LUCAS'S POV
The tour bus engine dies at mile marker 47 outside Portland.
One second everything is running smooth and the next the whole thing just shuts down. Driver radios that we've got a transmission issue. Not fixable on the road. We need a hotel. Everything within thirty miles is booked because a music festival is happening nearby and every room in Oregon apparently got reserved six months ago.
I book the last two bedroom suite at a roadside motel that smells like old cigarettes and regret. The kind of place celebrities never stay at. The kind of place where no one knows who Adriana Vale is and nobody cares.
I do a security sweep. One entry point. Decent locks. Windows that could be reinforced but are workable for one night. Not ideal but acceptable. The perimeter has woods on two sides. Open parking lot on front. Manageable.
Then Adriana arrives and she's already falling apart.
Her phone is pressed to her ear and Vivienne is apparently screaming loud enough that I can hear her through the speaker. Tour schedule compromised. Meet and greet has to be rescheduled. Sponsors are demanding updates. VIP fans are threatening refunds.
On and on and on.
Adriana walks in circles around the suite like the movement might help. Like pacing could fix an engine or reschedule a concert or make Vivienne less impossible. Her hands are shaking. Her jaw is clenched so tight I'm surprised her teeth don't crack.
I watch for five minutes. Just watch her spiral.
Then I reach over and take the phone from her hand.
"She'll call you back," I say into the speaker.
Vivienne starts yelling. I hang up and turn off the phone.
Adriana looks at me like I just committed a crime. "What are you doing? That's Vivienne. That's my label. The label pays your salary."
"Your mental health matters more than her scheduling obsession," I say simply.
"You can't just turn off my phone."
"I just did. You're going to thank me in about five minutes when you realize how quiet that is."
She stands there frozen. I watch her process the fact that someone just prioritized her wellbeing over the machine. Something in her face cracks.
Then she sits down on the couch and the exhaustion wins.
I sit across from her and wait.
"Why are you being so nice to me?" she asks quietly.
"I'm not being nice," I say. "I'm being human. Too many people in your life treat you like a product instead of a person. Like you're something to manage instead of someone to protect. You deserve better than that."
She looks at me and I see tears building in her eyes. She tries to hide them by looking away but I notice everything about her. The way her hands tremble. The way her shoulders are pulled up toward her ears like she's bracing for impact. The way she's holding so much pain inside that it's starting to leak out at the edges.
I hand her a water bottle from my bag.
"Take a real break," I say. "No phone. No schedule. Just rest. Your body needs it."
"What will you do?"
"I'll be right here. Keeping watch. You can let your guard down because I've got yours up. That's my job."
She takes the water and drinks it like she's been thirsty for years. Maybe she has been.
She stands to go to her room and pauses at the doorway. "Thank you. For seeing me. For not treating me like I'm supposed to just keep going forever."
"You're welcome."
She leaves and I hear her door close softly.
I'm alone in the suite and I realize something that's been building since the moment she first asked if I could keep her safe. Something that's been getting harder to ignore.
I care about this woman.
Not professionally. Not the way a bodyguard is supposed to care about keeping a client safe. This is something deeper. Something that's going to ruin both of us if I let it.
I move to the window and check the perimeter one more time. Everything is clear. No threats visible. Just empty parking lot and dark sky and the sound of highway traffic in the distance.
My phone buzzes.
Text from an unknown number. Just a photo. Adriana asleep in her bunk on the tour bus. Taken from outside. Through a window. Marcus was watching her while she slept.
Below the photo: "She looks so peaceful when she's not pretending. I'm going to help her stop pretending forever."
My blood goes cold.
I move toward her room to check on her, then stop myself. If I go in there, if I see her sleeping and vulnerable like that photo showed, I'm going to lose the last bit of professional distance I'm holding onto.
But leaving her without checking if she's safe feels like a betrayal.
I compromise and position myself on the couch where I can see both bedrooms and the main entrance. Where I can respond if anything changes. Where I can listen for any sign that she needs me.
The photo sits on my phone screen and I read that message again.
Marcus isn't just obsessed anymore.
He's planning something.
And I'm falling for the woman he's planning it against.
Which means I'm not just protecting her anymore.
I'm protecting my own heart.
And that's the most dangerous liability in any protection detail.
I close my eyes but I don't sleep. I haven't slept properly since I took this assignment. Since she looked at me with those green eyes and asked me to keep her safe.
Across the suite, in her room, Adriana finally gets the rest she needs.
And I sit in the dark knowing that keeping her alive is getting more complicated every single day.
Not because of Marcus.
Because of me.