Logan steps closer, his voice calm but firm.
“You have her. She’s safe. She’s happy. She’s free. Let it go, brother.”
For a second, I can’t breathe.
The image of her father’s face burns behind my eyes. The self-righteous sneer. The words.
But then I hear her laugh—somewhere down the hall, soft and nervous—and I force myself to look away from the door.
Logan’s right.
She’s mine to protect, not destroy.
I drag a hand down my face, jaw tight.
“He talks about God like he knows him. But there’s nothing holy about the way he fucking hates.”
Logan gives a small nod, voice quiet.
“Then love her louder.”
The words hit deep.
I glance toward the hall, where she stands surrounded by Mac and the others, trying to shake off the tremor.
She’s radiant, untouchable, everything he’ll never understand.
I breathe out slow.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “That, I can do. Also, bro, new song title?” Logan scoffs, and nods.
The dressing room hums with noise—voices, footsteps, the muffled thud of bass notes bleeding through the walls as the crew runs sound checks down the hall.
Butnone of it reaches me.
All I see is her.
Seraphina stands by the mirror, framed in the soft glow of vanity lights. The chaos bends around her, diffused, as if the world itself has learned to move gently in her presence. She looks calm on the surface—composed, serene—but I see the tension in the small things. The way her fingers twist the edge of her sleeve. The shallow rise and fall of her chest. The silent tremor in her breath when she thinks I’m not looking.
I cross the room, my hand finding her waist, pulling her into me. I lower my mouth to her temple, my voice rough against her skin.
“You okay,love?”
She nods, her voice quiet, almost lost to the hum of backstage.
“Yeah. Just…didn’t expect that.”
Neither did I and I’ll never fucking forget it.
Her father’s words still echo in my skull—each one sharp enough to cut. Every syllable he spat about her, about us, is branded behind my eyes. I can still see his face, twisted with judgment and hate. I’ve never wanted to hurt someone so fucking much in my life.
Logan calls my name from the doorway, a reminder that time’s up. The show’s about to start.
I pull back just enough to tilt her chin, forcing her gaze to meet mine. “Mac’s staying with you. Security has been doubled. No one comes near you, not even close. Understand?”
“Trey—” she starts, soft and uncertain.
“I mean it,” I cut in, myvoice sharper than I intend. I exhale, steadying myself, brushing my thumb across her cheek. “If anyone so much as looks at you wrong, I want to know. Wish, Artemis and Klause were here, would have opened the door and let them sick him.”
