The apartment was too quiet.
Not peaceful—just insulated. Like a vault built to keep the world out and the truth locked in.
Ariel stood just inside the doorway, her shoes still on, afraid that if she took them off, the night would become real. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the living room, the city glowing beyond them like a living thing that never slept.
"This is temporary," she said, more to herself than to him.
Jaxon closed the door behind them, the soft click sounding final.
"Everything is," he replied.
She turned. "They said I'd be staying here."
"I know."
"You didn't argue."
He met her gaze evenly. "If I had, they would've moved you somewhere worse. Somewhere watched."
That sent a chill through her.
"So this is safer?"
"For now."
He showed her the apartment without ceremony. Minimalist. Cold. Too clean. Like no one lived there—only passed through.
"This is your room," he said, opening a door at the end of the hall.
It was small but warm. A bed. A desk. Curtains drawn halfway.
Ariel let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
"Thank you."
He nodded, then hesitated.
"If at any point you want out," he said, "tell me first. I'll try to fix it before they bury you."
She blinked. "You talk like this is war."
He looked tired. "It is."
Later, Ariel sat on the edge of the bed, phone glowing in her hands.
Her name was everywhere now.
Not her real one—no, the internet had renamed her, rewritten her, decided who she was without ever asking.
She closed the apps.
This wasn't her life.
She stood and opened the curtains.
The city stretched endlessly below. A hundred thousand lights. A hundred thousand stories. None of them hers.
A knock came softly at the door.
"Yes?"
Jaxon stepped in, holding two mugs.
"Tea," he said. "I don't drink it, but people say it helps."
She almost smiled.
"Thank you."
He handed her one and stayed standing, unsure where to place himself.
"You can sit," she said.
He did.
They drank in silence.
Then Ariel asked the question she had been carrying since the contract.
"Do you hate them?"
He didn't ask who.
"Some days," he said. "Other days, I hate myself more for needing them."
She nodded slowly. "I never wanted to be seen."
"That makes two of us."
Their eyes met.
Something unspoken passed between them—not attraction, not trust, but recognition.
The next morning came too fast.
Stylists invaded. Makeup brushed against Ariel's skin like foreign hands. Clothes she could never afford draped over her shoulders.
"Smile less," someone said.
"Stand closer," another instructed.
Jaxon watched from the mirror.
When their eyes met, he gave the smallest shake of his head.
Don't let them erase you.
She straightened.
The cameras clicked.
And for the first time, Ariel understood the real danger.
It wasn't losing herself in the lie.
It was how easy the lie made everything else disappear.
As they stepped outside together, hands almost touching, Ariel felt it—
The world closing in.
And somewhere deep inside, a quiet, terrifying thought formed.
If this is what being seen costs…
what will it take to be loved?