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He nods, his eyes searching mine. For a moment, I think I see a flicker of something there. Something real. Something raw. But then it's gone, replaced by the cool, collected mask of Axel Creed, billionaire bodyguard extraordinaire.
"Just remember," he says, his voice low and steady, "we're in this together. I've got your back, no matter what."
I nod, swallowing hard. "I know," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "I trust you."
And I do. Despite everything, despite the confusion and the uncertainty and the fear, I trust Axel with my life. With my heart.
But as we make our way down the red carpet, smiling and waving and playing our parts to perfection, I can't shake the feeling that I'm walking a tightrope without a net. That one wrong move, one false step, could send me tumbling into the abyss.
And I'm not sure if Axel will be there to catch me when I fall.
The quiet of the recording studio feels like a sanctuary after the day's masquerade. The dim lights and the hum of the equipment create a cocoon of intimacy, a stark contrast to the flashbulbs and crowds we faced earlier. I let out a sigh, feeling the tension of the day slowly ebbing away.
Axel is standing by the soundboard, his eyes scanning the room. Even here, in this space that's mine, he's on alert. Always watching, always protecting. I can't help but feel a pang of gratitude, mixed with a twinge of sadness. This is my life now. A life of fear and caution, of fake smiles and carefully crafted lies.
"Tough day?" Axel's voice breaks the silence, his tone softer than I've heard it all day. I turn to look at him, surprised by the question. He's looking at me, his gaze steady and open.
"You could say that," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper. I walk over to the soundboard, standing next to him. I can feel the warmth of his body and the solidness of his presence. It's a comfort, a reassurance. But it's also a reminder of the line we're walking and the roles we're playing.
"I know this isn't easy for you, Sasha," he says, his voice low. "I know it's not what you signed up for."
I look up at him, my eyes meeting his. "Neither is having a stalker," I say, my voice sharper than I intended. I see a flash of guilt in his eyes, and I immediately regret my words. "I'm sorry," I say, my voice softening. "I didn't mean it like that."
He shakes his head, his eyes never leaving mine. "No, you're right," he says. "This isn't what either of us signed up for. But here we are."
There's a silence between us, a space filled with unspoken words and unasked questions. I can feel the weight of them pressing down on me. I want to ask him if he's okay, if this is as hard for him as it is for me. But I'm afraid of the answer. Afraid of what it might mean.
"I just... I don't know how much more of this I can take," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. I can feel the tears pricking at the corners of my eyes, the lump forming in my throat. I'm not used to feeling this vulnerable, this exposed. But here, in this space, with Axel, I can't help but let my guard down.
He reaches out, his hand finding mine. His touch is warm and steady, a safety net in the storm of my emotions. "You're stronger than you think, Sasha," he says, his voice soft. "You've always been."
I look up at him, my eyes searching his. For a moment, I see a flicker of something in his eyes. Something that looks a lot like admiration. Something that looks a lot like caring. Something that looks a lot like...
I push the thought away, focusing on the warmth of his hand in mine. "I just wish I didn't have to be," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "I wish I could just... be me. Sasha. Not Sasha Cruz, the pop star. Not Sasha Cruz, the stalker victim. Just... me."
He nods, his eyes never leaving mine. "I know," he says. "And I'm sorry. I'm sorry that this is happening to you. I'm sorry that I can't make it stop."
I can see the frustration in his eyes, the guilt. It's a look I know well. A look I've seen in the mirror more times than I can count. It's a look that says, "I'm not enough. I can't fix this. I can't protect you."
I squeeze his hand, my eyes never leaving his. "You're doing everything you can," I say, my voice steady. "And that's enough. That's more than enough."
He nods, seeming to accept my faith in him. I see the determination in his eyes, and I can't help but feel a flicker of something else. Something that feels a lot like hope. And that scares me more than anything else. Because hope is a dangerous thing. It's a light in the darkness, a promise of something better. But it's also a risk. A gamble. A leap of faith.
And I'm not sure if I'm ready to take that leap. Not yet. Not with Axel. Not with anyone. But as I stand here, in this studio, with his hand in mine, I can't help but wonder... What if? What if this isn't just a charade? What if this isn't just a game? What if this is real?
“It’s just… this thing between us,” I say, gesturing vaguely, “You said it was stirring up old feelings, but what if that’s just the adrenaline talking? Everything is different now from before, and we didn’t even really know each other then.”
“It’s not adrenaline,” he answers, almost before the words have left my lips. “I meant what I said. I didn’t know if I would ever see you again, but the feelings were real. Are real.”
Before I can explore that thought, before I can delve into the depths of that hope, Axel's phone rings. The moment shatters, the spell broken. Reality comes crashing back in, harsh and unforgiving.
"Creed," he answers, his voice all business. I can see the mask slip back into place, the walls go back up. He's back to being Axel Creed, billionaire bodyguard extraordinaire. And I'm back to being Sasha Cruz, pop star with a stalker problem.
Leaning against the cool wrought-iron railing of my balcony, I let out a long, shaky breath. The night's inky canvas stretches out above me, dotted with stars that seem oblivious to the chaos of my life. The glimmering lights of LA below mirror the tumultuous feelings swirling inside me.
"Who knew playing make-believe could knock the wind outta ya?" I mutter to myself, trying to find humor in this mess. My laugh, though, comes out as a huff—a sound more suited to exasperation than amusement.
The day's events replay in my head like a highlight reel from hell. Axel's smoldering blue eyes burning with a mix of concern and... something else. His touch, light on my back but heavy with meaning. And damn it, that voice—low and reassuring—telling me we're in this together.
