ADRIANA'S POV
My body won't shut off.
The Seattle concert ended three hours ago but I'm still buzzing. My hands are shaking. My heart is beating too fast. This always happens after big shows. The adrenaline doesn't know how to stop. It just keeps flooding through my system like electricity looking for a way out.
I tried sleeping in my bunk on the tour bus. Stared at the ceiling for forty minutes. My mind kept replaying every moment on stage. Every note. Every movement. Every face in the crowd. The performance stays with you after. It doesn't just let you rest.
So at 2 AM I get up.
The tour bus is mostly dark. Emergency lighting casts everything in shadows. I move quietly toward the kitchenette because coffee is the only thing that might help at this point. Lean into the adrenaline instead of fighting it.
That's when I find him.
Lucas is sitting at the small kitchenette table with a cup of black coffee and his tablet glowing in front of him. Security footage playing across the screen. He's been here a while by the look of the empty cups lined up beside him.
He glances up when I walk in but doesn't seem surprised. Like he knew I'd end up here eventually.
"Can't sleep?" I ask, pulling out the chair across from him.
"Doesn't really happen for me," he says. No explanation. Just a statement of fact.
I pour my own coffee from the pot he's got going. It's still warm. He's been drinking this for hours. The silence between us isn't awkward. It's comfortable in a way that makes me realize we've already learned how to exist together without needing to talk.
We sit like that for a while. Him watching security footage. Me drinking coffee and trying to let my body come down from the performance high. The tour bus rocks slightly as it moves down the highway. We're heading toward Portland now. The next concert. The next city. The next hotel where security sweeps need to happen and threats need to be assessed.
"Do you think he'll actually hurt me?" The question comes out before I can stop it.
Lucas sets down his coffee slowly. Takes a moment before answering.
"Marcus believes he loves you," he says quietly. "That makes him unpredictable. But I won't let him get close enough to find out what that means."
"How can you be so sure? You can't watch me every single second."
"I don't have to." He leans back in his chair. "I've seen what obsession does to people. I've stopped threats a lot worse than one delusional fan. I've trained for this. I've lived this."
His voice drops lower and something about the way he says the next part makes my chest tight.
"You're safe with me, Adriana. I promise you that."
It's the first time he's called me Adriana without it being professional. Not Ms. Vale. Not client. Just my name. Just me. The intimacy of it steals my breath.
I want to ask him about where the shadows in his eyes come from. Want to ask about the mission that went wrong. Want to ask why he doesn't sleep and why he drinks coffee like it's medicine and why he's so comfortable with violence.
But something in his expression closes off.
He stands up. "We should both try to get some sleep. Tomorrow is Portland."
He's leaving.
The realization hits me like a wave. He's building distance again. Creating space. I'm starting to see the pattern. We get close and he pulls back. We're building something and he's trying to untangle it before it becomes real.
"Lucas wait—"
He's already at the kitchenette doorway when his radio crackles.
Security alert. Movement near the tour bus perimeter.
His entire body shifts into work mode. The softness from a second ago vanishes. He's back to being the soldier.
"Stay here," he says without looking at me. Already moving toward the driver's area.
"What's happening?"
"Probably nothing. Probably just an animal or someone's car in the parking lot. But I need to check."
He leaves me standing in the kitchenette alone with my half-empty coffee and the realization that was just starting to form.
I care about this man.
Not because he's attractive. Not because he protects me. Not because he saw me perform and acted like it meant something.
I care about him because when he's around, I feel real.
And that's dangerous. That's the most dangerous thing that could happen right now because if anyone finds out I'm developing feelings for my bodyguard, if Vivienne discovers this, if the media gets hold of it, my entire career could implode.
But that's not what scares me.
What scares me is that knowing how dangerous this is hasn't stopped me from falling anyway.
I move to the kitchenette window and watch Lucas step out into the dark parking lot. He moves with that predator grace that first caught my attention. Assessing the perimeter. Checking for threats.
For a second I see him with his guard completely down. See the tension in his shoulders. The way his hand goes instinctively toward his weapon.
He's always protecting someone else.
I wonder if anyone has ever protected him.
My phone buzzes on the counter.
One notification. Just one.
Unknown number.
My stomach drops before I even open it.
The message is a photo. And in the photo is Lucas. Standing in the parking lot right now. Exactly where he's standing. Taken through a lens from somewhere in the darkness.
Below the photo is a single line of text.
"She's not the only one I'm watching."