The Assistant – Alex's POV
The first month was a test.
Aura learned everything about Adrian — his habits, his tone, his moods — not like a fan collecting trivia, but like someone memorizing the rhythm of a living thing.
She never asked for selfies.
She never gushed.
She only watched.
He liked his coffee black, with one sugar when he was tired.
He hated being touched unexpectedly, but leaned into it if he trusted the person.
He smiled for fans, but it never reached his eyes.
And sometimes, when no one else was looking, he flinched when people said his name too loudly.
She took notes, mental and otherwise.
Every small pain. Every hesitation.
By the second month, she started finishing his sentences.
She could anticipate his needs — have water ready before he asked, bring the right files before he remembered them.
The others called her a miracle worker.
Adrian just smiled and said,
"You always know what I need. How do you do that?"
She shrugged, pretending modesty.
"I pay attention."
But in truth, it wasn't attention anymore. It was devotion.
At night, when she stayed behind to tidy the office, she'd touch the back of his chair and imagine his heartbeat against her palm.
She'd check his discarded water bottles and count how much he drank that day.
She told herself it was concern.
But deep down, it was possession.
By the third month, she started deleting messages from certain fans before Adrian could see them — the more obsessive ones, the ones that made her stomach twist with disgust.
She told herself she was protecting him.
That they didn't deserve him.
Then one night, after a concert, he fell asleep in the car.
His head tilted slightly toward her shoulder, his breathing soft and steady.
Aura didn't move.
Didn't even blink.
She felt peace.
Because in that moment — with his trust so close, his vulnerability so visible — she thought:
"He doesn't need anyone else anymore. Not his manager. Not his fans. Just me."