Chapter One: The Spotlight Cracks
The lights felt brighter than usual, as if the entire hall had conspired to watch Elena Ward breathe. She stood behind the velvet curtain of the London Fashion Pavilion, fingertips grazing the soft fabric, listening to the hum of voices filling the room.
Her name had been printed across banners, whispered in editor meetings, and mentioned by presenters with the eager pride reserved for rising stars. It should have thrilled her.
Instead, it pressed against her ribs until her heartbeat fluttered like trapped wings.
Assistants hurried around her with clipboards and headsets, adjusting models, checking hems, and whispering last minute instructions.
Elena tried to focus on the familiar rhythm that had carried her through dozens of smaller events. She reminded herself that this showcase was the one she had dreamed about since she worked at her mother's old sewing table as a child. Yet even with all the beauty she had poured into her designs, something dark tugged at her thoughts.
It had been three days since the private charity gala where everything changed. She had stayed longer than planned, wandering through the quiet garden for air, and stumbled upon a figure handing over sealed envelopes to a high ranking official.
She remembered the low murmur of voices, the rigid tension in the air, and the moment one of them looked over their shoulder as if sensing another presence. Elena had stepped back into the shadows before they saw her, but the chill that crawled up her spine lingered long after the night ended.
At first she told herself it meant nothing. People exchanged documents all the time at events. Yet the memory refused to fade, and the sudden arrival of anonymous warnings made it impossible to pretend she had imagined everything.
PThe messages had started small, a single sentence typed from untraceable accounts telling her to forget what she saw. Yesterday's threat was harsher. She had deleted it, but the echo of it followed her into every room.
Her assistant, Lila, appeared at her side with a soft touch on her arm. "Are you alright? You look like you've been holding your breath."
Elena managed a faint smile. "Just nerves. I always get like this."
"You have nothing to worry about," Lila replied. "The reviews will be amazing. And security is tighter than ever. You saw the team they brought in."
Elena nodded, though she had barely paid attention to the new security detail. She only noticed the tall stranger who seemed to observe every corner as if expecting it to crumble. His presence alone unsettled her more than she wanted to admit. He had not said much during their brief introduction, but something in his gaze suggested he saw far more than people wanted him to.
A movement backstage pulled Elena from her thoughts. One of the models rushed toward her, her eyes wide with panic. "Elena, someone was in the fitting room. He wore a mask. He ran out when I screamed."
The world stilled.
Elena felt her body react before her mind fully registered the words. "Where?" she asked, already stepping forward.
The model pointed toward the narrow hallway near the equipment storage. Elena pushed through the curtain and entered the dim corridor.
Her footsteps echoed softly against the polished floor. When she reached the fitting room entrance, she stopped. A faint impression of movement flickered at the far end of the hallway, the shadow of a figure disappearing around the corner.
Her pulse jumped.
A hand came down firmly on her shoulder, steady and warm. She jerked around.
Luca Hale stood behind her with the stillness of a statue. His black suit blended with the shadows, but his presence dominated the space with quiet authority. His eyes swept over her face, assessing every detail, every flicker of fear.
"You should not be here alone," he said. His voice was calm, almost unnervingly so, as if nothing in the world could surprise him.
Elena swallowed. "Someone was in the fitting room."
"I know," he replied. "I came the moment your model reported it."
His focus drifted down the hallway, tracing the same path the intruder had taken. He took a few steps forward, observing the walls, the corners, the exit door at the end. Something in the tightness of his jaw told her this was not the type of incident he brushed aside.
Elena wrapped her arms around herself. "This is just a misunderstanding. Maybe someone got lost."
Luca turned to her slowly. "Intruders do not wear masks to find directions."
Her breath hitched. She wished he were wrong. She wished she could pretend none of this meant anything. But the truth shimmered in front of her, impossible to ignore.
"You have been receiving threats," Luca said quietly. "Your assistant informed me this morning."
Elena stiffened. She shot Lila a look earlier when she noticed the new security team. Apparently, Lila had not just asked for backup. She had told them too much.
"I didn't want anyone to know," Elena murmured. "I thought it would stop on its own."
"Threats do not stop because you wish for them to," Luca replied. His tone was not harsh, only factual. "They escalate when ignored."
He stepped closer, not invading her space but anchoring her with the weight of his attention. His eyes were a deep shade of grey, steady and unreadable. She felt strangely exposed under his gaze, as if he could see the fear she tried so hard to keep hidden.
"You should come with me," he said. "I need to evaluate the rest of the backstage area."
"I can't leave," she protested. "My show is starting soon."
"You will not be safe until I know who breached this building."
Somewhere in the distance, the opening music began. The audience erupted in applause. Elena's throat tightened. This was supposed to be the biggest moment of her career, yet she felt trapped between two realities. The world expected her brilliance, her confidence, her art. But danger had latched itself to her life and refused to let go.
Luca watched her struggle for breath. For a moment, the sternness in his expression softened. "I will not interfere with your show," he said. "But you must allow my team to protect you. Whoever is threatening you has already crossed a line."
She hesitated. Her instinct was to retreat, to insist she could handle everything alone. She had grown up learning not to rely on anyone. But the tremble in her hands betrayed her facade. She was tired of pretending the danger did not terrify her.
"Alright," she whispered. "Just for tonight."
Luca gave a single nod, a silent vow etched into its motion. "You will not regret this."
As they returned to the bustling backstage, Elena felt the weight of his presence behind her, steady as a shadow. Something inside her shifted in a way she could not name. The fear had not disappeared, but it had been joined by something else. Something she had not felt in a long time.
A sense of being seen.
Her designs swept the runway in bursts of silk and color, but her eyes often drifted backstage, where Luca stood near the side doors, vigilant and motionless. Every time his gaze met hers, a strange warmth flickered through her chest.
By the time the final model walked out, applause roaring through the hall, Elena realized her life had already begun to change.
Not because of what she witnessed.
Not because of the threats creeping into her world.
But because
of the man who stepped into the shadows with her… and refused to let her face them alone.