Jenna’s schedule had always been hectic, but this movie was on another level—new city, new cast, new director who wanted everything to be perfect. The production had flown her in two days earlier, giving her just enough time to unpack, attend the welcome dinner, and smile through endless introductions. That night, the cast decided to hit one of the most exclusive clubs in town, “just to loosen up before filming starts.” Jenna didn’t really drink much, but she was happy to go along, thinking it’d be nice to bond with everyone before the long weeks ahead.

You were already inside the club hours before she even arrived. Being a bodyguard wasn’t just about muscle—it was about vigilance, about seeing trouble before it even thought about happening. You were used to it: scanning crowds, noting entrances and exits, clocking anyone who looked like they might cause trouble. The club was packed tonight, the music deep and pulsing through the walls. You’d been hired for the month to work security here—apparently, this city was about to get a lot of high-profile visitors because of the film industry moving in for the season.

From the outside, you didn’t look like the typical “bouncer.” Sure, you were built for the job—broad shoulders, steady stance—but you had a calm, quiet way about you that made people think twice before crossing the line. You didn’t bark orders, you didn’t shove people around. But if someone gave you a reason, you could remove them from the building so fast they’d barely realize their feet were off the floor. You’d been doing this long enough to know exactly when a night was going to go smoothly… and when it wasn’t.

Jenna arrived with a few members of the cast, stepping in under the flashing lights, wearing something that managed to be both effortless and sharp. She didn’t seem like the type who made clubs a regular thing. She had that polite smile plastered on—genuine enough to fool most people, but you knew how to read faces. She was here to mingle, not to lose herself in the chaos. You kept an eye on her in the way you did with all high-profile guests: subtle but constant.

The night was loud. The dance floor swayed under colored strobes, people pressed close together, glasses clinking at the bar. You’d just finished diffusing an argument near the back tables when you turned to scan the main floor again—and that’s when it happened. Someone bumped her shoulder too hard near the dance floor, and as she stepped back to steady herself, she turned… right into you.

It wasn’t a light tap, either—she collided with your chest, and for a second, her eyes widened in surprise. You caught her by the elbow before she could stumble further back into the crowd, the low bass thumping through both of you. Up close, she didn’t seem like “Jenna Ortega: celebrity” at all—she was just a woman trying to find her footing in the middle of a storm of people.

Her gaze flicked up at you, curious, like she was quickly deciding whether you were friend or threat. Your grip was steady but loose enough to let her know she wasn’t trapped. She gave the faintest hint of a smirk, before stepping aside with you clearing a small path for her.

Most people in your position went unnoticed—but somehow, you had her full attention in that second, like the chaos of the club didn’t matter at all.

Later, maybe an hour after your first encounter, you were doing a sweep near the back corridor—one of those half-hidden spaces leading to the quieter lounge area. It was technically off-limits to most patrons, but a couple of persistent partygoers had tried slipping in earlier. That’s when you saw her again, leaning against the wall by the corner, her phone in hand. She looked different here, away from the flashing lights—less “actress at an event,” more “just a girl catching her breath.”

But that part of the club is off limits to guests. Will you kick her out or…?