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She snorts a laugh despite the situation. "Great analogy."
My lips twitch. "I have my moments. But don't worry, I know how to handle these guys. It's part of the job."
I place a reassuring hand on her shoulder, feeling the tension beneath my palm. "I'll do a sweep of the perimeter, make sure they're gone. You stay put, okay?"
She nods, a flicker of relief in her eyes. "Okay. Just... be careful."
"Always am."
But inside, I'm cursing—this slip-up tastes too much like past failures. Lives that slipped through my fingers because I missed something small... something crucial.
Once I return from squashing the metaphorical roaches, I face Sasha. "Listen, we can't stay here. It's not just your stalker; it's these damn paparazzi too. We need somewhere more secure."
Her eyes search mine. "And how am I supposed to do my job? My album..."
"Isn't worth your life."
The weight of responsibility settles on me once again—a familiar burden. And with it comes flashes of another time, another place...
The desert air is hot as hell—I can feel it even through my camo gear. The mission is simple: get in, extract the asset, get out. But nothing's ever simple in this line of work.
We're moving through an abandoned village when it happens—the pop of an IED followed by gunfire.
Chaos.
My team's down—I can see Ramirez clutching his leg, and there's too much blood. It's on my hands as I try to drag him to cover...
I shake off the memory like a dog shakes off water. That was then; this is now. But those ghosts? They follow me into every op, whispering reminders that every decision has life-or-death consequences.
Sasha sees it—the shift in me—and steps closer. "Axel?"
"I'm not losing anyone else," I say before I can stop myself.
Her hand finds mine, a lifeline in turbulent seas. "You won't lose me."
And God help me if that isn't exactly what I'm afraid of.
7
SASHA
Ihaven't slept in days. Every time I close my eyes, I'm back in that moment—the terror of believing someone was in my house, the frantic race to Axel's door. He didn't hesitate; he was by my side in an instant, checking every room, every closet, until I felt safe again.
He's been there every night since, a watchful presence outside my bedroom. The paparazzi caught wind of it, of course. Now, the whole world thinks Axel Creed and Sasha Cruz are an item.
But the truth is far more complicated. Having Axel so close, knowing he's just outside my door, stirs up emotions I've tried desperately to suppress. The memories of what we once shared, the way he made me feel—safe, cherished, loved—they all come rushing back, no matter how hard I try to push them away.
And now, as I sit here, listening to Simon’s plan, I'm torn.
The suggestion hangs in the air, a live wire sparking with danger and something that feels perilously close to excitement. Simon’s words cut through the quiet of my fortified living room, "We could make it seem like you and Axel are together—publicly. It might throw your stalker off, make him think there's someone close enough to keep you safe."
I'm staring at Axel, my pulse thrumming in my ears like the aftermath of a drum solo. Shock is my first reaction, and a knee-jerk “no” that sticks in my throat. The thought of pretending to be with Axel of all people sends a jolt through me that's half fear, half something else entirely.
The others in the room might as well be furniture for all the attention I'm paying them. This is about Axel and me. Always has been.
I remember his hands on me, the way they felt, the safety and heat they promised. My body betrays me with a shiver even as my mind screams caution. The intimacy we once shared was real; to fake it now feels like a desecration of what we had, yet here he is, ready to use our past as a strategy.
"It’s not a bad plan," I say, my voice stronger than I feel. "I think it could work."
