Nivera smoothed down her dress onest time, her reflection in the mirror staring back with faint shadows under her eyes<b>. </b>


    The nightmare still clung to her in shreds, but so did Alejandro’s reassurance that he’d protect her.


    She inhaled deeply, bracing herself. Today was important–the runway could not wait for her personal chaos.


    With her bag slung over her shoulder, she pushed open the door to her room–and stopped short as she nearly jumped out of her skin.


    Standing in front of her was Alejandro, who was not in bed where he belonged, not tucked beneath sheets, so his battered body would heal.


    No, he was leaning against the wall just outside his door, one arm braced against the frame, his forehead resting on the crook of his elbow. His eyes were closed, his breathing steady but strained.


    “Alejandro!” She gasped, hurrying forward, her bag bumping against her hip. “What are you doing out of bed?<b>” </b>


    His eyes cracked open slowly, catching hers. A faint smile tugged at his lips despite the bluish swelling along his jaw.


    She blinked. “What?”


    “So I can see you off.” He shifted slightly, though she could tell the movement cost him. A faint hiss of pain slid through his teeth, but he masked it with a smile. “Then I’ll get ready for the office.”


    “The office?” she nearly shrieked, throwing her arms in the air. “Alejandro, are you out of your mind? Look at you! You can barely stand straight!”


    “I’m standing now,” he said lightly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I’ve gone to the office in worse states<b>.</b><b>” </b>


    “That doesn’t make it better!” She scowled, jabbing a finger against his chest before she realized she’d just poked a bruise. His grunt made her gasp, guilt flooding her instantly. “Oh God, sorry–sorry! See? You shouldn’t even be standing here, Come on.”


    “I told you-”


    “No.” She slipped an arm around his waist before he could argue further. “No office. No ying the gant wounded hero. No nothing. You’re going back to bed, Alejandro.”


    His lips quirked, but he allowed her to steer him back into his room. For a man who thrived on control, he surrendered far too easily, letting her guide him like he weighed nothing.


    “Bossy,” he murmured as she nudged him to sit. His body protested with a muffled groan, but the smile on his lips never wavered.


    “Practical,” she corrected, ignoring the <i>way </i>her heart tripped at the sound of his low, teasing voice. She


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    pushed him gently onto the mattress, hands lingering on his shoulders a moment too long before she pulled


    <b>away</b>.


    Alejandro tilted his head back, watching her with that unreadable expression that always made her feel as though he saw far more than she intended to show.


    “You mentioned a runway show earlier,” he said, watching her with an intent gaze that made her feel like a butterfly pinned to a board. “Which one<b>?</b>”


    She blinked at the change of subject. “Oh. The runway. Yes. Celeste booked me for a major show this morning. That’s where I’m headed.”


    He studied her for a long moment, then smiled faintly. “You seem nervous? Don’t be; you’ll do fine.”


    Something about the quiet certainty in his tone made her pulse stumble. She’d expected mockery, or at least a sly remark about her career.


    Instead, his words were simple and genuine–and they rooted deep into her soul.


    “Thank you,” she whispered before she could stop


    herself.


    The corner of his mouth lifted. “Good luck, Nivera.”


    Her chest squeezed painfully, because damn him, why did he have to say it like that? Like it mattered to him. Like she mattered to him.


    He had made it clear that he didn’t care about her career thest time she had tried to talk to him about it. So what changed?


    She snapped herposure back together, straightening briskly. “Anyway–you need to stay put. I’ll tell the helper to bring up some food. You’ll eat, you’ll take your medication, and you will rest. And if I hear you’ve so much as nced at a spreadsheet today—” she jabbed her finger in the air for emphasis “—you’ll have me to deal with.”


    His lips twitched, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Terrifying.”


    “Alejandro, I’m serious<b>.</b><b>” </b>


    “I know you are<i>,” </i>he murmured, eyes softening in that way that always disarmed her.


    Her re only made his smirk soften into something infuriatingly warm. He lifted a hand in surrender. “Fine. I promise. Food, medication, rest,”


    She studied him for a long moment, wary of his easypliance. But seeing <b>as </b>she was gettingte, she decided it wasn’t worth arguing further.


    “Good.” She exhaled, smoothing her blouse as though that could calm the frantic beat of her heart. “See that you do.”


    She turned to <b>leave </b>before she did something reckless again, like lean down and kiss him.


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    But as she stepped out, she nced back once more–just once. He was <b>still </b>watching her, eyes darker than they had any right to be at this hour, the faintest smile on his lips.


    Her stomach flipped, and she quickly walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.


    Alejandro waited until her footsteps fadedpletely before he reached for his phone. He dialed with a speed that belied his bruised body.


    “Martins,” he said as soon <b>as </b>the line clicked. “She’s leaving for the runway.” Alejandro instructed, his voice low and deliberate. “But stay out of sight. I don’t want her knowing.”


    “Yes, sir,” came the immediate reply.


    Alejandro ended the call, leaning back against the pillows with a satisfied exhale. She could scold him all she wanted, but he had no intention of letting her walk through the world unguarded. Not when enemies still circled like vultures. Not when he’d finally tasted the truth of what lingered between them.


    Meanwhile, before leaving, Nivera stopped in the kitchen where the helper was arranging breakfast trays. She scribbled her number onto a scrap of paper and pressed it into the woman’s hand.


    “Keep an eye on him. And if he makes things difficult–if he refuses his food, his meds, anything–call me. You know what, just call me now so I can check in on him,” she said


    The helper’s brows shot up. “Yes, miss.”


    “Good.” Nivera grabbed her bag, exhaled once more, and walked out before her nerves unraveled.


    ****


    The studio buzzed with the chaotic energy of show day when she arrived. Assistants hurried with clipboards, makeup artists shoutedst–minute instructions, and the air was thick with the scent of hairspray and perfume.


    Celeste was waiting, her arms folded, eyes sharp as des. She spotted her the moment she stepped through


    the door.


    “You’re almostte,” her manager said tly.


    Nivera winced. “Sorry.”


    Celeste didn’t waste time lecturing–her disapproval was evident enough. Instead, she handed over a sleek folder.


    “The contract’s been finalized. Ourwyers cleared it. Read it through yourself, sign it, and then straight to prep. No dys.<b>” </b>


    Nivera’s throat tightened as she epted it. The weight of the folder felt heavier than paper–it felt like her second chance, pressed into her hands.


    <b>She </b>skimmed quickly, her eyes darting over the lines, relief blooming as she saw nothing rming. No traps, no hidden uses that would tie her down. Just a straightforward agreement that secured her <b>spot</b>.


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    Her signature shook only slightly as she signed.


    Celeste snapped the folder shut and immediately gestured to an assistant. “Get her to prep.”


    The assistant whisked her away into the changing room.


    It was like stepping back into another lifetime.


    Dozens of models were already there, mirrors lined with bulbs casting harsh white light, and racks of gowns stretching across the space. The sound of chatter, the rush of zippers, the hiss of steamers–it was overwhelming.


    And then–they turned to face her.


    Some turned toward her with indifference, others with faint disdain. A handful of familiar faces that made her stomach twist–the same models who had whispered and pointed when Nathaniel had tried to destroy her, the same ones who had fed the fire instead of helping.


    Her throat tightened, but she refused to let her face betray anything. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.


    With her head high, and her shoulders squared, she moved to the space assigned to her, her name taped neatly above the chair. She sat, forcing her hands to still.


    The heavy weight of stares pressed on her, but she kept her chin lifted, focusing on the reflection in the mirror.


    It felt surreal to be back in this space. The chaos, the chatter, the rush of preparation–it was everything she had missed, and yet it felt strange, as though she were returning to a world that had shifted without her.


    Her workload was heavier than most–she’d missed rehearsals, hadn’t trained with the group, and would need to adapt on the fly.


    Instead of letting it overwhelm her, determination sparked. This was her chance to prove herself again, to reim what Nathaniel had tried to steal from her.


    She would prove she belonged here.


    Because no matter the shadows that lingered in her personal life–Alejandro, her family’s threats, the ghosts ofst night’s nightmare–this was hers.


    Her chance, her runaway fight–and she would not waste it.