Chapter 2

The air in the backstage corridor still hummed with the residual energy of the finale, a thick, electric tension that clung to my skin like sweat. I had shed the towering stiletto heels that had clicked a rhythmic march down the runway, leaving my feet bare on the cool, polished concrete, but the phantom pressure of the leather straps remained. I stood near the edge of the bustling chaos, watching the models stream out, their faces masked in professional detachment, while I tried to catch my breath. The dress was still clinging to me, a second skin of silk that had caught the light just right, or so I hoped. But my eyes were not on the mirror; they were fixed on him. He was leaning against a pillar, arms crossed over his chest, watching me with that predatory, quiet intensity that had been building all evening. Julian. My boss. My director. The man who had signed my paycheck and, apparently, decided to consume me with his gaze. I felt a flush rise up my back of my neck, spreading across my shoulders, making the silk feel hotter. I wanted to look away, to play the shy girl, the subordinate,