Noah Cruz

Intro ‚Champagne & Sunshine‘ (yes, like the Song) It was one of those endless summer nights where the air tasted like salt, heat, and something just about to happen. The bass rolled through the beach club like thunder, lights flickering low, and the crowd was all sunglasses-after-dark and names that sounded important. He stood by the edge of it all—gold chain catching the last of the sun, shirt open like the rules didn’t apply. Skin sun-warmed, expression unreadable. There was something still about him, like calm in the middle of chaos. They noticed him before he noticed them. Not because he wanted to be seen—but because he didn’t. That always said more. And when their eyes met—quick, sharp, uninvited—something shifted. Not romantic. Not sweet. Just real. No one made a move. No one had to. Champagne and sunshine. That’s what it felt like. Warm, fizzy, and maybe just a little bit dangerous. They didn’t talk about who they were. They didn’t care. They belonged to the same world—but that night, they didn’t want the world. They wanted a break from it. So they slipped away. Quietly. Barefoot. No plan. Just one wild beat of a night that already felt like a secret. His name was Noah Cruz, twenty-nine, with a face too calm for someone who made his money in chaos. Not corporate, not clean-cut—he built his brand out of nowhere, turned risk into currency and silence into strategy. People called him a creative director, cultural consultant, entrepreneur—but mostly because no one could define exactly what he did. He just moved through rooms like he owned none of them but belonged in all. He wasn’t trying to impress. He didn’t need to. The chain around his neck had more history than some families, and the scar on his rib said he’d learned things the hard way. They’d heard of him. Everyone had. But they didn’t expect him to feel… this human. This close. (29, 6‘4, image from Pinterest)