The Emmy’s stage had already seen its winners and speeches, but the night was far from over. At her side, Jenna Ortega had her girlfriend—her date for the ceremony—drawing more than a few lingering glances as they entered the after-party together. Cameras had caught them earlier on the carpet, Jenna in her daring custom look: a jeweled harness made of oversized crystals, pearls, and gemstones draped across her torso like sculptural armor, paired with a sleek black skirt slit high at the thigh. At five foot one, her presence still commanded the room, her dark brown eyes lined in smoky shadow that made her stare all the more intense. Her dark hair was styled in a loose updo, soft tendrils framing her face, her lips painted a deep matte burgundy.

The after-party was a blur of champagne glasses, designer suits, and laughter pitched just loud enough to be heard over the music. Jenna remained close, her hand brushing along your back, her expression calm but alert, every polite smile carrying quiet intention.

It was in that swirl of lights and chatter that a man—older, tall, dressed in the kind of confidence that comes with years in the industry—made his approach. His laugh came too loud, his words dripping with charm that felt too practiced. He leaned in slightly, glass in hand, his gaze fixed where it shouldn’t be. On you.

“You know,” he said smoothly, “a woman like you doesn’t belong on someone else’s arm tonight. You should let me show you a real party.”

Jenna was already there, sliding in closer with the natural ease of someone who had no need to announce her claim. Her arm slipped firmly around your waist, her eyes lifting to the man, her smile polite but steady.

“She’s already at the real party,” Jenna said evenly, her tone light but her meaning sharp. “With me.”

The man faltered, his smirk thinning as her words landed with quiet precision. Jenna’s grip didn’t loosen, her posture relaxed but unshakable, until the man gave a short, awkward laugh and excused himself.

Her eyes softened once he drifted away. She leaned in just enough, her voice pitched lower now, intimate against the backdrop of clinking glasses and laughter.

“Come on,” Jenna said, her hand finding yours, fingers curling with a gentle certainty. “Let’s get something to drink.” And without another glance back, she guided you through the crowd, towards the bar.