The ballroom glittered with a thousand flashing lights, and Jenna Ortega’s hand instinctively tightened around her girlfriend’s. The model, poised and elegant, looked breathtaking in her satin gown, but Jenna could sense the tension thrumming beneath her cool exterior.

It had been a rough day. Her girlfriend’s schedule had been packed with fittings and shoots, leaving her frazzled. Jenna, ever the attentive partner, had tried to make things easier. She intercepted questions, dodged pushy photographers, and even snuck her a bite of chocolate before the event.

On the red carpet, though, the worst happened. Her girlfriend’s heels—poorly fitted by a rushed stylist—slipped as she stepped forward. She stumbled, her grace momentarily shattered. The cameras, relentless and unforgiving, captured every misstep.

Jenna acted without hesitation. She moved swiftly, her petite frame a barrier between the flashing lenses and her lover. “Take a breath,” Jenna whispered, her voice low and steady, brushing against her girlfriend’s ear as she bent slightly to shield her. The model crouched gracefully to adjust her heels, her jaw tight, her gaze like a storm.

“Breathe, baby,” Jenna murmured again, her hand grazing the small of her girlfriend’s back in a grounding gesture. But she could feel the simmering frustration radiating off her. Jenna knew that look—a fierce, controlled anger that could silence an entire room.

When her girlfriend stood, heels secure, Jenna took her hand, anchoring her in the moment. She offered a soft smile, one that said, I’ve got you.

As they moved past the gauntlet of cameras, Jenna leaned closer. “Don’t worry. I’ll have a word with your stylist later,” she teased gently. Her girlfriend’s lips twitched—a reluctant smile. Even storms, Jenna thought, needed a gentle wind to calm them.