THE KING'S MUSE

Backstage whispers

The moment Lily stepped off the runway and into the chaos of the backstage area, a rush of exhilaration and exhaustion hit her all at once.

The heavy silk of the gown dragged slightly against the floor as she moved past stylists, assistants, and models scrambling to change into their next looks.

The scent of hairspray, perfume, and fabric steamed under hot irons filled the air, mixing with the electric tension of a show in full motion.

"Lily!"

Emma Rodriguez wove through the crowd, her makeup kit slung over one shoulder. The moment she reached Lily, she grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her toward a quieter corner. "That was insane. You killed it out there."

Lily let out a breathless laugh, her heart still racing from the intensity of the runway. "It felt good," she admitted, reaching up to loosen the pins holding her hair in place.

"Good? Good?" Emma scoffed. "You just walked like you owned the entire damn industry." She nudged Lily’s arm playfully, then turned serious. "I was watching from the side. Christian Lancaster was there. Front row."

Lily froze for half a second before forcing herself to unclip the last of the hairpins. She had seen him.

The man in the perfectly tailored suit, the one with an air of quiet authority that made even the most powerful people in the room take notice. She hadn't realized who he was at first—not until she caught the intensity of his gaze.

The King.

"I swear to God, he didn’t take his eyes off you the entire time," Emma continued, eyes wide with excitement. "Do you have any idea what that means? If he’s interested—"

"Don’t," Lily cut her off, shaking her head. "It doesn’t mean anything. I’m not going to get my hopes up over a look."

Emma groaned, throwing her head back. "God, you’re impossible. Just once, once, can you let yourself believe in something good?"

Lily sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "I believe in working my ass off. That’s all that gets you anywhere in this industry. Not fairy tales."

Emma narrowed her eyes. "Fine. Keep pretending you didn’t just catch the attention of the most powerful man in fashion."

Lily rolled her eyes, but a tiny voice in the back of her mind whispered, What if she’s right?

Before Emma could press the subject further, a sharp voice cut through the noise.

"Lily!"

They both turned to see Marco Vega storming toward them, his expression dark.

Lily immediately straightened, her pulse quickening for an entirely different reason. She had seen that look before cold, calculating, dangerous.

Emma stepped closer instinctively, her protective instincts flaring.

Marco came to a stop just inches from Lily, lowering his voice so only the two of them could hear. "What the hell was that?"

Lily frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"You were supposed to blend in, not steal the damn show," Marco hissed, his fingers tightening around the clipboard he held. "Do you have any idea what you’ve done?"

Lily’s stomach twisted, but she held her ground. "I walked the way I always do."

"No," Marco said, his voice dripping with barely concealed rage. "You walked like you were worth something."

Emma’s breath caught beside her, but Lily didn’t flinch. She had heard these kinds of words before. Marco never wanted her to rise only to stay in the shadows, under his control.

"Russo was already asking about you," Marco continued, his lip curling. "And now? Now you have him watching you too."

Lily’s jaw tightened. "Him?"

Marco’s gaze flickered toward the stage entrance. "Don’t play dumb. Christian Lancaster. He noticed you."

Emma sucked in a breath, but Lily kept her expression unreadable.

"That’s a good thing, isn’t it?" she said carefully.

Marco let out a humorless laugh. "Not for you." He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice even further. "Do you know what happens to girls like you when powerful men start paying attention?"

Lily’s fingers curled into fists at her sides.

"You get used," Marco murmured. "And when they’re done with you? They throw you away."

Emma’s hand shot out, grabbing Lily’s wrist before she could react.

Marco straightened, smoothing down his suit. "You’re lucky you have me watching out for you." He patted her shoulder, his touch making Lily’s skin crawl. "Be in Room 1507 after the show. Don’t make me remind you twice."

Then, with one last calculating glance, he walked away.

Lily stood frozen, her heart pounding.

Emma, still gripping her wrist, whispered, "You are not going to that room."

Lily exhaled shakily. "I know."

But even as she said it, dread pooled in her stomach.

Because Marco Vega never let things go.

The after-party was held in the Lancaster Hotel’s grand ballroom, a glittering affair where the elite of the fashion world gathered under chandeliers that cast a golden glow over silk-draped tables and champagne fountains.

The room pulsed with low bass from the live DJ, and laughter mixed with the clinking of glasses as models, designers, and executives networked over expensive liquor and whispered deals.

Lily stood near the edge of the crowd, her posture poised, her expression unreadable. The golden satin gown she wore, borrowed from the agency’s collection for the night, hugged her figure in a way that made her feel both powerful and exposed.

"Here."

She turned to find Emma handing her a glass of sparkling water, her gaze scanning the room with cautious eyes.

"You look like you're about to bolt," Emma murmured, leaning in so only Lily could hear.

Lily let out a soft breath, her fingers tightening around the delicate flute. "I just don’t belong here."

"Bullshit." Emma smirked, giving her a once-over. "You look like you own this place."

Lily fought a smile, but her moment of ease was short-lived.

Across the room, she spotted Marco Vega. He was in conversation with an older man she didn’t recognize well-dressed, with slicked-back silver hair and the kind of presence that made others shrink in his shadow. Marco whispered something, and the man’s gaze flicked to Lily.

A shiver ran down her spine.

"Marco’s watching me," she murmured.

Emma followed her gaze, her playful demeanor vanishing. "That bastard," she hissed. "Lily, we should leave."

"I can’t."

Lily knew what leaving early would mean. She had seen it happen to other models. Refusing to "cooperate" at these events often resulted in fewer bookings, sudden contract complications, or outright career sabotage. She couldn't afford to let Marco control her fate any more than he already did.

So she stayed.

Marco approached an hour later, appearing beside her so suddenly she barely had time to react.

"You’re making the right choice," he said smoothly, slipping a hand onto her waist in a way that felt too familiar. "There’s someone who wants to meet you."

Lily stiffened.

Marco pressed a champagne flute into her hand, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Drink. Relax. This is how things work in this industry, darling."

She hesitated.

Marco’s fingers curled slightly, a silent warning.

"You want to keep working, don’t you?"

The unspoken threat lingered between them.

Lily swallowed hard and lifted the glass to her lips.

The room blurred.

The edges of the chandeliers melted into golden streaks. The music throbbed in her skull, yet everything around her felt far away.

Something was wrong.

Lily staggered against the corridor wall, her breath coming in shallow pants. The numbers on the hotel doors swam before her eyes.

She had to get away.

With leaden limbs, she pushed forward, fumbling for a door handle.

She barely registered the number as she stumbled inside, the dim lighting casting everything in soft shadows.

Then, a voice.

"You’re in the wrong room."

Lily blinked up at the man standing near the window, his silhouette sharp against the city lights beyond. He had loosened his tie, his suit jacket discarded, but there was something in his posture controlled, watchful.

Panic clawed at her chest. "I...I'm sorry," she murmured, her words sluggish. "I don’t feel.."

Her knees buckled.

Before she could hit the floor, strong arms caught her, holding her up effortlessly.

"You’ve been drugged."

The words came as an observation, not a question.

Lily’s vision swam, her body refusing to obey her commands. But even through the haze, she could feel the steady warmth of the man holding her, the quiet power in his grip.

"I’ll get you some water," he said.

She wanted to protest, to insist she was fine, but all she could do was watch as he stepped away, returning a moment later with a glass.

"Drink."

She obeyed without thinking, the cool liquid sliding down her throat.

The fog in her mind didn’t clear completely, but the panic receded.

"Who..who are you?" she managed.

The man studied her for a long moment, then gave a small, almost imperceptible smirk.

"Just someone who doesn’t like seeing women used as pawns."

His words sent a shiver down her spine.

They sat in silence for a long moment, the city stretching beyond the window like a never-ending sea of lights.

And then, somehow, the conversation started.

Lily spoke of things she never told anyone her struggles, her fears, her exhaustion from fighting an uphill battle in an industry designed to break people like her.

The stranger listened.

Not just with patience, but interest.

And as the night wore on, the space between them shrank.

She didn’t remember who moved first, only that the moment felt inevitable.

Lips met in a slow, intoxicating pull, his touch both firm and restrained. He tasted like whiskey and something darker, something dangerous.

The room faded.

For the first time in a long time, Lily let go.

When she woke, the sun was just beginning to rise, spilling soft amber light through the window.

The suite was empty.

Her dress was still on, slightly rumpled, and a folded note sat on the bedside table.

With trembling fingers, she reached for it.

Thank you for your company.

No name. No further words.

Lily swallowed the lump in her throat, slipping out of bed as quietly as possible.

She didn’t know who he was.

And she told herself it didn’t matter.

Because she would never see him again.

But as she walked out of the suite, Christian Lancaster watched her from the adjoining room, his expression unreadable as he picked up his phone.

"I need everything you have on Lily Chen," he said to his head of security. "And keep an eye on Marco Vega. Someone at the Vega Agency is drugging models."