Aurora Sage didn't breathe until the last of the crew cleared the set. The bright lights dimmed, cables coiled, and the chatter of assistants vanished into the cavernous studio halls. Only then did she loosen her grip on the knife hidden in her purse.
The man was gone, but his presence lingered like a stain. Her instincts hadn't been wrong. He had studied Logan—not with admiration, not with the idle curiosity of a fan, but with intent. Calculated, patient.
Logan Mason brushed a hand through his hair, sweat still glistening at his temple from the final scene. He tossed his jacket toward a waiting chair and turned to her, arrogance etched into every line of his face.
"You looked like you were about to murder someone back there," he drawled, lips curving in that smug grin. "Was it because I was too good in front of the cameras? Don't tell me you're jealous of my fans."
Aurora leveled him with a glare. "Someone was watching you."
