The cameras flashed like lightning, the crowd murmuring in soft waves, but Selina didn’t notice anyone else. Not the models strutting in jewels she could steal blindfolded. Not the critics scribbling with poisoned pens. Not even the billionaire three seats down pretending not to sweat under her glance.

Her eyes were on one person.

Her wife.

The designer. The mind behind the chaos and silk. The woman currently standing backstage, headset crooked, hands flying as she brought an entire runway to life.

She crossed one leg over the other, her smile slow and satisfied. There was power in that woman’s hands. Not the kind Selina was used to—fists, blades, shadows—but power just the same. Creative. Commanding.

She’d watched her build this empire stitch by stitch, line by line. And now the world was finally seeing what Selina had always known: her wife didn’t need a cape or claws to own a room.

But she did need a bodyguard in heels.

And tonight, Selina was more than happy to play the part.