Since that day, Claire and Kegan's friendship had grown even closer. They were basically the same person in different bodies: wild, impulsive, and hopelessly in love with parties and alcohol. Whenever they had the chance, they'd drop by the bar where Isaac worked, keeping him company while spending way too much on drinks. They almost always left leaning on each other's shoulders, laughing at everything and nothing. Sometimes they brought Ethan along, though he at least knew when to stop.
Because of that, every afternoon on campus, Isaac somehow got dragged into having lunch with the group. It was always the same dynamic: Kegan telling some outrageous story, Claire laughing, Ethan filming something on his phone, and Dante. Dante, who always had a comment ready to provoke him, or simply stared at him like he was something stuck to the bottom of his shoe. Isaac, of course, ignored it completely.
"Isaac, would you pose for me again?" Ethan asked one afternoon, smiling hopefully. "I'll pay you well, I swear."
Isaac hesitated. "Is it really that important for your career?" he asked, curious. He didn't like modeling, but he'd do it for Ethan.
"Let's just say it's not exactly for me," Ethan said proudly. "Emma Bones asked me to hire you. She's offering fifty thousand for a snow photoshoot."
Everyone at the table froze for a second. The name Emma Bones carried weight . A legend in both the fashion and film industries. But Isaac, as usual, looked utterly clueless.
"Who?" he asked, frowning.
Everyone stared at him in disbelief, and, naturally, Dante was the first to speak.
"Emma Bones. Director and photographer. You uncultured idiot," he said sharply, his tone dripping with disdain.
Isaac glanced at him sideways, catching the provocation but refusing to react. "I see," he said calmly. "Then I guess I'll accept."
Ethan immediately threw his arms around him, grinning from ear to ear, grateful that Isaac had agreed even though he clearly didn't enjoy modeling. Their friendship had become something warm and easy; Isaac was like that reluctant older brother who complained about everything but still showed up when it mattered.
Then Ethan turned to Dante, his grin turning mischievous. "I'm sure my cultured friend will be happy to lend us his cabin in the mountains for this important photoshoot."
The tone was teasing, but the request was real. Dante shot him a mock glare, sighed... and gave in.
And just like that, everyone got pulled into what Claire later called a spontaneous vacation.
The "cabin" turned out to be far too luxurious to deserve that name. High ceilings, dark wood, and huge windows that opened to an endless white landscape. The group wandered around like kids at Christmas, laughing and exploring every corner.
"Look at this mirror!" María gasped, pointing at a massive gold-framed piece in the main hall. "I bet it costs more than my whole house," Kegan joked, earning a round of laughter.
While the others explored, Isaac stopped in front of a shelf. On top sat a few framed photos, a pale boy with short black hair and mischievous green eyes. Dante, unmistakably. So his natural color is black, Isaac thought absently, his gaze lingered a little longer than he meant to.
A few steps away, he noticed a set of medals hanging on the wall, school races, martial arts, various competitions. All engraved with the same name: Dante Black. They were tucked away at the end of the hallway, almost hidden, as if someone didn't want them to be seen.
"My grandfather used to ask for them. He's the one who kept them here," Dante's voice came from behind him, low and unexpected.
Isaac turned slightly. Dante's eyes were on the medals, and for once, there was no arrogance in them, only nostalgia. That same fragile version of him that Isaac had glimpsed before at Claire's place surfaced again. It was strange, seeing him without the armor.
"Is he still alive?" Isaac asked softly.
Dante looked at him, surprised by the question, not offended, just caught off guard. It was as if no one had ever dared to ask him something so direct, so personal. "No… it's been a few years," he said quietly.
Isaac nodded. "I'm sorry. Were you close?"
Dante's lips curved into a faint smile. He could swear it was the first time he'd ever spoken about it to someone outside his family. "Yeah. He used to exaggerate everything I did. Even the smallest thing was a reason to celebrate, and he kept it all here."
Isaac's expression didn't change, but there was something about his voice that always seemed to bring peace to whoever he spoke to. And he never hesitated to ask the things no one else would. "Why here, though? Not at your house?"
Dante frowned again, his usual mask slipping back into place, pride mixed with annoyance, like armor. "What are you, debuting as a journalist now?" he muttered, defensive.
Before Isaac could answer, Keegan appeared with a huge grin."You guys have to see this! Ethan's literally stuck in the snow trying to find the perfect spot for the photos!"
Kegan's laughter was so contagious that both Isaac and Dante dropped the conversation and followed him. The hallway fell silent again, the medals catching the soft light, quiet witnesses to a story Dante still wasn't ready to tell.
After finding the perfect spot for the photoshoot, everyone was exhausted. Some stayed behind to cook, and when they all regrouped, they sat around the small but elegant dining table, enjoying mashed potatoes with meat. Between laughter and clinking glasses, they planned the next day's session. Emma was set to arrive in the morning, and Ethan, despite his calm smile, was clearly nervous.
Dante, meanwhile, was quieter than usual. Ever since that talk with Isaac, something inside him felt unsettled. Isaac always had that effect on him, leaving him speechless, thoughtful, off-balance. This time, he'd made him think about his grandfather. The one person in his family who had truly understood him. Since the old man's death, Dante had pulled away from the Blacks.
That question from Isaac — "Why here and not at your house?" — had stuck in his head. And how could he explain that his mother would never hang those medals, that she'd lock them away in some forgotten chest, the same way she did with everything else that mattered?
He stood up, muttering something about going to the bathroom, and didn't return. No one noticed, the chatter was loud, the wine flowed freely, and laughter drowned out his absence. By then, they'd opened three bottles of wine and a bottle of rum. Isaac hadn't touched a drop. He didn't want a headache before the shoot.
He stepped outside through the back door to smoke. The cold bit at his skin, but the view was worth it. Tall pines and an endless stretch of snow-covered land. All of it belonged to the Blacks.
And there, sitting alone on a stone bench, was Dante. He stared blankly into the distance, as if searching for something long lost.
Isaac said nothing. He lit his cigarette and leaned against the railing. Minutes passed before Dante broke the silence.
"Why do you have such a disgusting habit?" he muttered, wrinkling his nose.
Isaac smirked. It was a question he asked himself often, but he didn't answer. He just gave Dante a look and shrugged.
Dante rolled his eyes. He stood up, brushing off his coat. "You should quit. It's gross ...and you're gonna die young," he said sharply.
His tone was harsh, almost condescending, but Isaac could already read him well enough. That was how Dante hid the softer parts of himself , the ones that only slipped through by accident. There was something in that voice, a kind of concern wrapped in irritation. And somehow, Isaac liked that.
"Are you worried about me?" Isaac teased, his voice light, almost playful.
Dante froze for a second. He'd expected sarcasm, maybe silence, but not that tone.It caught him off guard, and his expression immediately twisted into a faint grimace, as if the words had left a bad taste in his mouth. Without saying anything else, he turned on his heel and walked away, clearly annoyed.
Isaac chuckled quietly, a mischievous smile curving on his lips.
The next morning, Ethan was the first to wake. He hurried out to pick up Emma, who'd gotten lost on her way there. Before leaving, he told Dante to prepare the outfits and equipment, and to wake up Isaac.
Dante knocked, but there was no response. So he pushed the door open. The room was dim and too warm. "Is this guy obsessed with saunas or what?" he muttered under his breath.
Isaac lay sprawled on the bed, wrapped in blankets, still wearing a coat. His face was calm, peaceful, like he'd never known a nightmare. The sight made something twist inside Dante, a faint echo of that morning he'd accidentally woken up on top of him. He stood there for a moment before leaning down and tapping his shoulder.
Isaac stirred immediately, blinking up at him. The first thing he saw was Dante's familiar frown, like just being there irritated him.
"Ethan went to get Emma. Get ready," Dante said quietly, his voice low but clipped.
Isaac nodded, got up, and headed straight for the shower. Minutes later, he joined Dante in the living room to go over the last details.
"This jacket," Dante said, lifting a gray denim piece, "has to be visible in every shot. It's the key item."
He spoke like a professional precise and focused. Isaac found himself quietly observing him. Among strangers, Dante could seem arrogant and chaotic; with friends, sarcastic and protective; with family, vulnerable; and in work mode , sharp and serious. A mess of contradictions that somehow fit together. And without realizing it, Isaac's curiosity about him was slowly turning into something deeper.
"Are you even listening?" Dante snapped, frowning at his silence.
Isaac blinked, caught off guard. "Yeah, yeah. The jacket, main piece. Got it," he said quickly, his tone firm but distracted.
Dante eyed him suspiciously but went on explaining, his focus so intense it was almost funny.
That was when Emma arrived with Ethan, who was clearly both thrilled and terrified. The woman was tall, with dark skin, sharp brown eyes like a fox's, and short hair that framed her strong features. Her presence was commanding yet warm.
"A pleasure," Emma greeted, shaking Dante's hand, then Isaac's. She gave him a quick once-over and grinned. "Even more handsome in person, huh?"
Isaac smiled politely, but before they could head out, Emma suddenly stopped and turned back toward them. Her eyes widened.
"Wait… you're Dante Black? From the Black family?" she asked, astonished.
Dante's expression shifted into one of flawless composure: professional, polite, and distant. "Yes. It's a pleasure to meet you. I've always admired your work," he said smoothly.
The tone was so formal, so unlike him, that Isaac glanced at him in quiet surprise. Ethan, on the other hand, didn't even blink. Clearly used to it.
"Wow… the famous Dante Black, a fan of my art? Didn't think I'd ever meet a Black in person... you people are like, mysterious legends!" she laughed.
Dante's polite smile didn't falter. "Let's just say we prefer to stay out of the spotlight."
out of the spotlight?, Isaac thought. Right. He could practically see Dante's chaos flashing behind that perfect mask.
They reached the location Emma had chosen. She fell in love with it instantly, the snow, the light, the silence. Even more so when she learned the land belonged to the Blacks. When someone mentioned that the family also owned a nearby factory for one of the country's most popular drinks, everyone looked at Dante in open disbelief.
The photoshoot began smoothly. Isaac felt surprisingly comfortable around Emma and the camera, especially with Ethan guiding his poses. Everything flowed naturally… until the cold began to bite too hard.
His breathing grew heavier, almost unnoticeably at first. He hadn't had an asthma attack in years, since childhood, really , and he'd convinced himself he was cured. But the freezing air burned his lungs, and a dull dizziness began to blur the edges of his vision.
Still, he said nothing. He kept posing, determined not to ruin the shoot.
And somewhere halfway through the session, the rest of the group finally woke up.They climbed the hill to see how things were going, staying quiet at the edge of the clearing, watching from afar, careful not to interrupt the fragile beauty of the scene unfolding before them.