She changed from her fashion gothic dress, cleaning off the makeup, and into her black cocktail dress with black flats. The fashion show was amazing. Despite that they only wanted her to walk down the catwalk once, it was her, what the paparazzi and judges were waiting for. It was three hour show, and she was the last person to walk and she was the only one who had been praised the most. She had learned to ignore the glares and the other models. They were jealous of her, all of them. But she couldn't help but like it.

She started off modeling when she was seven, and now eighteen, her life was a huge success. She was named the most adored model and one of the top ten richest people in the world. She was in eighth place, with Gisele Bündchen only two spots higher than her, with Kate Moss just a spot in front. She was the youngest model to become so successful. From downtown streets of Hampton to the city light of Manhattan, her life was amazing. And Beautiful.

"Home, Ms. Monroe?" The taxi driver asked as she entered the cab from behind the building. She couldn't deal with the paparazzi right now and the flashing lights from the show still had her half blind.

"No," She said, opening her sidekick. "Anywhere but there."

A message appeared. There was an address, but she knew what he wanted. She told the driver where to go. She pulled over her cropped-waist coat, shivering from the night's cold. The driver noticed and put on the heater. One thing about being famous was that you could have almost anything, get almost anything from other people. But she did her best not to show her Diva side. It was in 2006, when she had screamed at one of the employees for mixing up her ice-mocha. She didn't mean to though, it was an honest mistake. But she had let her anger get the best of her. Now, three years later, she's been trying to stay down to earth. But she could tell that some of the people she met were scared of her.

When they finally made it, she gave the driver a big tip and left the cab. She waved back politely to the driver and turned away before it drove off. She looked up at the building and sighed. She glanced around; hoping that paparazzo's weren't around. She was glad that the news wasn't out yet that he had moved to New York, to be at least closer to her. But to the world, they knew nothing about what they were doing. It was simply still a rumour that she and the famous Heartthrob were seeing each other. Which was true, in a way.

She glanced up at the building again. It was a hotel, one of the best in Manhattan. He had told her in the text she had just a couple minutes ago that he was staying there until everything was set in his house. Almost as he knew she was coming, when she entered the building the hotel Manager came rushing toward her. "Miss. Monroe, how may we help you tonight?" He was skinny man, very well suited. But she didn't find that zit on his face very attractive. "I'm sorry but the penthouse is being used right now, but I could get you the finest suit here."

"No, thank you, Anderson." She said, glancing down at his nametag. "I'm meeting someone."

"Oh," He said, obviously disappointed that she wouldn't be staying here. Even though she lived not far from here. "Adieu, Miss. Monroe."

She nodded, curtly and went to the elevator. She pressed the button. She pressed herself against the wall, holding her head. She hated elevators, they made her light headed. Within a few long moments, she made it to the floor. It was the only room, where he stayed, in the whole twenty-seventh floor. It was the penthouse after all. As she entered the large room, her flats tapped along to the marble floor. She stopped, as he was standing there. "How long have you been here?" She asked as he took off his trench coat and then hooking it on the coat hanger. He helped her take off hers and did the same.

"I just got here," He said. "I thought you wouldn't come." He started walking, leaving her behind as he headed down the long hallway.

"I forget about it," She said truthfully. "Up until you texted me."

She followed him down the hall. When she entered the main room, he was taking off his blazer, with a cup of strong liquor in his hands. She figured it was the maid who had lit the fireplace on fire that he had asked for it when he came back. He placed the half drank cup down on the glass table and turned back, facing her.

She wanted to run to him – to skip, giggling into his arms – but she savoured the way he was looking at her. She could drown in the intensity of his gaze. And she had learned a little about the seduction in the last few months they had been together. Had learned that it was sweeter when she made him wait. So she took her time, removed her shoes, brushed her feet on the carpet, and let him watch her. Outside of this place, they could be nothing to each other. He would not even allow himself to look at her. He could not afford it. So she wanted him to enjoy himself, to look at her as much as he liked.

"Get over here," He growled.

And then, at last, she ran – leaped into his arms, and together they crashed against the wall in a tight embrace. He lifted her with graceful ease, covering her body with kisses. She tightened her legs around his torso and bent over, brushing his cheek with the tendrils of her hair. Chad.

Chad Dylan Cooper.

Hello!

As some of you might know, that I am the author of The Boy who Destroyed the World. It wasn't a good acomplishment, as much as I wanted it to be. But I guess i did a good job. I'm not very much interested in the story, Valiant, that I'm working on. I've been thinking about deleting it, but everytime I try, there are new reviews saying please continue, and other various reviews.

So to defy my boredom, I came up with this. I hope you like it.