The studio lights were too hot. Victoria stood in the center of the set, wearing a silk dress that cost more than her mother's first house. She smiled for the camera, the smile that made people believe she had never known a bad day in her life.
"Cut! Great work, Victoria," the director shouted.
The smile dropped as soon as the red light went out. Her assistant, a jittery girl named Miki, rushed over with a robe and a bottle of water.
"The car is waiting," Miki whispered. She didn't look Victoria in the eye. She never did when that car was the one waiting.
Victoria nodded and walked toward the dressing room. She scrubbed the makeup off her face until her skin was pink. She preferred this face—the one that looked like the girl from the slums of Guangzhou, not the starlet on the billboards in Hong Kong.
Outside the studio, the black sedan sat idling. The windows were tinted dark enough to hide a crime.
Victoria opened the back door and slid in. The air conditioning was set to sixty-four degrees. It made her shiver.
Jordan didn't look up from his tablet. He was dressed in a charcoal suit, every hair in place. He looked like a businessman, but Victoria knew what lived under the expensive fabric. She knew what his hands looked like when they weren't holding a stylus.
"You're late," Jordan said. His voice was flat.
"The lighting was wrong. We had to redo the final scene."
"I don't pay for excuses, Victoria. I pay for your time."
Victoria leaned her head against the cool leather of the seat. "You don't pay me at all. You just pay the people who want to kill me."
Jordan finally looked at her. His eyes were dark, tracking the movement of her pulse in her neck. It was a look that felt like a physical weight.
"It's the same thing," he said. He reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You look tired. Did you sleep?"
"No."
"Good. You won't be sleeping tonight either."
He tapped the glass partition, and the driver pulled away from the curb. Victoria watched the studio disappear in the rearview mirror. To the world, she was a goddess. To the man sitting next to her, she was a debt that would never be fully settled.
"I saw a man today," Victoria said, her voice barely a whisper. "Near the set. He looked like him."
Jordan's hand stilled on her shoulder. The temperature in the car seemed to drop another ten degrees.
"He's dead, Victoria. You killed him. I watched you do it."
"I know," she said, though her hands were shaking under the robe. "I know I did."
"Don't think about the past," Jordan commanded. He shifted closer, crowding her space until she was pressed against the door. "The past belongs to me now. Just like you."
He leaned in, his breath ghosting against her lips. He didn't kiss her. He just waited for her to stop trembling. When she finally went still, he pulled back, satisfied.
"We have a dinner at eight," he said, returning to his tablet. "Wear the red dress. The one with the open back."
"Jordan—"
"Eight o'clock, Victoria."
She turned to the window. The neon lights of the city blurred into long, bloody streaks. She was the most famous woman in the country, and she had never felt more invisible.
The red dress was tight. It had a long slit up the side and a back that dipped all the way to her waist.
Jordan stood by the window of the hotel suite, watching her as she adjusted the strap.
"Turn around," he said.
Victoria turned. She felt the silk move against her skin. It was beautiful, but it felt like a uniform.
"The necklace," Jordan said, nodding toward the velvet box on the vanity.
She opened it. A diamond choker sat inside, the stones catching the light. She tried to reach the clasp, but her fingers were clumsy. Jordan walked over. He didn't say anything, just took the jewelry from her hands. His skin felt warm against the back of her neck.
He fastened the clasp and didn't pull his hands away. He let his thumb trace the line where the diamonds met her skin.
"Do I look like a top actress now?" she asked.
"You look like mine."
The restaurant was private, tucked away in a corner of Central that required a membership Victoria didn't have. Jordan, however, didn't need one. People stepped aside when he walked through the door.
They sat at a table in the back. Victoria picked at her salad, her appetite gone. Jordan watched her eat, his own plate untouched.
"You're not eating," he noted.
"I have a shoot tomorrow. Swimwear."
"I told the agency to cancel that."
Victoria dropped her fork. It hit the china with a sharp ring. "Jordan, that's a major campaign. My manager said—"
"I don't care what your manager said. I don't want you in swimwear. Not for the public."
"It's my career."
"It's my investment," Jordan corrected. He leaned forward, his voice dropping an octave. "You wanted to be a star so you could pay off your father's debts. I paid them. You wanted to stay out of prison for what happened that night. I made sure the police stopped looking. You don't have a career, Victoria. You have a role I allow you to play."
She looked away, focusing on a couple laughing at the bar. They looked so normal.
"Is that all I am? An investment?"
Jordan reached across the table and took her hand. His grip was firm. He didn't squeeze, but she knew she couldn't pull away without making a scene.
"You're the only thing I have that's worth keeping."
A waiter approached to refill their wine, and Jordan let go of her hand instantly. The mask was back on.
As they left the restaurant, a flash went off near the entrance. A paparazzi had managed to sneak past the perimeter. Victoria's instincts kicked in, she straightened her back and prepared a smile, but Jordan's hand was already on the small of her back, steering her toward the side exit.
"Don't," he muttered. "No photos tonight."
In the car on the way back, Victoria stared at her reflection in the dark window. The diamond choker felt like it was getting tighter.
"I really did see him, Jordan," she said, her voice small. "The man today. He had the same scar on his hand. The one from the struggle."
Jordan didn't look up from his phone this time. He went perfectly still.
"I'll look into it," he said after a long silence. "But if you're lying to get a reaction out of me, you'll regret it."
"I'm not lying."
"Go to sleep when we get back. I have work to finish."
He didn't look at her for the rest of the drive. But Victoria noticed his hand was clenched into a fist on his lap, the knuckles white.
Victoria woke up to the sound of a vacuum in the hallway. The hotel suite was too quiet. She checked her phone. It was 9:00 AM.
There were six missed calls from her manager, Sarah, and a string of frantic texts.
*What happened with the swimwear shoot? The client is furious. They said your 'representative' pulled the plug at midnight.*
Victoria sat up and rubbed her eyes. She didn't reply. There was no point in explaining that her representative was a man who owned her life.
She walked into the living area. Jordan was gone, but his presence was everywhere. A fresh pot of coffee sat on the counter, and a small stack of files was neatly arranged on the dining table. Next to the files was a burner phone she hadn't seen before.
A sticky note was attached to it, *Use this. Only for me.*
She ignored the phone and looked through the files. They were financial reports—debts cleared, interest rates frozen, accounts settled. Every time she saw these numbers, she felt a mix of relief and nausea. He was saving her family, but he was also buying her, piece by piece.
The doorbell rang. It was Miki, looking more nervous than usual.
"I have your schedule for the day," Miki said, handing her a tablet. "The studio session was moved to a closed set. No outsiders. Jordan's orders."
"And the swimwear campaign?" Victoria asked, pouring a cup of coffee.
Miki bit her lip. "Cancelled. Jordan's office reached out to the brand's CEO directly. They're being compensated for the loss."
"Compensated," Victoria repeated. "He thinks everything has a price tag."
"He's just looking out for you, Victoria. After what you said last night... about seeing that man."
Victoria stopped with the cup halfway to her mouth. "How do you know about that?"
"Jordan told me to be extra careful today. To keep you in sight at all times."
Victoria felt a chill that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. Jordan didn't just protect her. He monitored her through every person she knew.
Later that afternoon, at the closed set, the atmosphere was stifling. The photographers were quiet, and the security was doubled. Every time a door opened, Victoria flinched. She kept looking at the crew members, scanning their hands for a scar she hoped wasn't there.
During a break, she retreated to her dressing room. She picked up the burner phone Jordan had left. It buzzed almost instantly in her hand.
*Don't look for him. If he's back, I'll handle it. Focus on your work.*
Victoria looked at the mirror. She looked beautiful—flawless skin, perfect hair—but her eyes looked hollow.
She typed a reply.
*You're watching the set?*
*I'm watching everything.*
She put the phone down and looked at the door. It was locked from the inside, but she didn't feel safe. She felt like a bird in a cage that was slowly being moved into a basement.
Victoria remembered the night in Guangzhou. The smell of rain and cheap cigarettes. The weight of the brick in her hand. The sound of his head hitting the pavement. Jordan had appeared out of the darkness, not like a hero, but like a predator who had found something precious in the trash.
"You can't go back," he had told her that night, his voice calm while she was covered in blood. "But you can go up. Just follow me."
She had followed him. And she hadn't stopped walking since.
The shoot ended early. Victoria didn't wait for Miki to pack her things. She grabbed her bag and headed for the service exit, the one the catering crew used.
She wanted ten minutes where no one was looking at her. No cameras, no security, no Jordan.
It was raining again, a light mist that turned the pavement black. She pulled her hood up and walked toward the main road.
A convenience store sat on the corner, its neon sign flickering. She stepped inside, the bell chiming above the door. The clerk didn't even look up from his phone. It was perfect.
She bought a pack of cigarettes she didn't intend to smoke and a bottle of tea. As she reached for her wallet, her fingers brushed against the burner phone in her pocket. It felt like it was burning a hole through the fabric.
She stepped back out into the rain. A man was standing by a lamp post across the street. He was wearing a dark windbreaker, his face obscured by an umbrella.
Victoria stopped. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She watched his hands. He shifted the umbrella, and for a second, she saw a flash of pale skin.
A car honked, and she blinked. When she looked back, the man was gone.
"Looking for someone?"
Victoria nearly dropped her tea. Jordan was standing three feet away. He wasn't wearing a coat, and his hair was getting damp. He looked remarkably calm for someone who had just appeared out of thin air.
"I just wanted some air," she said.
"In an alleyway? Behind a convenience store?"
"I'm allowed to buy a drink, Jordan."
He stepped closer, closing the distance until she had to tilt her head back to see him. He took the tea from her hand and looked at it before handing it back.
"You're not allowed to be alone. We discussed this."
"You discussed it. I just listened."
Jordan's eyes narrowed. He reached out and grabbed her arm, his grip tightening through her jacket. It wasn't enough to bruise, but it was enough to make his point.
"If that man is back, he isn't here to ask for an autograph, Victoria. He's here to finish what he started. Or to take you down with him."
"Then let him," she snapped. "At least it would be over."
Jordan pulled her toward the black sedan idling at the curb. He opened the door and waited.
"Get in."
She hesitated, looking back at the empty spot under the lamp post.
"I mean it, Victoria. Don't test me today."
She got in. The car smelled like his cologne—expensive, woodsy, and suffocating. He sat beside her and tapped the partition.
"Take us home," he told the driver.
"The hotel?" Victoria asked.
"No. My place. You're staying with me until I know for sure who was at that studio today."
Victoria stared out the window. She had traded one fear for another, and she wasn't sure which one was going to kill her first.