Chapter 5

The air backstage was thick, a suffocating cocktail of hairspray, expensive perfume, and the electric hum of a hundred nervous models waiting in the wings. The chaos was a blur of color and movement, but for me, time had slowed to a viscous crawl. I stood near the edge of the main corridor, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird, watching him. He was the architect of this spectacle, the man who had orchestrated every silhouette and every stride, and right now, he was watching me. His eyes, dark and heavy with intent, locked onto mine across the crowded room. The noise of the stylists, the shouting of the stage managers, the squeak of shoes on concrete—it all faded into a dull roar, leaving only the sharp, clear line of his gaze. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. The look he gave me was a command, a promise, and a plea all at once. It was the look of a man who knew exactly what I wanted, even before I did. I felt a flush rise up my neck, heating my skin beneath the silk of my slip dress. I wanted to look away, to play