Page 9 of Vendetta Vows

"Far from it." He steps closer, lowering his voice. "But what I want to know is how I've never seen your name as a part of the writers’ room until today?"

I let out a small laugh. "Because I'm in props."

"Props?" His eyebrow arches. "For a woman of your talents?"

"It's a way to still be in the industry without being noticed."

"Interesting." He steps a little closer until he's the only thing in my vision. "In my experience, it takes trauma for someone to understand it like you do."

My pulse quickens. "You understand trauma?"

"Enough to recognize it in others."

I look up and wonder just what sort of trauma those eyes of his have seen. If his struggles are similar to mine, or if they're something I could never hope to understand.

But my thoughts are interrupted when I notice the glint of a camera lens rising beside us.

My heart slams against my ribs as the familiar panic at the thought of being photographed wraps itself like a noose around my throat.

My face. In print.

Ruslan reacts before I can.

"No pictures." Ruslan's voice cuts through my panic with unexpected sharpness.

I watch the transformation happen in real time. The warm, attentive man beside me straightens to his full height, shoulders squaring as something cold and dangerous flashes across his features.

The photographer hesitates, camera still half-raised. "Are you sure, Mr. Dragunov?"

"I am." Ruslan's voice hardens into a command that leaves no room for argument. "I believe you've already fulfilled your contractual obligations for the night. Go see my assistant about getting paid, and keep that camera lowered."

"Of course." The photographer's face pales as he lowers his camera. "My apologies, Mr. Dragunov."

He retreats into the crowd so quickly he nearly trips over himself.

"Thank you," I whisper, my voice still shaking. "I really don't like having my picture taken."

Ruslan's eyes soften as they return to mine, that dangerous edge receding like a tide pulling back from shore. "I noticed. Yet you still want to be in this industry?"

"I've always wanted to be in films," I admit. "Even as a kid."

"But not on camera?"

I swallow hard. "Once upon a time, maybe."

"Is that why you chose props? So that you can still be close to the camera without ever appearing on it? And is that why you were hiding in the alleyway earlier?"

"Yeah." I nod, my voice smaller than before at the admission.

"What happened, Aurora?" he asks gently.

For a split second, I'm back on stage with the spotlight warm on my face, my parents smiling proudly from the audience and my little brother clapping, loudest of them all.

And then all of that came crashing down.

The smell of blood. The awful words on the walls.

Look what you made me do.

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