Azlyn wasn’t used to people looking at her.Not when Olivia was around.Blond, beautiful Olivia in her five thousand dollar designer suits with matching three thousand dollar Jimmy Chou shoes always captured everyone’s attention.
Azlyn, on the other hand, spent most of her life in front of a computer screen, chasing down obscure interview facts and verifying quotes at ungodly hours.Last night she’d been up until two, cross-referencing sources and double-checking timelines.She was back at the studio by six, running prep with Olivia and attempting not to fall into a coma mid-sentence.
She hadn’t exactly arrived camera-ready.The black leggings were clean-ish.The oversized sweatshirt was warm, which was necessary, given that the studio seemed committed to recreating winter in Siberia.Her hair was twisted into something that vaguely qualified as a bun.She'd swiped on concealer with the optimism of someone who believed in miracles, added a flick of mascara, and finished with a bold lipstick that had since lost its will to live somewhere between her second and fourth cup of coffee.
So why was this gorgeous, tall, terrifying man coming towards her?Why wasn’t he directing all of that potent, male charm at Olivia?
Azlyn wasn’t sure what to do, other than stare back at him and try to hide her horror at being seen.Azlyn wasn’t the star.She felt safer in the shadows.She thought of herself as the puppet master, although she’d never say so out loud to Olivia.As the star of the show, Olivia loved being the center of attention.When Olivia stepped out, people stopped and stared, whispered and gawked.Her fans would rush over, demanding her autograph, and Olivia thrived in the constant attention.
But it was Azlyn who had come up with the theme for their interviews and documentaries.And it was Azlyn who had made Olivia into the international star she’d become.Without the funny, cutting, insightful or provoking questions that Azlyn wrote for Olivia, she would just be yet another pretty face in the crowd.
So, it was startling to find someone’s attention on her when Olivia was within view.
Before Azlyn could speak—or even direct him toward the woman he was clearly here to see—Olivia stepped forward, positioning herself neatly in his line of sight and cutting off whatever strange current had passed between them.
Azlyn blinked.Her brain scrambled to reorient.
A flicker of irritation pulsed beneath her ribs.Why had Olivia interrupted?Why the need to intercept something that hadn’t even had time to form?
The rational part of Azlyn tried to reassert itself, cataloging the moment, filing it undermild disruptionandunimportant social cue.But something tugged at her thoughts, insistent and unwelcome.
Without his gaze on her, she felt—displaced.Unanchored.As if she’d just lost the thread of a sentence she hadn’t realized she’d been writing.
Hoping—irrationally, embarrassingly—to feel that connection again, Azlyn stepped quietly to the side.Olivia and the man stood at the center of the set, under the glare of carefully positioned lights.Azlyn moved beyond the circle of brightness, retreating toward the edges of the studio where the black-painted walls swallowed sound and shadow alike.
Heavy cords snaked along the floor, and the hulking shapes of unused cameras loomed around her, giving her just enough cover to observe without being observed.She positioned herself near one of the tall lighting rigs, far enough not to interfere, close enough to study.
Her mind cataloged the moment—Olivia’s poised stance, the subtle flick of her wrist as she gestured toward a crew member, the man’s stillness, the slight tilt of his head as he listened.
And yet, none of it held her attention like he did.
She hadn’t ever felt this kind of response to anyone before.No mental checklist prepared her for it.So she stood back, partially shielded by shadow, her posture composed, her expression as neutral as she could manage.But from this distance, her jaw loosened, her breath slowed, and she allowed herself the smallest luxury: taking him in.
Then he looked away from Olivia.
And saw her.
Even across the space, even over Olivia’s shoulder, his gaze found hers again—unapologetically direct.The contact was instant.Charged.Azlyn’s body registered it first, something low and electric sparking through her core.
The world didn’t tilt or shatter.It simply… shifted.
She knew she should look away.Professionalism dictated distance.Logic demanded it.She could step into her office, check notes, redirect her attention to literally anything else.
But her body wouldn’t move.Her thoughts refused to scatter.
Azlyn remained exactly where she was, spine straight, eyes steady, her limbs still humming with some new, unquantifiable awareness.
Chapter 2
Crown Prince Zayn Al-Sintra wanted nothing more than to push the overly polished blonde aside.She was blocking his line of sight—and, more importantly, obstructing a far more intriguing presence near the edge of the room.
The woman by the wall hadn’t spoken, hadn’t moved, yet she had his full attention.She didn’t compete for the spotlight.She stood apart—not with hesitation, but with deliberation.The quiet confidence in her posture told him she didn’t need to impress anyone.
Intellectually striking.That’s what came to mind.
Her face was fresh and alert, her blue eyes focused and intelligent, the kind that missed nothing.Her hair was swept into a loose knot, practical and effortless, with soft curls escaping in a way that suggested she had better things to do than chase a perfect reflection.
Who was she?
