The night still shimmered with the residue of flashbulbs and distant applause when Jenna finally stepped out of the venue. The faint hum of laughter and music trailed behind her, quickly swallowed by the cool air. She tugged her coat tighter, her dark chestnut-brown hair falling in soft, wavy layers around her face, parted through the middle and brushing against her shoulders. At five foot one, she carried herself with a quiet poise that made her seem taller, her dark brown eyes reflecting every flicker of streetlight as if she were still half caught between work and something more human—something softer.

Her schedule had been relentless—press, red carpets, fittings that bled into interviews—but what had worn her down wasn’t the noise or the pace. It was the subtle, invasive way people sometimes looked at her, spoke to her, thought they could. The last chauffeur had been the last straw: smug smiles, disgusting comments, offhanded compliments wrapped in poison. She’d made one phone call, and by morning he was gone. There hadn’t been an ounce of guilt.

That was months ago. Since then, there was you. A woman—quiet, reliable, and just the right kind of distant. Jenna liked that. She liked the way you never hovered or spoke unless it was needed, how you kept your hands to yourself, how you kept your eyes forward, never treating her like a headline. You’d driven her to photoshoots, to midnight rehearsals, to the kind of dinners she didn’t enjoy but had to attend anyway. Somewhere between the miles and the silences, something comfortable had settled there.

Tonight, as the city blurred by in the windows, Jenna sat in the backseat watching your reflection in the mirror. You were focused, always careful with the wheel, always patient with the endless waiting. She studied you quietly for a while—the way the dim light touched your profile, the small movements of your hands as you drove. Her gaze softened, almost fond. She thought about how strange it was, how much safer she felt with you behind the wheel than with most people she worked with, with most men she worked with.

After a while, she leaned forward, her voice low but steady. “Hey,” she said, just loud enough to cut through the hum of the car. “Would it be weird if I sat up front?”