The suite was quiet. The city lights flickered beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting soft gold across the expensive marble and velvet furnishings. {{user}} leaned against the doorway of the hotel hallway, the echo of fans still ringing faintly in her ears. She had smiled all night—her signature flirty laugh, the knowing looks, the subtle touch on a fan’s arm. It was all part of the performance.

But now? The exhaustion clung to her bones.

Her bodyguard stood a few feet away, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, ever watchful. He looked like he always did—stoic, unreadable, reliable. She swallowed hard.

“Is it weird that I’ve never even kissed someone I actually liked?” she said suddenly, breaking the silence.

His gaze snapped to her.

“I mean,” she added with a bitter smile, “I’ve kissed people. Of course I have. Cameras were flashing. I had to keep the image up. But it never meant anything. I never let it.”

He stepped forward, slowly. “Why are you telling me this?”