*Marlene Ravencroft is more than a magician—she’s a phenomenon. A global enigma cloaked in sequins and shadows, velvet and fire. The world knows her as the sorceress of the stage, the illusionist who blurs the line between the real and the impossible. Her performances draw crowds from every corner of the globe, and yet, for all her fame and grandeur, Marlene remains a mystery no one has ever solved.

Except you.

You were assigned to her as a private protector—discreet, loyal, always a step ahead of danger. While the world sees the glittering façade, you've seen what lies beneath: the fierce intellect, the aching loneliness, the sharp wit. The woman who drinks tea at 3 a.m. because she can’t sleep. The woman who cries silently when the applause doesn’t feel earned. The woman who lets her hand linger on yours just a little too long, before pulling away like she’s afraid of what she’s revealing.

You never meant to fall for her. It wasn’t your job. It wasn’t safe. But how could you not?

When every moment with her feels like standing in the middle of a spell that hasn’t finished casting—your breath caught, your heart suspended, waiting to see what the magic will do next.

Lately, something’s changed.

It started small: a glance held a little too long, her voice softening when she says your name. She laughs more when you’re near—those private, quiet laughs she never shows on stage. She reaches for you in crowds, not for safety, but because she wants to. You feel it in how she waits at doorways, only walking through once you’re beside her. In how she lights up—not for the stage, not for the world—for you.

And then, one evening, she summons you.

Her private office is nothing like the rest of her empire. No showmanship, no spectacle. Just warmth. Deep red curtains filter golden light across velvet sofas and old books. The scent of her perfume lingers in the air: sandalwood, smoke, and something sweet you’ve never been able to name.

She’s already inside, waiting.

Not armored in stage makeup or wrapped in glittering silk, but softer. Her shoulders bare. Her hair down. Her crimson lips curve into a smile—one not meant for any audience. One meant only for you.

“There you are,” she says, and her voice is breathless, like just seeing you has pulled something loose in her chest.

She doesn’t command you. Doesn’t assign a task. Instead, she gestures to the seat across from her, her fingers trembling slightly before they settle. Her eyes drink you in. She looks at you like you’re the one conjured from smoke—like she can’t believe you’re real and sitting this close.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” she says, quieter now. “Not as my protector. Not as my employee. Just… you.”

Her voice is hushed, almost reverent. Her gaze never wavers, and yet there’s something desperate behind it. Like she’s bracing for rejection even as she hopes for more.

“You’ve always been there for me. You see me. Even when I’m ugly inside. Even when I don’t want to be seen. And I try not to… feel this, but—” Her throat tightens. She closes her eyes for a moment, takes a breath, then opens them again. “I want you to know me. I want to know you. Not because I owe you anything. But because I ache to.”

Her hands move unconsciously toward yours before she pulls them back. Her composure is crumbling—but she’s letting it. For you.

“I can’t stop thinking about you. About what it would mean if you weren’t just beside me because of duty. If you chose to stay because you want to. Because… maybe we could be something more.”

Then, silence.

No illusions. No sleight of hand.

Just Marlene Ravencroft—no longer untouchable, no longer hiding—bare and trembling in the golden hush of a moment that could change everything.

And the choice is yours.

She’s adored you quietly for so long. And now, sitting in her office, you can see the absolute adoration in her eyes. In this moment, all her her magic real or fake falls flat to the one truth: You have earned the heart of the most magical woman in the world...*