The backstage area of The Gilded Lily was a labyrinth of shadows, the scent of expensive lilies, and the faint, rhythmic thumping of the bass from the club's speakers vibrating through the floorboards. It was a space that felt both intimate and utilitarian.
"Have a good set Maisie, drop em dead," Violet smiled to a brunette as they walked into the dressing room.
"You sang beautifully as always, Violet. Have a good night!" Maisie replied as she left the room. Leaving them completely alone.
Roman stepped further into the room, his presence immediately making the ceiling feel lower, the walls more narrow. He was a man who took up space by sheer force of personality, and here, amidst the vanity mirrors and racks of shimmering costumes, he looked like a wolf in a velvet cage. His icy blue eyes scanned the perimeter, landing on a mountain of opulence in the far corner. There were dozens of bouquets- long-stemmed roses, exotic orchids, peonies the color of sunset, all wrapped in silk ribbons. Beside them sat a pile of boxes: velvet jewelry cases, designer shopping bags, and gilded baskets filled with imported chocolates.
"You have a lot of admirers," Roman remarked, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that seemed to fill the room.
Violet didn't answer immediately. She had moved behind a semi-transparent fabric divider at the edge of the room. Roman watched, his breath hitching, as her silhouette was cast against the backlit silk. It was a masterpiece of curves and shadows. He saw the graceful line of her arms as she reached back to unzip the silver dress, the fabric sliding down her hips in a fluid motion that made his blood simmer. Even as a shadow, she was devastating.
"Admirers is a generous word for people with too much money and not enough hobbies," Violet's voice drifted from behind the curtain, playful and light.
She began to pull on something else- a silk slip dress, perhaps, or a tailored jumpsuit. Roman found himself unable to look away from the curve of her waist, the way the silhouette of her long blonde hair swayed like a pendulum as she moved.
"The gifts," Roman prompted, nodding toward the pile. "A king's ransom in diamonds and silk. What do you do with it all?"
"I don't keep them," she said simply. He heard the rustle of fabric as she stepped into her clothes. "The jewelry and the bags go to a high-end auction house once a month. The proceeds go to a local shelter for women and children. The chocolates usually end up in the staff breakroom, and the flowers... well, I have a courier take those to the municipal hospital and the elder care homes on 5th. People there actually need something beautiful to look at. I don't."
Roman felt a sharp, unexpected pang in his chest. It wasn't pity; it was a realization that felt like a blow. He was a man who expressed his interest through power and provision. He had been planning, in the back of his mind, to find the rarest emeralds or the most exclusive car to place at her feet. But how do you capture a woman who views a diamond as nothing more than a donation to a charity? It hurt, a dull ache of inadequacy he hadn't felt in decades, but he kept his face a mask of granite.
"You're a saint in a den of sinners, then?" he asked, his tone mocking but his eyes intense.
"I'm a girl who likes to sleep with a clear conscience, Roman. There's a difference."
He shifted his weight, his black hair catching the light of the vanity bulbs. "It's a shame your fans don't know who they're really sending gifts to. Then again, they don't even know who they're listening to. VioletNoir is a beautiful name, but it's a ghost's name."
The movement behind the divider stopped abruptly. A second later, Violet poked her head out. Her hair was a bit more tousled now, framing her face in gold, and her bright blue eyes were wide with genuine surprise.
"You've been busy, haven't you?" she said, her silver tongue losing its edge for a moment of pure shock. "Most people just assume I have a very dramatic mother. How did you figure out it was a stage name?"
"I don't assume anything," Roman said, his gaze locking onto hers. "And I have resources that make most people look like amateurs. I looked for you. You don't exist, Violet. Not on paper."
She pulled her head back behind the divider, her silhouette returning as she fastened a belt or a button. "It's a stage name because I don't need stalkers, Mr. Thorne. I like my life the way it is- predictable, quiet, and private. When I walk out those doors, I want to be invisible."
"Then what's your name?" Roman asked. He took a step closer to the divider, the air between them thick with the scent of her perfume- something that smelled like strawberries and rain. "The one you use when the lights are off?"
"Why would I tell you?" Her voice was muffled by fabric, but the sass was back. "So you can put it in one of your little dossiers? So you can find out what I ate for breakfast three years ago? No thank you. A girl needs her secrets."
She stepped out from behind the curtain, looking effortlessly elegant in a black silk wrap shirt and blue dress pants that hugged her curves in all the right places. She began to brush out her butt-length blonde hair, the rhythmic motion hypnotic.
"Besides," she continued, "knowing my name is a privilege, not a right. You haven't earned it yet."
Roman's jaw tightened. He wasn't used to 'earning' things; he was used to taking them. But with Violet, the usual rules of engagement didn't apply. He felt that dark, aggressive spark in him wanting to demand the truth, but the angel he had seen on stage kept him anchored.
Violet set the brush down and turned to him, her expression softening. The change was so abrupt it caught him off guard. "But enough about my secret identity. How is Adam? I've been thinking about that little guy all day."
At the mention of his son, Roman felt a familiar protective warmth, but it was immediately followed by a sharp, jagged flare of jealousy. It was that same ridiculous feeling from the study- a sense of competition with his own five-year-old.
"He's fine," Roman said, his voice clipped. "He's at home."
"He really is the sweetest kid, Roman," Violet said, leaning against her vanity, her blue eyes shimmering with sincerity. "He was so brave in the park. Most kids his age would have been a puddle of tears, but he just sat there like a little soldier. He's got so much heart. You're very lucky to have him."
Roman's face remained unreadable, a feat of pure willpower. Inside, he was a storm. He hated that she had a connection with Adam that he hadn't yet established with her. He hated that her first genuine, soft smile of the night was for a memory of his son and not for the man standing three feet away from her.
"He's a Thorne," Roman said, his voice dropping an octave. "He's built to endure."
"He's a little boy, Roman. Don't build him too high, or he'll have a long way to fall," she replied gently, her humble nature shining through. She stepped toward him, stopping just inside his personal space. "He told me he liked my singing. I think I have a new favorite regular."
Roman's eyes darkened. The jealousy was a physical weight now. He wanted to tell her that Adam wasn't the only one who couldn't stop thinking about her voice. He wanted to tell her that he had spent his morning listening to her tracks on repeat until the lyrics were burned into his brain.
But instead, he just stared at her, his silhouette looming over her smaller, curvier frame.
"He has a crush on you," Roman said, the words feeling like shards of glass. "He wants to buy you blue flowers."
Violet laughed, a sound so pure and melodic it made Roman's pulse throb in his neck. "blue flowers? That is the most adorable thing I've ever heard. He really is a little gentleman."
She looked up at Roman, her smile lingering, her eyes searching his icy blue ones. "You know, for a man who looks like he wants to set the world on fire, you did a pretty good job with him."
The compliment was a double-edged sword. It acknowledged his darkness while praising his result. Roman reached out, his hand hovering near her waist, wanting to pull her into the shadows of the hallway and find out if she tasted as sweet as she sounded.
But Violet was faster. She sensed the shift in the air, the sudden, heavy gravity of his intent. She reached out and placed a hand on his chest, her palm warm against his heart.
"I think that's enough for one night, don't you?" she whispered, her voice a teasing melody. "I have a long walk home and a very early gym session."
She didn't wait for him to agree. She grabbed her coat and her bag, moving toward the back exit. Before she disappeared into the night, she looked back at him, her light blonde hair catching the dim light of the hallway.
"Tell Adam I'm looking
forward to those flowers, Roman. And maybe... if you're lucky... I'll tell you my middle name." She winked, a flash of pure sass, before stepping out into the alleyway.
Roman stood in the silence of the backstage room, the scent of her Strawberry-and-rain perfume lingering in the air. He looked at the pile of discarded gifts and the empty stage beyond the curtains.
He was a man who had everything, yet as he watched the door click shut, he had never felt more like he was standing in the dark.