existed.
I tugged my sleeve down, grinning stupidly to myself. Why was my heart thumping? It’s just a model, Miles. No big deal. Big deal for your agent, maybe. Big deal for the producers who wanted this collab shoot for the movie promo. But for me?
…Okay, fine. It was a little big.
I could still feel the weight of his stare sitting warm in my chest, like the last rays of sun after winter.
Get it together, Miles.
Victor muttered beside me, going over some last-minute poses or angles or something—I barely heard. I was too busy wondering how someone could be so carefully perfect and so obviously miserable at the same time. Like every smooth, cold inch of him was hiding something dark and heavy.
And then—he was walking this way. Straight for me.
Shit. Stay cool, Miles. Smile. You’re good at this.
I straightened up, hand half-raising in greeting.
“Hey—Julian Vale, right? I’m Miles. Miles Bennett. Big fan, man. It’s really cool we get to—”
He cut me off sharp. Voice low. Tight.
“Look. I’m not here to be your friend.”
The smile faltered. Just for a breath.
But what hit me more than the words was the way his eyes flashed—quick and dark and drowning, like someone trapped under ice, reaching out and pulling back all at once.
Not anger. Not annoyance. Something else.
Pain.
I swallowed down the sting, forcing the easy grin back onto my face.
“Right. Got it. No friends. Professional only. Loud and clear.”
But something inside tugged—small and stubborn. Like when you find a hurt stray on the street, all teeth and fear.
I wanted to help him. Even if I knew I probably shouldn’t.
Julian turned, sharp and stiff, disappearing into the folds of the studio like a shadow pulled by strings.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, rubbing the back of my neck.
Ouch.
Not that I blamed him. Guys like him probably got swarmed every day—fans, actors, strangers with cameras. All wanting something. All expecting him to smile and pose and be the poster boy they saw in magazines.
I’d be guarded too.
Still… there was something in his eyes. Something hollow. Something tired and caged. Like he was holding himself so tightly together he might shatter if he let go.
Weird thing was… it didn’t make me want to run.
It made me want to help.
I sighed and leaned against the wall, trying to calm the little flutter in my chest. Don’t get involved, Miles. You’re here for the shoot. That’s all.
But that’s never been me. Not really.
Hell—I wasn’t even supposed to be an actor.
A quiet smile tugged at my mouth as my thoughts drifted, warm and familiar.
Back home—back when I was seventeen and certain life meant working at my uncle’s repair shop forever—Mom shoved me into a local theater audition “just for fun.” She said I was too full of life to waste behind a counter. Too bright.
I’d bombed the audition. Forgot every line. Tripped over the prop bench.
I still got the part.
And I’d been hooked ever since.
It wasn't the fame I wanted. Or money. It was the doing. The feeling of being someone else, slipping into another skin and breathing differently for a while.
Funny how that landed me here. On a photoshoot with Julian Vale—America’s Sweetheart with a secret sadness behind his eyes.
I glanced down the hallway where he’d gone, curiosity stirring again.
There was more to him. I could feel it.
And no matter what he said—not here to make friends—some part of me wasn’t ready to let that go.
Victor had left my side to go talk to Julian. He was standing stiffly, arms crossed, while Victor whispered something sharp in his ear.
Julian didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. But something about the way his shoulders tightened—like a spring coiled tight—made my stomach twist. Victor smiled thinly, clapping Julian on the back in a way that wasn’t friendly at all.
Weird.
I frowned, the thought sticking like a splinter in the back of my mind.
Okay. You got this. Fake it till you make it.
The bright studio lights felt like a spotlight in my chest, but I squared my shoulders and stepped forward. Cameras clicked and whirred around us like a swarm.
Julian stood nearby—cool, distant. Like a statue carved from marble. His gaze barely flicked to me when I tried to catch his eye.
“Hey,” I said, voice a little too hopeful, “ready for this?”
He grunted. No answer. Great.
Victor barked orders, and I tried to follow, shifting and angling myself like I’d seen pros do a hundred times on screen.
But when it came time to pose with Julian, I froze—awkward and unsure.
Before I could say anything, a firm hand grabbed my elbow. Julian’s. “Not like that,” he muttered, pulling me closer, adjusting my arm and tilting without looking at me.
I gulped, caught off guard by how gentle his touch was, despite the gruff tone.
“Here,” he said, voice low, “You’ll block the light if you stand there like an idiot.”
My heart thudded oddly. So, he cared, in his own way.
The countdown started. “Three… two… one…”
Julian’s face shifted. The cold, grumpy mask softened into a perfect, flawless smile—beautiful but so clearly fake.
I caught it immediately, but he didn’t miss a beat.
When the flash went off, I found myself staring at him, awe knotting my chest.
And then I smiled—real and wide and messy—because here was someone who had to pretend for the world, while I could be myself, even just for a moment.
Victor yelled out a few more directions, and I tried to stay focused, but my mind kept drifting back to Julian. How can someone look so flawless and yet so… broken?
After the shoot wrapped for the day, I spotted him by the water cooler, staring blankly ahead, like the world had drained all color out of him. I swallowed my nerves and walked over.
“Hey, you okay?” I asked, hoping my voice didn’t sound as shaky as I felt.
No response. Just a slow blink and an indifferent stare.
“I heard shoots can be brutal. I kinda mess up lines all the time on set,” I added, hoping to make a connection. “But I keep going, you know?”
He blinked again, and then, to my surprise, he didn’t snap at me. Just rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” he muttered, then turned and walked away.
I grinned to myself, heart pounding. That was something—better than a slap or a glare.
Maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something worth fighting for.
