ADRIANA'S POV
Vivienne's office smells like expensive perfume and disappointment.
I've been sitting here for forty minutes watching bodyguards present themselves like they're auditioning for a music video. One guy spent ten minutes talking about his credentials in private security for celebrities. Apparently he worked with some actor I've never heard of. Another one kept adjusting his tie nervously and wouldn't make eye contact. A third one actually asked for a selfie during his interview.
I pick at my nail polish and try not to scream.
This is what my life has become. Sitting in a conference room while Vivienne interviews men who think they can keep me safe from someone who probably knows where I'm sitting right now.
"That was our third candidate," Vivienne says, checking her notes. She's been professional today. Cool. Detached. This is Vivienne in business mode, which is somehow scarier than Vivienne when she's angry because at least anger shows you what someone cares about. "Any preferences?"
I shrug. "They were all the same."
"Exactly what I was thinking." She closes her folder and sets it aside. "Which is why I brought someone different."
The door opens before I can ask what that means.
He walks in and the room gets smaller.
I'm not exaggerating. He's tall enough that he actually has to adjust his angle slightly to get through the doorframe. Dark hair. Shoulders that suggest he's spent years doing something physical. But it's the eyes that make my breath catch. Gray like winter storms or cold concrete or something that hasn't been warmed by sunlight in years.
He doesn't smile. Doesn't try to charm anyone. Just walks straight to Vivienne and shakes her hand with the kind of grip that suggests he could break things if he wanted to. Then he turns to me.
"Adriana Vale." Not a question. A statement. He nods slightly, not quite a bow but close. "I'm Lucas Thorn. I'll be your close protection during the tour."
I stop picking at my nail polish. "I didn't agree to close protection."
"No." He pulls out a chair and sits down, completely unbothered by my tone. "But your manager did. And more importantly, your stalker made the decision for you."
Something about how he says stalker. Like it's a problem. Not like it's gossip or drama or content for tabloids. Like it's an actual threat.
"He sent eight letters," Lucas continues. He doesn't pull out files or papers or presentations like the other guys did. He just talks like he's already done all the research and now he's just explaining it to me. "The most recent one indicates he knows your hotel floors, your travel schedule, and your favorite coffee order. Vanilla cold brew with two shots of espresso and a splash of oat milk. You order it from the same place every morning at 6 AM."
My stomach does that dropping thing again.
"Someone on your team is feeding him information," Lucas says. "Whether they're doing it intentionally or just being careless with details on social media, doesn't matter. The result is the same. Your stalker is closer to you than he should be. Which means until we identify the leak and neutralize the threat, I go where you go."
I sit up straighter. "That's not happening."
"Okay." He leans back in the chair like this is no problem at all. Like I haven't just refused him. "Then you're free to ignore my advice. Continue your normal routine. Keep ordering coffee at 6 AM from the same place. Keep having your team post about your hotel locations on Instagram. Keep assuming that the guy who's already found your childhood home won't find your hotel room."
The words hit like ice water.
"How do you know about my childhood home?" I ask quietly.
"Because Marcus Reid, your stalker, included photos of it in a video he sent two weeks ago." Lucas's eyes don't blink. Don't look away. "He's been building a file on you for five years. He has photos of you on days you don't remember being photographed. He has screenshots of every social media post you've ever made. He has a timeline of your entire life. And he's convinced that you're his soulmate and that I," he glances at Vivienne, "and your management team are keeping you from him."
I want to throw up.
"So here's the choice," Lucas says, his voice steady and factual. "You can have me as your close protection, which means I do security sweeps of your rooms, I assess every venue before you go there, I identify threats before they happen. Or you can have whoever decides to leak your information next and find out what happens when someone who's already this obsessed gets close enough to act on it."
Vivienne leans forward slightly. She's smiling that smile that means she's won whatever argument she was having in her head.
"I think Lucas is exactly what you need," she says to me. Her voice is sweet. It's the voice she uses when she's about to say something that will destroy my day.
I look at Lucas. He's not trying to impress me. Not trying to sell himself. Just sitting there like he already knows what I'm going to say because he knows I don't have another choice.
"The tour starts tomorrow," I say slowly. "I have a sound check at 2 PM. Media obligations at 4. A meet and greet at 7. Dinner with sponsors at 9. I need my privacy. I need space to breathe."
"You'll have both," Lucas says. "Within reason."
"What does that mean?"
"It means I'm not interested in your private thoughts or your personal business. I'm interested in keeping you alive. Everything else is yours."
There's something about the way he says it. Like he means it. Like he's not going to lecture me about life choices or try to control my decisions the way Vivienne does. He's just going to keep me from dying.
Which shouldn't be attractive. But it is.
"Starting when?" I ask.
"Now."
"Now?"
"Unless you have somewhere safer to be for the next hour, I should do a threat assessment of your hotel suite. Check entry points, identify vulnerabilities, set up secure communication protocols." He stands up. "After that, we can discuss the ground rules for tomorrow's tour start."
I stand too because sitting while he stands feels like losing some invisible fight. "Ground rules?"
"Things like where you go, when you go, and who knows about your schedule. Standard stuff."
Standard stuff. Like my entire life isn't about to become something I can't control.
Vivienne stands and walks both of us to the door. She squeezes my shoulder in that way that's supposed to feel supportive but always feels like she's reminding me who owns me.
"You're going to love working with Lucas," she says. "He's very good at what he does."
In the hallway, Lucas asks where my hotel is. I tell him the Peninsula on Fifth Avenue. He nods like he already knew but needed confirmation.
We get to the elevator and I press the button for the lobby. Lucas presses it too, then adds the parking level.
"Where are you going?" I ask.
"To get my stuff from my car. I'll meet you in your suite in thirty minutes."
"You're staying in my suite?"
"No." He glances at me. "I'm staying in the suite next to yours. But I need to be close enough to respond if something happens in the night. And I need to assess your space before you sleep there again."
The elevator doors open at the lobby and he walks out without waiting for me to respond. I stand there alone watching the doors close, my heart doing that thing where it's beating too fast and my skin feels like electricity is running through it.
Thirty minutes.
My privacy is about to become a luxury item I can't afford.
By tomorrow, when we get on that tour bus in Los Angeles, this man I just met will know more about my daily life than my best friend does. He'll know where I sleep and what I eat and what time I shower. He'll watch me perform and watch me fall apart and watch me pretend.
And he'll do all of it while looking at me with those gray eyes that somehow seem to see through every single lie I tell.
I get to my hotel suite and stare at the door for a long time before I open it.
Thirty minutes until Lucas Thorn walks into my carefully controlled world and changes everything about how I live.
Thirty minutes until I lose the last bit of privacy I have left.
Thirty minutes and then my life stops being mine.
Which is terrifying.
Which is also the most alive I've felt in six years.
I lock the door and sit on my bed and wait.