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“The beautiful Mara Luxe.” He nudged the underside of her jaw with his nose, inhaling deeply regardless of the tense sweat breaking out all over her skin. “Sweetheart of the silver screen…”

Mara tried to open her mouth, but no sound came out. Where had all her training and preparation gone?

“I've been wanting to meet you in person. I had to fight off three others for the job…” His voice trailed away as Mara’s mind tried to remember if there was security downstairs. Did they do sweeps? Would she be able to throw an elbow and run for the stairs?

“Who knew you would smell so fucking good? It’s a shame. Such a shame I don’t have time...”

He continued talking to the underside of her jaw, running his lips over her pulse as he told her all the ways he idolized her, but Mara’s mind couldn't process any of it. Had her mind locked down? Hadn’t she prepared for this possibility? Hadn’t she honed herself over the years to never repeat her childhood?

And still, when it came down to it, she was incapable of moving.

She ran through all the possibilities for this situation. Jerking her head away from his lips when they pressed harder, Mara bit back her scathing disgust. Did he think his attention was some kind of compliment? She wanted to ram one of her heels into his eye. She wanted… she wanted… Mara felt the pressure of a scream building in her throat.

What was she going to do? Winning through force was unlikely, with absolutely no advantage. Maybe she could make him fall? She visualized biting his hand or scratching his face, but with how close they were, none of it seemed good for her survival. Any hired hand worth half his snuff could bite back the pain and even the score before she’d taken two steps. Mara had gleaned small things like that from her old life—had seen men do horrible things to one another despite the odds.

She could try waiting for an opening, but she wasn’t confident that he wouldn’t drag her off to a second location.

If he took her anywhere else, she was dead.

Screaming for help wouldn't do her much good because everyone was still upstairs, and the ballroom band reverberated through the floor. No one would hear her. She’d try it, though, if it were her only option. Her throat would become a fountain shortly afterward, but at least her death wouldn’t be alone in the back of a van or in somebody’s basement.

That was assuming they did not send him. She refused to consider it because Mara knew without a doubt if they had sent him for her, she was dead already. If the peace she’d brokered for herself hadn’t been enough, nothing would be enough.

She had trauma—tons of past trauma. But trauma would not turn around and stab him in his eye, so it didn’t help. The man used the knife to trace her bottom lip slowly, and Mara flinched.

“Please—” Mara didn’t know why she said it and wasn't even sure where it came from. She thought the urge to beg had been beaten out of her permanently all those years ago. All of her thoughts seemed to fall flat as the knife moved, tracing an invisible pattern on her skin. She wasn’t used to fear like this anymore. It was too much, too foreign. Didn’t all of her success mean something? Didn’t it dictate the kinds of things that could touch her? Apparently not. Money bought a lot, but it didn’t buy everything. Mara’s eyes filled with unshed tears, her heart racing. It wasn’t fair that after everything, her life would end in misery. She didn’t deserve the scars she carried already, and she didn’t want any more.

“What do you want from me? Money? Let me go, and I’ll pay...”

“Isn't it obvious? I'm here for you,” he growled softly, and something layered under the sound like it came from his chest. “Not for what you can pay me.”

“I don’t understand, please!”

“Save your breath. There’s no negotiating out of this, dove. But don’t worry, if I was here to kill you, you’d already be dead. I just want to talk, but I’m getting the feeling you don’t want to talk to me… That's too hopeful for an actress, isn't it? Can’t spare me five minutes when you’ve got a whole ballroom full of adoring fans?”

Mara's fear spread through her body like ice. What the hell did that mean? She tried again to push away, but he pressed the tip harder into her flesh, moving it closer to the side of her neck, angling it like he planned to stab down.

“Don't make me angry,” he hissed. “Stay still.”

Mara shook, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth so she wouldn’t cry.

It was barely working.

“Good girl. Nice and calm for me, and I didn’t even have to cut you. I don’t want to hurt you. Unless you want me to? I’m not above doing the things you like if we’re going to be working together. Would you like that, Amara—to work with me? We could help each other.” He rolled her name in a way that made her skin crawl. She’d burned her real name and buried all traces of it. No one in this life knew her real name, no matter how hard Richard had pressed. Mara told Richard that her mother abhorred strangers, living the life of a recluse, and her siblings were all but estranged. They didn't need the constant critical eye of the media when they wanted no association with Mara. It was all a serious ploy to make sure her family would be protected.

The truth was no one else’s business, and knowing would only get them killed. If Mara’s fame drew a target on her back, at least she could spare them from paying the price.

Against all odds, this man knew her name. He couldn’t know, couldn’t, unless he was here to bring her back.

She wouldn’t go.

She wouldn’t make this easy. Mara’s body fought before she could stop it. She struggled, ignoring the pain of the blade as it dug into her neck.

“Stop it!” he barked, banding his hard roughly around her ribs. “I don’t want you to scar. Not with all the cameras. Unless…” Something sharp dragged over the opposite side of her throat. Not the knife but— “Unless…”

Suddenly, the high-pitched laugh of a woman and the low groan of a man were wafting down the corridor. It was close, maybe just a few steps from the opening of the hallway. Her heart thundered in her chest, beating so loud she thought they could hear it from the ballroom. Any second, and they'd be on them. They would find her. She could hear the dull shuffle of feet on the carpet. So close. So, so close.

“You think this saved you?” He laughed softly, not caring if she reached her nails back to dig into his face. He dodged her attack.

Mara's heart leaped nearly out of her chest as the man dragged his knife through the side of her dress. The blade split the satin-like water, exposing the lingerie beneath as he shoved her forward into the wall. Her head smacked the plaster, and she screamed. Mara kept screaming as she slid to her knees, trying to gather the fabric across herself. She trembled as she looked back at him.

“This changes nothing, dove. You are going to help me because you and I both know you have no choice. No matter how hard you try, you can't fly out of this cage. You were born into it. We’ll have another chat soon.”

From the ground, she could hear the words he whispered as he disappeared down the hall toward the service exit, only a shadow of his true build.

“I'll see you again, Amara Rodriguez...”

She didn't waste a second. Mara stumbled to her feet, ignoring the shooting pain through both ankles as she raced down the hallway towards the stairs. She needed air and help and for someone to find that bastard before he got away. Barreling so fast around the corner, she ran into the couple that had just come into view.

“Are you okay? We heard you scream. Security is—oh my god, Mara Luxe?”

The woman reached for her, but Mara veered away, apologizing as she scurried past the couple and continued up the stairs. She stumbled and slipped on her heels, the torn fabric of her dress gaping wide. She was pretty sure her ankles were going to swell tomorrow with the way they rolled, but she kept going. When Mara reached the main landing, she searched for Richard, her eyes wet and blurry as she pushed into the crowd.

“Help,” she wheezed. “Richard? P-please! Somebody find Richard.” People turned and gasped at the sight of her, reaching out as if to stop her. She could hear people asking what was wrong. She could see the cameras flash out of the corner of her eye. But she couldn't stop.

“Attacked,” she gasped, suddenly light-headed and nauseated. “Richard! Knife...”

“Mara?! What the hell happened?” Richard yelled, clearing the distance between them until he could grab her shoulders. It was all she needed to collapse into him, getting enough words out that he could understand what was going on. Something hot was running down her neck and leg, pooling under her toes. Her dress left nothing to the imagination, and she didn't have the energy to pull it over herself. She could see suited men surrounding them as her vision dotted.

Why couldn’t she breathe? There was no fucking air in the room. Every inhale was a painful struggle. She gasped, drawing precious little in. When the men moved into her dark view, she realized they had to be the event security. They needed to run for the basement. They needed to find him before he reported back. She tried to tell them that, but she couldn't breathe. No matter how hard she tried, her lungs wouldn’t open.

“Focus on breathing,” Richard said in her ear. “I’ll handle everything else, don’t worry.”

One guard helped her up as they walked towards the exit. Mara’s world tilted. She felt upside down. The world pressed in at all sides. It was going to crush her. She could hardly see the vehicle as they walked toward it, camera flashes filling the dark night with light. Mara reached for her manager but her hand met air. When had he let go? She fumbled for the side of her dress, now exposed, her mind spinning. Loud voices came from all directions, distorted like they were underwater. Were those sirens? She didn’t have the room to feel anything, struggling to force her lungs to work.

Someone held the SUV door open as she crawled inside. A set of hands helped settle her in the seat. Someone thrust a paper bag into her hands.

“Breathe slowly into the bag. You’re hyperventilating, Ms. Luxe.” She nodded, her head lolling back.

“Should I take her to the emergency room?” someone asked.

“No,” she whispered, snatching the bag with the little strength she had and holding it to her mouth. Time seemed to stretch on forever as she focused on the bag. The hands and voices had left, leaving her in the dark backseat of the SUV with nothing but flashing lights outside to keep her company. Then suddenly, the passenger door opened.

"Have her taken straight home. The police will probably meet you there," Richard ordered the driver, turning back to survey something behind him. He almost looked relieved. Mara held the bag and leaned against the door, watching as the cameras bled into one mass on the walkway. She wasn't a person to them. She was an actress, and this was just another scene.

The second the driver inched away from the curb, Mara leaned over and passed out.