The man behind the door
Jamie’s POV
The night smelled like champagne, camera flashes, and exhaustion.
I stood in the corner of the grand hall, half‑hidden behind a velvet rope, watching Aiden Vale glide across the red carpet like he was born in the spotlight. Hollywood’s golden boy, America’s sweetheart, the man who could make an entire theater fall in love with a single smile.
God, he looked perfect.
The tailored black suit hugged his broad shoulders and tapered along his lean waist, the faint gleam of the silk lapel catching the light each time he turned his head. His dark hair was slicked back just enough to look intentional, not stiff. And his face… I’d memorized it a thousand times in the dark, but tonight it belonged to the world.
Handsome. Glorious. Untouchable.
And yet, while he posed for flashing cameras and fans screamed his name, I knew the truth. That perfect jawline had been under my fingers. Those lips that smiled for the world had whispered my name like a prayer.
I adjusted the strap of the sleek leather bag on my shoulder, feeling the familiar weight of his iPad and backup phone inside. To anyone else, I was just his assistant—a shadow in a fitted suit. Someone to carry his things, manage his schedule, and disappear behind the scenes.
But Aiden’s glances told a different story.
Every few minutes, his gaze would flicker to me, quick as a heartbeat, never long enough for anyone else to notice. But I saw it. The spark in his eyes that said he wanted nothing more than to leave this circus behind and lock the door with me on the other side. My chest tightened with something that felt like longing and pride.
I wanted him. God, I always wanted him. But tonight, after weeks of late‑night shoots and relentless press tours, that want was a raw ache in my bones.
And I knew he wanted me too.
That alone sent a quiet thrill through me, enough to make standing here in the dark worthwhile.
The red carpet felt endless, a blur of flashbulbs, handshakes, and endless requests for interviews or pictures. My job was to trail him seamlessly, to anticipate his needs before he even spoke them. I handed him water when his throat was dry, interpreted gifts and pens from fans, and stayed one step behind like a shadow no one would notice.
But shadows sees every thing.
At one point, as Aiden posed with a director, my gaze swept the crowd. Beyond the screaming fans and paparazzi, one man didn’t hold up his phone like the rest. He didn’t cheer. He didn’t blink. He just stood at the barricade, a camera with a long lens hanging at his side, his eyes fixed on me.
Our eyes met for a fraction of a second before he looked away.
I told myself I imagined it. That he was just another photographer in a sea of them. But the unease coiled in my gut like barbed wire, and I knew better.
By the time the premiere ended and Aiden signed the last poster, he flashed a charming smile for the final camera before slipping into the back of the SUV. His thigh gently brushed mine as I followed him in, deliberate and dangerous enough to send heat curling through my stomach.
He didn’t speak, and neither did I. At this point, words weren’t necessary. His security detail shut the door, muting the chaos outside. For the first time that night, it was just us.
Aiden let out a sharp exhale, leaning back against the leather. “God, I thought that would never end.”
I smirked softly, still buzzing from the energy of it all. “You looked like you were enjoying it.”
He cracked one eye open to glance at me, his lips curving into a smirk. “I was enjoying watching you try not to look jealous.”
I rolled my eyes, heat blooming in my chest. “Jealous? Of what? The entire planet wanting a piece of you?”
“Maybe,” he teased, his voice low. “Or maybe you just want to be the only one who gets me.”
I didn’t answer, because the truth was written all over my face.
The SUV rolled through downtown, neon lights flickering across his sharp cheekbones. For a moment, I thought I saw it again—something glinting from a side street, the faint gleam of a camera lens pointed our way. By the time I turned, it was gone, swallowed by the traffic.
My hand tightened around the strap of his bag. Careful, I reminded myself. We had been careful. But careful never lasted long in his world.
When we pulled up to the hotel, the chaos returned.
Paparazzi swarmed the entrance, flashbulbs exploding as his driver parked. I ducked low instinctively, the way I’d been trained to, as his security cleared a path. Cameras shouted his name, demanding more of him, refusing to let him go.
It took nearly fifteen minutes before the crowd thinned and his head of security signaled that it was safe. Only then did Aiden’s hand brush my sleeve, subtle but urgent, as he muttered under his breath, “Come on.”
We slipped through the side entrance, weaving through quiet corridors until the elevator doors slid shut, cutting us off from the world.
The moment the suite door clicked shut behind us, Aiden exhaled sharply, dropping the persona he’d worn all night. His shoulders slumped, the charming smile evaporating like mist. He turned to me,his eyes dark with a hunger I hadn't seen in weeks.
“Jamie…” he breathed, like my name was a release.
I didn’t wait. I crossed the room in three quick steps, grabbed his tie, and pulled him forward. His chest collided with mine, and I pressed him against the wall, the soft thud of his back hitting the panel sending a jolt through both of us.
“You’ve been staring at me all night,” I murmured against his jaw. “Acting like you didn’t want this.”
He shivered under my touch, his fingers curling into my jacket. “I… couldn’t. Cameras—”
“Cameras don’t matter here,” I cut him off, brushing my lips over his ear. “Here, you’re mine.”
He let out a desperate sound, and that was all the permission I needed. I kissed him hard, claiming what I’d been denied for too long. He melted into me, clinging like I was the only thing keeping him grounded.
“God, I missed this,” he whispered against my mouth.
“Missed me,” I corrected softly, my thumb brushing the sharp edge of his jaw. “Say it.”
His eyes fluttered closed, a faint flush creeping across his cheekbones. “…I missed you, Jamie.”
“Good.” I trailed kisses down his neck, every scrape of my teeth reminding him of what belonged to me.
The kiss that followed was slower, heavier. Weeks of separation and late‑night longing poured into every slide of tongue, every scrape of teeth. His fingers threaded through my hair, tugging just enough to make me growl softly against his mouth.
I walked him backward toward the bed, my control never slipping, savoring the little gasps and stuttered breaths he gave me. When his knees hit the edge of the mattress, I pushed him down gently, leaning over him, pinning him in place with my gaze alone.
“You’re beautiful,” I murmured, and watched his chest rise faster. “And you’re mine.”
His hand reached up, his fingertips brushing my cheek. “I hate how much I need you.”
I smirked, letting the weight of my body press into his just enough to remind him who was in control. “I know, cause I want you too. He kissed me again, softer this time, lingering, his forehead pressed to mine.
His hands cradled my face like I was the only real thing he’d felt in a long time. “I hate that it’s like this. That I can’t…”
“Hold my hand in public?” I finished for him, my voice quiet but tinged with something sharp.
He closed his eyes. “Maybe one day.”
The world outside didn’t exist for a long while. Just the heat of our mouths, the soft drag of hands along familiar silk sheets, the quiet gasps breaking the silence of the suite.
It wasn’t just lust—it was a burn that had been denied too long, a collision of want and belonging. In that room, he wasn’t a star and I wasn’t his assistant.
I was the man who could bring him to his knees without a single word.
Hours might have passed—or minutes.
The city lights spilled in through the tall windows, He lay beside me,wrapped in my arms, our fingers laced together, his lips swollen from my kisses, his eyes heavy with something that always made my chest tight.
But shadows always return.
At some point, as dawn crept closer, a flicker of light cut across the room. Not the city glow. Not the gentle hum of morning.
A flash.
I froze, my breath catching. Too late.
Somewhere below, on the street, a camera lens caught the blurred silhouette of two men locked together in the shadows of the hotel suite.
And when the photographer lowered his camera, he smiled.
This was the first crack in the world we’d fought so hard to keep hidden.