And I was invading it with my camera.
Guilt crashed over me, sharp and acidic.
This is wrong. You know this is wrong. He's a real person, not paid content. He has a right to privacy. You're trespassing. You're filming without consent. This is exactly the kind of thing you'd hate if someone did it to you.
But I was also desperate. Drowning. Running out of options and time and money and hope.
And this footage—this gorgeous, viral-ready footage—could save me.
Just this once. Just this one video. Then you'll delete it if he ever finds out. But he probably won't find out. And even if he does, you can apologize, take it down, make it right.
Even as I thought it, I knew it was bullshit.
I recorded for another thirty seconds, then decided I had enough. More than enough. I had at least three minutes offootage, multiple angles, different shots—wide angles showing the property and mountains, close-ups of his movements, that devastating stretch.
This was perfect.
I ducked down slightly in my seat—not that he'd been looking my direction—and carefully, quietly backed my car down the private road until I could turn around.
Adrenaline. Excitement. Guilt I was trying desperately to ignore.
And underneath it all, a flutter low in my stomach from having seen the hottest man I'd ever encountered in my entire twenty-five years of life.
Focus. This is about your career. This is about saving everything you've built. That's all.
But I couldn't quite stop thinking about that silver hair, the powerful build, the raw masculinity.
Hot Mountain Daddy indeed.
I followed the private drive back to where it met the main road, then retraced my route toward town—the distinctive bent pine I'd passed earlier, the faded red barn, the turnoff with the rusted mailbox. Without GPS, I had to rely on memory, but somehow the landmarks were enough.
I pulled into the first parking lot I saw once I hit the main street.
My fingers trembled as I opened my phone and got to work.
Editing took twenty minutes.
This was where I excelled. Five years of platform changes, algorithm updates, trending audio that lasted maybe three days—I'd learned to edit fast and edit smart.
I knew which audio would work. There was a sultry, bass-heavy sound popular on TikTok and Instagram Reels right now—something that would make people stop scrolling, turn up their volume, watch.
I scrubbed through the footage, selecting the best clips. Him swinging—slow-motion. The stretch, arms overhead—definitely keeping that, maybe slowing it down even more. The shot where you could see his profile, the concentration, that striking gray hair catching what little light there was.
I added the audio, syncing it to the best moments. Bumped up the brightness slightly to make the snow sparkle. Added a subtle vignette to focus attention on him. Enhanced the color correction to make his hair pop.
Text overlay: "Discovered a Hot Mountain Daddy in the wild????"
Hashtags: #HopePeak #MountainMan #HotMountainDaddy #Montana #SilverFox #ChristmasContent
I previewed it twice, making tiny adjustments. Thirty seconds long—ideal length for maximum engagement. The music fit perfectly. The visuals were stunning.
It was perfection on film.
It was also a massive invasion of privacy.
I stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the "post" button.
This is wrong. You know this is wrong.
