His Private Terms

Lila Reed sat on the windowsill with one leg folded under her and the other stretched out so her foot pressed against the cool glass. Rain slid down the other side in thin lines. Her laptop rested on her thighs, the screen throwing pale light across her face. She scrolled without much hope. Most of the requests on the private board were the same ones she had seen for months. Corporate headshots. Anniversary sessions. Families who wanted to stay offline. Good money. Clean work. Nothing that made her pause. Then she saw the name. Damien Vale. No photograph. Just one short line: *Private inquiries regarding personal documentation considered on a limited basis.* Lila stopped scrolling. She knew who he was. Vale Technologies. The man who gave almost nothing away. The few pictures that existed online were always the same—sharp suit, unreadable face, body turned like he was already leaving. No candid shots. No holiday photos. No partner ever confirmed. His private life was basically empty space. That emptiness pulled at her. She opened new tabs and started looking properly. Old articles. Conference photos. Short interviews where his answers stayed clipped and careful. Nothing personal. It felt deliberate. Most powerful men left some kind of trail even when they tried not to. Damien Vale had left almost none. Lila leaned her head back against the window frame. It wasn’t the money that interested her. It wasn’t the status either. It was the challenge. Nobody had managed to get close enough to show what the man looked like when he wasn’t performing. That blank space was the most interesting thing she had seen in a long time. She sat up, opened a fresh email, and typed. *Mr. Vale,* *My name is Lila Reed. I’m a private photographer. I work mostly on long-term personal projects.* *There’s almost no visual record of your life outside the professional one. That absence is what interests me. I’d like to discuss the possibility of changing that—carefully, and on whatever terms you set.* *I’m available whenever you are.* *Lila Reed* She read it once, fixed a small typo, and sent it before she could overthink the wording. The confirmation appeared. Lila stared at it for a moment, then closed the laptop and set it on the floor. Outside, the rain had softened into mist. She stayed on the windowsill a little longer, turning the idea over in her head. Most people never got near him. That was exactly why she wanted to try. Her stomach eventually reminded her she hadn’t eaten since morning. She stood up, stretched, and walked to the kitchen. The apartment felt quiet in the way it always did when the rain settled in. She pulled eggs, spinach, and a bit of cheese from the fridge and started cooking without thinking too hard about it. The simple rhythm of slicing and stirring helped clear her head. She was just plating the food when the doorbell rang. Teni didn’t wait for an invitation. She stepped inside with damp hair and the look that meant she had things to say. “You ignored my text again,” she said, dropping her bag on the couch. “I brought wine anyway.” Lila handed her a plate. “I was working.” “You’re always working.” Teni followed her back to the kitchen and leaned against the counter. “Kayode is getting on my last nerve. He cancelled dinner again, then had the nerve to act like I was the one overreacting. I’m tired of guessing where I stand.” Lila listened while they ate. She offered the occasional quiet comment, the way she always did. Teni’s relationship stories had started carrying more weight lately, less humour and more frustration. Lila didn’t try to solve it. She just let her friend talk. When the plates were empty, Teni poured the wine and studied her over the rim of the glass. “You’re quieter than usual,” she said. “Something on your mind?” Lila shook her head. “Just a possible job. Nothing certain yet.” “The kind that keeps you up at night staring at your laptop?” A small smile touched Lila’s mouth. “Something like that.” Teni didn’t push. She finished her wine, complained once more about Kayode, and eventually left with a quick hug and a reminder to answer her texts. The apartment felt larger once the door closed. Lila washed the plates, dried her hands, and walked back to the windowsill. She opened the laptop one last time and checked her sent folder. The email was still there. No reply, of course. It had only been a few hours. She closed the laptop again and looked out at the city. The rain had almost stopped. Somewhere behind the lights and the glass towers, Damien Vale existed in the same night—guarded, unreachable, exactly the kind of subject she had never been able to resist. Lila rested her forehead lightly against the glass and let the thought settle. She had sent the email. Now she would wait and see if he answered.