My muscles tense through the rest of the shoot, sweat gathering at my hairline even though the studio temperature hasnot changed. Between setup, my breathing kicks up just a little, panic fraying the edges of my vision. At one point, the hair stylist glances up with her brows furrowed in confusion.
Clearing my throat, I refocus on my model, a gorgeous Omega who still can’t hold a candle to Mavi.
“Chin up,” I tell her, my voice coming out way harsher than I meant it to. “Higher. There.”
She adjusts without reacting, though her scent sours just a fraction. I catch Priya watching me from beside the monitor but shrug that off too. I’m fine. This is fine.Everything is fine.
A grunt escapes my throat as I review the frame on the monitor. The composition is right. Everything sits exactly where I placed it. Yet my brain still slides sideways to a different image. A softer jaw. A glossed mouth. A body that moves through rooms like it dares anyone to look away. My Doll is two blocks south right now, standing in front of someone else’s camera. He’s letting someone else frame him.It should be me.
Fuck.
My fingers tighten on the camera body until the grip digs into my palm.
“Let’s push through,” Priya says when the break question comes.
I just manage to nod, letting my body drag me around on autopilot. Thinking requires too much effort and the only thing I truly want to do is see my doll, my Mavi, maybe even rewatch one of those videos I’ve trained myself to believe is only for me.
Wrap happens at four-thirty. Priya transfers the shots and during review one frame catches my eye. The lighting on the Omega’s left cheekbone sits a fraction too warm. A highlight blows out where it should have held detail. It’s small and most people would never notice, just like yesterday’s picture but I notice. Priya notices. And unlike yesterday, there’s no doubt in either of our minds that the problem isme, not the camera.
Something fractures quietly inside the part of me that has always trusted my hands. Still, Priya doesn’t point it out but I’m sure this will get back to the family at some point.
The team filters out, Priya pausing at the door and looks back at me with that same careful expression. “You okay, Sai?”
“Fine. Good work today.”
She hums a response, tapping the door frame twice before slipping outside. There’s no way she believed that but it’s the only answer I have to give. Saying anything other than ‘fine’ as a Hollis Alpha means that Hollis Alphas break and I cannot let that happen.
Carefully, I pack up my bag, ensuring everything is in the right place. Some semblance of peace is restored, though that fractures the moment my phone lights up with Alistair’s office number. It only takes me a moment to realize it’s not my cousin calling and it’s his assistant.
I answer because not answering Alistair’s office has consequences.
“Sai, hi. Do you have a moment?”
“Of course.”
“We have noticed some inconsistency in your availability lately. The gallery commitments from the spring are still outstanding and the Moreau campaign needs a photographer confirmed by end of week.”
My hand grips the edge of the desk so hard my knuckles blanch. The Moreau campaign. Not just the arrangement. Not just the boy Lyric volunteered me for. Acampaign. The family has already woven the Moreau name into my professional obligations so that refusing the mating means refusing the work. It means confirming that the asset is underperforming.
“I understand.”
“The family has concerns about your focus.” Her voice is level, devoid of all emotion. “Alistair wanted me to convey that personally.”
“Convey to Alistair that my focus is fine.”
“I will pass that along. End of week for the campaign confirmation, Sai.”
I want to throw the phone again and hear it crack against another wall. I want to sweep the desk clean and watch everything hit the floor. Then I want to call the number back and tell Alistair’s assistant exactly where the family can put their concerns about my focus.
Instead I sit very still. I breathe through my nose. I grip the edge of the desk until my knuckles ache. I think about the one thing that has consistently, reliably, without fail, made the noise stop.
My Doll. Two blocks south. He’s probably walking out of a building right now wearing whatever he wore to the shoot. Makeup done. Hair styled. Smelling like honey and citrus and performance and power.
The shaking is even worse by the time I reach the car. My hands fumble the keys twice before the lock clicks. I drop into the driver’s seat and sit there gripping the steering wheel with the engine still off. The smart thing would be to go home, clean up the ceramic and wipe the scuff off the wall and eat something and be the asset the family requires.
But I just… I need my Doll. It’s the whole reason I chose this place and I can’t leave without getting what I came for. My hands are already reaching for the camera bag in the backseat.
I pull out of the garage and drive two blocks south, parking just across the street and raise the camera to focus on the door. My breathing finally slows for the first time since this morning, the anticipation of seeing the one man I desire shutting everything else out.
