The city lights shimmered like silent witnesses beneath the midnight sky.
Soft footsteps approached behind her.
Victoria’s presence was quiet but unmistakable.
She didn’t speak right away, letting the cool night air settle between them before finally turning slightly, her expression unreadable, though there was a flicker of something—concern, perhaps—beneath the surface. “Amala,” she murmured, her voice carrying the weight of unspoken thoughts, “be careful.”
Amala arched a brow, “Of what?”
A soft sigh escaped Victoria’s lips. “Of the ones who lurk in the shadows.” She reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair from Amala’s face, her touch lingering just for a second, "Not everything is as it seems."
It wasn’t just motherly concern. It was a warning.
For the first time that evening, Amala felt a quiet unease settle in her chest.
Victoria smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Happy journeys, my love.”
And with that, she turned, disappearing into the night, leaving Amala standing beneath the stars, the weight of her mother’s words pressing against her thoughts.
<u>The Flight to Paris</u>
The low hum of the airplane filled Alice Rains’ private section, the rhythmic drone settling into the background like a forgotten melody. She sat by the window, watching as the city lights below flickered, fading into the horizon.
Paris. The city of romance. The city of dreams.
For many, at least.
To her, it was just another battlefield. Another stage where facades were painted over deception, where every smile could be a mask, and every word a carefully placed trap.
A soft chime interrupted her thoughts.
Ajay.
She glanced at her phone, lips curling slightly at the message.
> Ajay: “Call me when you land. I don’t like you going like this.”
Her fingers hovered over the screen before she typed back.
> Alice: “You worry too much. I’ll be fine.”
She didn’t press send. Instead, she locked the screen and exhaled.
Ajay’s concern wasn’t misplaced. This trip wasn’t just about filming. It was about something much more dangerous.
Her mind drifts back—to Ajay’s office, the weight of his words, the sharp edge in his tone.
She exhales, letting her head rest against the seat as the memory pulls her in.
That conversation hadn’t seemed important at the time. Now, with the hum of the plane beneath her and miles stretching between them, it does.
Amala sits across from Ajay, one leg crossed over the other, idly spinning a pen between her fingers. Ajay, as always, is all business. His laptop is open, the soft glow of the screen reflecting in his sharp eyes. The list of names scrolls as he types, his movements precise and calculated.
“Here’s the final list of people traveling with you,” he says, turning the laptop toward her.
She leans in, her gaze flicking over familiar names. “Looks fine to me.”
Ajay doesn’t respond, waiting. She knows he expects her to go through it properly. Sighing, she scrolls down, stopping when she sees a name that makes her eyebrows rise.
“Riya Kapoor?” She tilts her head, smirking. “Didn’t she once say she’d rather quit than work on a project with me?”
Ajay gives her a flat look. “She still might.”
Amala chuckles, leaning back in her chair. “Then why is she here?”
“Because she’s a professional,” Ajay says. “Unlike you, who enjoys provoking people for fun.”
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“I don’t provoke,” she counters smoothly. “I just exist. If people get provoked, that’s their problem.”
Ajay exhales through his nose, the closest he ever comes to an eye-roll. Before she can push further, his expression shifts—just slightly, but enough for Amala to notice. A brief hesitation, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.
She raises an eyebrow. “What?”
He closes the laptop, fingers tapping lightly on the surface. “I got a call.” His voice is neutral, but she catches the weight behind it.
She doesn’t react immediately, letting the silence settle between them. “And?”
“It was a warning.” His tone is even, but the air around them shifts. “They don’t want you in Paris.”
Amala exhales a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Right. Because threats have ever worked on me.”
“I’m serious, Amala.” His voice sharpens. “Cancel the deal.”
She meets his gaze, unwavering. “No.”
A muscle in his jaw tightens. “It’s not just a vague threat. This isn’t the first warning.”
That catches her attention, but she masks it with a smirk. “You should’ve started with that. Now I’m even more interested in going.”
Ajay ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "You think this is a joke?"
“No,” she says lightly, “but I think whoever called you believes I scare easily.”
His silence tells her he’s already predicted this response.
She tilts her head. “Are you afraid, Ajay?”
His stare is unwavering. “No. But I don’t take unnecessary risks.”
“Neither do I.” She pushes the laptop back toward him. “Which is why I know exactly what I’m doing.”
He exhales sharply, standing. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Amala only smiles, standing as well. “Noted.” She brushes past him toward the door but pauses, turning slightly. “Oh, and about Riya? Maybe she should be more afraid of me than whoever’s making these calls.”
Ajay mutters something under his breath as she leaves, and she can’t help but chuckle.
She closed her eyes briefly, her mind already shifting toward the game ahead.
It had begun.
<u>The Airport Chaos</u>
Dressed in casual attire, a hoodie pulled over her head, Alice walked ahead of her assistants, her pace steady, eyes sharp beneath the cap’s shadow.
She had traveled unnoticed before. She knew how to disappear in crowds.
But the moment she stepped out of the VIP exit, she felt it.
The shift in the air. The unnatural silence that came seconds before an explosion.
Then—
Flashes. Voices. Chaos.
"Miss Rains! Over here!"
"Alice! Is it true you’re dating someone?"
"Alice! Just one question—"
Paparazzi.
Cameras flashed, voices rose, and within seconds, a wave of paparazzi surged toward her, eager to capture even the slightest expression on her face.
The press had swarmed the airport.
Her steps didn’t falter. Her face remained unreadable—a mask of calm indifference.
Behind her, Mia, her personal assistant, tightened her grip on the bag she carried, her eyes darting around.
<u>The Unbreakable Wall</u>
Paul and Rohan, her ever-alert bodyguards, exchanged a quick glance before stepping into action.
Paul moved to her right, placing his broad frame between her and the oncoming crowd. Rohan, on her left, adjusted his stance, his sharp eyes scanning for any potential threats.
"Miss Rains! Just one picture—!"
"Alice, are the rumors true?"
A mic was shoved forward, followed by a camera flashing too close for comfort. Alice barely blinked, her expression composed, but Paul reacted instantly. With a swift, measured step, he blocked the journalist’s advance, raising an arm to shield her without ever making direct contact.
"Maintain formation," Rohan muttered under his breath, stepping closer as another group of reporters tried to cut through.
"Excuse us," Paul’s voice was firm as he extended his arm, his sheer presence making the reporters hesitate.
Despite the chaos, Alice walked with practiced ease, her chin slightly lifted, sunglasses covering her eyes. The world saw grace—what they didn’t see was the silent, coordinated movements of her bodyguards keeping her untouchable.
One particularly persistent paparazzo lunged forward, attempting to angle his camera directly in her path.
Big mistake.
Before he could get any closer, Rohan pivoted sharply, stepping between them in a fluid motion that forced the photographer to halt abruptly. "Step back," he warned, his tone polite but edged with finality.
Paul, meanwhile, guided Alice toward the exit, maneuvering with the precision of someone who had done this a hundred times before.
The crowd pressed in harder, but the unspoken rule among the seasoned journalists was clear—Paul and Rohan were the unbreakable wall.
Within moments, they reached the waiting black SUV. Rohan opened the door just as Paul scanned the area one last time. Once Alice was safely inside, Rohan and Mia slid in beside her, while Paul took the front seat, signaling the driver to move.
As their SUV pulled away from the airport, another sleek black car followed closely behind with rest of her assistants.
As they drove off, Alice let out a soft sigh, finally lowering her sunglasses.
"Flawless execution, as always," she remarked, a hint of amusement in her voice.
Rohan smirked. "You say that like we’re not doing this again tomorrow."
Paul, ever professional, simply nodded. "That’s what we’re here for, Miss Rains."
Mia exhaled, "No one was supposed to know your flight details."
Alice leaned back, her eyes sharp.
"I have a good guess on who might have leaked it."
She didn’t say it aloud. Instead, a slow smirk tugged at her lips.
The SUV moved smoothly through the Paris streets, the city lights casting fleeting reflections on its tinted windows. Inside, Alice rested one hand on her temple as she scrolled through messages on her phone. Paul sat in the front seat, eyes sharp, while Rohan sat beside her, subtly monitoring their surroundings.
Behind the wheel, the driver remained silent, his grip firm yet relaxed. Unlike most chauffeurs hired for celebrities, this man was anything but ordinary.
He was Neol Carter, the third member of Alice’s security detail.
A former military-trained specialist, Leol wasn’t just a driver—he was a defensive driving expert. His cover was being one of her assistant. He didn’t just take Alice from one point to another or check her schedule. He ensured she arrived safely, no matter what.
And right now, his instincts were kicking in.
Paul’s voice broke the silence. “We’ve got a tail.”
Alice''s fingers stilled on her screen. She didn’t look up, but the slight narrowing of her eyes said enough.
"Not paparazzi," Rohan murmured, adjusting his position to get a better view through the side mirror. "Too discreet. Too calculated."