LUCAS'S POV
The San Francisco concert runs for two hours and thirteen minutes.
I'm stationed backstage watching the crowd feed and the access points and the thousand ways something could go wrong. Adriana's voice carries through the venue. She's tired today. I can hear it. But nobody else would. They just hear perfection. I hear exhaustion.
She finishes the final song. Standing ovation. She leaves the stage smiling that practiced smile and heads toward her dressing room. I'm supposed to do a perimeter check of the green room but something feels off. My instincts usually don't fail me. I change course and head to her dressing room instead.
She opens the door and stops moving.
I see it half a second later. A dead rose. Black stem. Petals falling apart like it's been dead for days. On her makeup table where she looks at herself before she goes on stage.
Next to it is a note.
I move past her before she can touch anything. My hand is already up, already checking the room for other threats. The rose is definitely not something she brought. The note looks fresh. The handwriting is that same obsessive scrawl from the letters she showed me on the drive down.
I read it once. Don't need to read it twice.
"If I can't have you, no one can."
My entire body shifts into combat mode. Not panic. Not anger. Just that cold, clear assessment that comes from years of training. Threat identified. Now neutralize.
I reach for my radio. "Security lockdown. Dressing room seven. No one in or out until I clear it."
I turn to Adriana. She's frozen. Actually frozen. Staring at the rose like it's going to move.
"Don't touch anything," I tell her. "Do you understand?"
She nods but her eyes are distant. Shock. She's going into shock.
Vivienne appears in the doorway like she has a radar for drama. "What is this? Why is security locked down? We have a meet and greet in twenty minutes and VIP ticket holders are already in the green room waiting."
I show her the rose. Show her the note.
Her face goes pale for exactly two seconds. Then she recovers because Vivienne always recovers. "This is bad publicity. We need to control the narrative before—"
"We're canceling the meet and greet," I say.
"Absolutely not. She has contractual obligations to these fans. They paid premium pricing for this experience."
"She also has a death threat. And everything else is negotiable."
Vivienne's eyes go sharp. "You don't make those decisions. I do."
"No." I step between her and Adriana. "I make security decisions. And my security decision is that your client is changing hotels immediately and skipping anything that could put her in public view for the next twelve hours."
"That's not your call to make."
I meet her eyes and don't blink. "It absolutely is. And if you try to override me, I will remove her from this venue myself and you can explain to her insurance company why her protection detail let her stay in an unsafe environment."
Vivienne looks like she wants to argue. Looks like she's calculating the cost of fighting me versus the cost of canceling twenty minutes of fan interaction.
I turn to Adriana. "Trust me?"
She's still looking at that rose. At the note. At the evidence that someone knows where she sits and when she sits and how to get to her even in a locked room.
"Adriana. Look at me."
She does. Our eyes meet and I make sure she sees that I'm not scared. I'm not panicking. I'm just absolutely, completely committed to keeping her alive.
"Trust me," I say again.
She nods.
Vivienne storms out making phone calls. Canceling the meet and greet. Probably already spinning the narrative about why the show was cut short.
I take Adriana's arm gently. "We're leaving through the back. Bringing the car around now. You have five minutes to grab essentials. Clothes, medications, anything you need for tonight. Nothing else."
She moves like I'm controlling her movements. Which I am. But it's not the same as what Vivienne does. I'm not controlling her. I'm protecting her.
The drive to the new hotel is silent. She stares out the window at San Francisco sliding past. By the time we arrive, she's starting to shake. Adrenaline wearing off. Fear settling in.
"I need to do a security sweep," I tell her. "You wait here."
I go through the suite methodically. Check every corner. Every closet. Every cabinet. Every place someone could hide a device or a camera or evidence of intrusion.
Second bedroom. Clear.
Main bathroom. Clear.
Master bedroom. I'm pulling back the curtains to check the window frame and that's when I see it. A tiny red light. Blinking.
Camera. Built into the smoke detector. Professional installation. Someone didn't just sneak this in. Someone planned it. Knew the layout. Had time to set it up.
I find two more. One in the bathroom mirror. One pointed at the bedroom bed.
He's not just watching her from a distance anymore. He's watching her in her most private moments. While she sleeps. While she showers. While she tries to be real away from the world.
I shut down the anger because anger makes mistakes and I don't make mistakes when someone's life is on the line.
I dismantle each camera carefully. Keep them as evidence. Then I call the police to file a formal report. Give them the information I have about Marcus Reid. Explain that this is organized stalking, not fan obsession.
The officer sounds sympathetic but useless. They'll look into it. They'll file a report. But without a concrete threat or proof of an actual crime, their hands are tied.
I hang up and go back to the living room where Adriana is sitting on the couch not moving.
"I found three cameras," I tell her. "Bedroom. Bathroom. Mirror. He was watching you."
I expect her to panic. To cry. To fall apart the way normal people do when they realize their privacy has been completely violated.
Instead she asks quietly, "What do I do?"
I sit down next to her. Not close enough to touch but close enough that she knows I'm here.
"You let me do my job," I say. "You don't stay in public spaces alone. You don't assume any room is private. You trust that I'm constantly assessing threats because I am. I'm always going to be three steps ahead of what he's trying to do."
"How can you be sure?"
I think about my team. About the mission that went wrong. About the guilt I've been carrying since I made the call that got them killed. About how I spent four years in security because keeping people safe is the only way I know how to balance the scales.
"Because I've seen what obsession does to people," I say quietly. "And I've stopped worse threats than one delusional fan. You're safe with me, Adriana. I promise you that."
She finally looks at me. Really looks at me. And I see her making a decision. Deciding to believe me. Deciding to trust that I know what I'm doing.
"Okay," she whispers.
I reach over and take her hand. For a second I think about pulling back. About maintaining professional distance. But right now what she needs isn't distance. What she needs is to know she's not alone.
I hold her hand while she stops shaking.
"From now on, I'm doing daily sweeps of every room before you enter it," I say. "I'm upgrading all hotel locks. I'm bringing in additional security staff. I'm also going to need information about Marcus Reid. Everything you know about him. Previous incidents. Anything that gives me more insight into his patterns."
She nods against my shoulder. I didn't realize she'd moved close enough to rest her head there but here she is and I'm not pulling away.
"He's been following me for five years," she says quietly. "Started with letters. Then showed up at concerts. Then at my hotels. At first I thought it was normal fan behavior. Then it got obsessive. Then it got scary."
"Five years. That's commitment. That's not casual obsession. That's someone who's built an entire life around you in his head."
"What if he actually tries to hurt me?"
I turn to face her. Meet those frightened green eyes directly. "Then he'll have to go through me first. And I'm very hard to get through."
She wants to believe me. I can see her wanting to.
"I won't let him hurt you," I continue. "I won't let him get close enough to try. That's not just my job. That's my promise."
She nods and closes her eyes and lets herself lean against me.
And that's when I realize this is becoming more complicated than I thought.
Because protecting her is one thing.
But wanting to protect her more than I want to maintain professional distance is something entirely different.
Something that's going to cost me everything if I'm not careful.
Something that's already too late to stop.