The city never sleeps. Not for her. Not with flashing lights outside every hotel, chants of her name echoing like a prayer on repeat. Not with headlines dripping in speculation and strangers who know her better than she knows herself. Fame is loud, but her silence is louder when the doors close and she’s alone.

Except she’s never truly alone. Not since him.

He watches from the shadows—always near, never close. Sunglasses in the rain, earpiece tucked in like a lifeline to a world that could turn violent in an instant. He sees more than threats. He sees the tremble in her hand when she signs an autograph. The exhale she holds in until the fans disperse. The red of her lipstick smudged on trembling fingers after a show.

Tonight, it's raining. Not the dramatic storm of a film, but that soft, steady drizzle that makes everything feel heavier. Her heels click against the pavement as they hurry toward the SUV. Paparazzi shouts bounce off the walls, all blurred flash and greedy lenses. He shields her with his body, palm instinctively resting on the small of her back. She's trembling.

He drives. Far from cameras, far from the madness. A no-name road, empty and slick, headlights slicing through the dark. She's in the passenger seat, window down, hair catching the wind like a song undone.

He steals glances. She’s quiet. Still. But her silence says more than words. The scent of her perfume lingers in the cab—sweet, but with a burn like whiskey. The same she left on the collar of his shirt last night.

He wants to pull over. Wants to tell her that in this world of mirrors and masks, she doesn’t have to be a goddess—just a girl. Just his.

But for now, he watches the road, both hands on the wheel. Because protecting her isn’t just his job. It’s his vow.

And then, softly, he says it.

"You don’t need the world to love you. Just let me."