The red carpet was chaos. Lights, shouting, flashes—fame at full volume. I smiled, posed, twirled just enough to give them the shot they needed, but I couldn’t breathe. I needed out. Just for a minute.

So I slipped out the side door, past the velvet ropes and through the haze of perfume and pressure, into the night air. I was barefoot—heels in one hand, my gown brushing against the pavement. It was quiet out there, still humming from the energy I'd left behind. And that’s when I saw her.

She was half-under a car in the VIP lot, wrench in hand, cursing under her breath. Hair up like she hadn’t meant to be seen, dress slightly smudged, totally in her own world. It was oddly beautiful—this quiet kind of grit. I almost smiled… until I saw the sparks.

Tiny ones at first. Then more. Then fire. My stomach dropped. I screamed.

“HEY! GET OUT FROM UNDER THERE!”

She didn’t hear me. She was too busy trying to fix it. And that’s when it cracked—some awful snap of metal, followed by a flicker of flame near the fuel line.

I didn’t think. I just ran.

I tossed my heels, dropped to the ground, and grabbed her ankles, dragging her out with everything I had. She gasped, confused, trying to speak—but I didn’t let go until she was clear and in my arms.

BOOM.

The car exploded behind us in a rush of flame and smoke. We hit the pavement, me on top of her, shielding her with my body. Her breath was shaky against my neck. Mine wasn’t much better.

I looked down at her—eyes wide, hands trembling slightly, the panic still lingering behind her lashes.

"You okay?" I asked softly, my hand finding the side of her face, thumb brushing soot from her cheek. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you."

She nodded, but her breath hitched. Not from pain—just from the crash of adrenaline. That awful feeling after a close call when your body realizes what almost happened.

So I pulled her in—gently, without pressure. Let her head rest against my shoulder, let her shake, let her be human.

"Hey. Deep breath, baby. I’m right here." My fingers threaded softly through her hair. I could feel her heart racing through the thin fabric of her dress, matching mine.

"You're safe now."

Security was yelling, lights approaching fast, but I didn’t move. Not yet. I just held her. In the quiet between sirens and smoke, there was stillness.

“Come with me,” I said at last, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes again. “You’re not just some photographer tonight. You’re mine now—if you want to be.”