Zara didn't sleep that night. Not because she was overthinking. Okay—maybe a little.
But mostly because Noah's words kept replaying in her head like a broken vinyl.
"This is me talking as Noah."
She wasn't used to hearing him like that. Vulnerable. Human. Unsure.
Noah Lancaster wasn't the kind of man who tripped over his own feelings. He was the kind of man who built empires between breakfast meetings and lawsuits. The kind of man who could stare down a room full of shareholders without blinking.
But tonight? He'd blinked. He'd flinched. And somehow, she was the one lying awake.
She tossed and turned, the bedsheets too warm, her mind too loud. The room felt too big. Her phone screen felt too quiet.
She stared at their fake couple photos on social media—the ones his PR team had carefully staged. The headlines called them "unexpected but electric."
They weren't wrong.
But electricity could burn, too.
At 2:07 a.m., she gave up.
Wrapped herself in a blanket, made tea, and curled up on the windowsill like some sad romance novel cliché.
The city outside blinked and buzzed like it didn't care about her heart at all.
She almost envied it.
---
The next morning, Noah knocked on her door.
Two cups of overpriced coffee in his hands, zero apologies in his eyes.
"I was nearby," he said casually.
Zara leaned on the doorframe, disheveled but still sharp. "Nearby what? My regrets?"
Noah blinked, then offered the coffee like it was a peace treaty.
She took it. Of course she did.
They sat on the couch like two strangers who used to be something else.
He looked too polished for someone who couldn't sleep. But there were shadows under his eyes—and one wrinkle in his sleeve that betrayed him.
"You left fast yesterday," he said, as if it was a neutral observation.
"You made it weird," she replied, sipping. "I had to flee to protect my brand."
He allowed a small smile. "Is sarcasm your default setting?"
"Only when honesty would make me cry."
He looked at her—really looked.
And she hated that she didn't look away.
"I meant what I said," he murmured.
Zara said nothing.
Because deep down, she knew.
And that was the problem.
Hours later, they sat through a branding meeting neither of them was emotionally equipped for.
PowerPoint slides. Mood boards. Buzzwords like authentic, edgy, intimately aspirational.
Zara Everleigh was no longer just a scandalous headline—she was a product now.
A personality.
A brand.
> ZARA EVERLEIGH – THE MODERN MUSE.
Raw. Real. Recklessly Relatable.
Zara read the tagline and almost laughed. If only they knew.
Noah sat across from her, calm and quiet. Too quiet.
He nodded politely. Made notes. Gave approval.
But every few minutes, their eyes met.
And the tension curled around them like steam.
The team was thrilled with their chemistry.
Too bad no one knew it was built on lies and unspoken things.
---
That night, it rained. A soft drizzle, not enough to flood the streets, but just enough to blur the edges of the city.
Zara watched it from her window, wrapped in her favorite hoodie and an old blanket that smelled like lavender and loneliness.
She liked the quiet. Until her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
> Tell me you haven't signed with Lucas yet.
She frowned.
Before she could respond, another message came. You don't know what he's planning.
Her heart began to race.
She sat up straighter, thumb hovering over the screen. But before she could type a word, a final message arrived.
> Be careful who you trust, Zara. Not everyone wants you to win.
That one hit different.
She reread it twice. Then again. And again. Her tea had gone cold.
She didn't reply. Not yet. Instead, she stared at the screen like it might crack open and reveal something more. Some truth she'd been missing. Some trap she'd already stepped in.
Lucas? Noah?
Someone else entirely? She didn't know.
And that unsettled her more than she liked to admit.
A knock on her door startled her.
She stood slowly, cautiously, and opened it just enough to peek—
Noah. Of course. He looked like rain and restraint.
"Hey," he said, voice low. "You okay?"
She hesitated. "Why do you think I'm not?"
He stared at her for a moment, then said, "Because I know what your voice sounds like when you're lying."
She almost said you don't know me that well.
But the truth was—he did.
She stepped aside silently.
He walked in like he didn't want to, but couldn't help it.
They sat on the couch again, but this time the silence wasn't comfortable. It was charged. Ticking.
"I got a message," she said eventually.
"From who?"
"I don't know. Someone warning me about Lucas."
Noah tensed.
Zara didn't miss it.
"You know something," she said.
He didn't answer.
Instead, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You trust him?"
She folded her arms. "You mean the guy who believes in me, supports my career, and hasn't once asked me to fake a kiss for the press? Yeah. I trust him more than I trust people who need lawyers in every room."
That stung.
But he deserved it.
"I'm just trying to protect you," he said quietly.
Zara exhaled. "Then stop hiding things from me."
Their eyes locked.
There it was again.
That unbearable honesty.
Like two people standing at the edge of something real—and too scared to jump.
He reached out, like he might touch her hand.
Then stopped.
"You don't need saving, Zara," he said.
She blinked. "Then what do I need?"
His voice dropped to a whisper. "Someone who doesn't pretend."
And before she could respond—before she could figure out if she wanted to yell at him or kiss him—
He stood up and left.
In the silence he left behind, Zara stared at the door.
Then at her phone. Then at herself.
Maybe she didn't need saving. But she was starting to think she was in more danger than she realized.