KINGDOM OF THREATS

Chapter Nine – Fractures in the Frame

Aiden

She stands before me, a vision carved out of sapphire and starlight.

The dress—my dress—is no longer just fabric and sequins. It’s alive. Tulle cascades like a waterfall of midnight skies, sequins shimmering with each flicker of light, as though constellations have chosen her body as their canvas. The off-shoulder neckline bares her collarbones in delicate defiance, a glimpse of fragility paired with an unshakable elegance. The beaded belt hugs her waist, accentuating the dangerous curves I should not be noticing. And yet I do.

I hate it.

I hate that she looks this breathtaking. I hate that the dress, a creation meant to showcase perfection, instead showcases her. Almost as if it had been designed for Valentina alone. The cruel irony coils in my chest like a snake. She should look ordinary in it. Replaceable. Forgettable. But no—she is infuriatingly unforgettable.

Her eyes, a piercing blue that border on icy flames, clash with mine. For a fleeting moment, the world shrinks to nothing but that gaze. Then she extends her phone toward me.

“Andrea wants to talk to you,” she says, voice smooth but edged with a quiet challenge.

I take the call, Andrea’s voice flooding through, thick with sarcasm.

“You’re finally making good decisions, Aiden. I’m so proud of you.”

My lips twitch into a half-smirk. “Should I take that as a compliment or an insult?”

“Take it however you want,” she laughs, before her tone sharpens, “but don’t you dare be hard on my best friend, or you’ll regret it.”

I scoff and end the call without replying.

“The setup is ready, sir,” Anya interrupts gently.

I sit behind the camera, mask of indifference firmly in place. Yet the moment I look at her through the lens, I feel my composure splinter. She’s every photographer’s dream and every man’s undoing. The makeup doesn’t disguise her—it amplifies her. Softness turned dangerously seductive, innocence sharpened into allure.

If I let myself give in, it would be the gravest mistake of my life.

She poses, fierce and unyielding, every tilt of her chin and every arch of her frame screaming confidence. Then her eyes lock on mine again, and something falters. A crack. Her smile stiffens, her body rigid.

Something’s wrong.

I follow the direction of her gaze and my blood chills. The photographer I hired—a man trusted with my brand’s reputation—isn’t focused on his art. He’s focused on her. His eyes crawl over her body, lingering in places no professional should dare.

My fury ignites, instant and volcanic.

I rise, crossing the space in strides sharp enough to slice the air. The camera is wrenched from his hands and crashes against the floor with a satisfying crack. He stumbles back, face paling.

“Look at her like that again,” I snarl, my voice low and venomous, “and I’ll make sure you won’t have eyes left to look with.”

He babbles apologies, trembling like a coward, before bolting for the door.

“Get out,” I command, though he’s already halfway gone.

The studio falls into tense silence. Valentina is shaken, her expression betraying more than she wants to. Crestfallen, as if the ugliness of the moment has stolen something from her. My jaw tightens. I may despise her presence in my life, but I will not—cannot—allow any woman's dignity to be stripped in front of me.

“Are you okay?” The words slip out harsher than intended.

“Yes,” she whispers, fragile but steady.

I signal for someone to bring her water before turning back to Anya.

“Sir… we have a problem.”

My eyes narrow. “What is it?”

“The photographer… he’s influential. Friends with many others. After what happened, they’re refusing to work with us.”

The audacity. My lips curl into a cold smirk. “He thinks my company depends on him?”

“Give me the camera,” I order, already rolling my sleeves.

“But, sir—”

“Now.” My tone leaves no space for argument.

She obeys. I take position behind the lens, Valentina before me once more. Sunlight filters through the grand windows, spilling over her like liquid gold. She shifts, uncertain at first, until I guide her.

“Turn slightly. Hold your chin higher. Don’t force it.”

Click. Click.

Each shot is sharper, purer, more striking than the last. Her natural essence blooms under my direction, untainted by the filth of another man’s gaze.

When I finally lower the camera, I show her the images. Her eyes widen, glowing in awe.

“They’re… beautiful,” she breathes.

For a moment, satisfaction warms me—a dangerous satisfaction. Not only had I protected her, I’d captured her beauty in a way no other could. Not even the so-called professionals.

“My work always is,” I reply smoothly, though the truth presses heavier in my chest.

—

The restaurant was dimly lit, the soft glow casting an ethereal sheen over her features. I gesture her to sit. “I didn’t know you could take such amazing pictures.” She says in amazement. “Many don’t know.” I shrug while scrolling through the pictures.

“So, you’re telling me that never told anyone about it?” she asks out of curiosity. I stare too longer at the orange juice in her hand. It’s my 100th time seeing it. I am literally starting to hate it although I have never drunk one before.

Nor I want to.

“Don’t be surprised, there must be something that you never cared to tell everyone about because you don’t see any need to tell. Same with me.” I say, suddenly a thought of what could be the thing she must be keeping as a secret took over my interest.

I lean over the table with both of my hands joined together. She paused for more than a minute. “To be honest, I don’t know what it is, like really.” She sighed.

“Can you do me a favour?” my brows plucked together.

“Could you take some pictures of me at the best spots of London to keep them as memories?” She asked, her voice laced with a hint of desperation.

“Why would I do that? I rather prefer hearing my sister’s nonstop talk about the non-existing men she always drools over on daily basis.” I said drly

“I’m leaving soon and I want to have some good memories. Pretty please.” She announced, her voice calm and almost nonchalant. Leaving soon? She is leaving? The prospect of her absence filled me with a strange, unfamiliar uneasiness.

I’d always prided myself on my indifference, my ability to remain unaffected by the emotions of others. But now, what’s this strange feeling?

I forced a scoff. “Is that so? Well, good for you.”

She raised an eyebrow, her gaze sharp. “Is that all you have to say? No farewell wishes, no regrets?”

I felt a surge of anger. “Why should I care? We are not even close.”

A silence fell between us. The air turned thick with unspoken words, unsaid emotions lingering in the air, irritating me even more.

The tension between us, palpable. A silent storm brewing beneath the surface. My eyes, a deep, stormy gray, meet hers, a piercing blue that seems to bore into my soul. The uneven rhythm of her breathing was a stark contrast to my serene composure.

I sighed.

“You will not take my pictures?” she asked.

“No.”

“Alright.”

She gets up.

“You have no problem?” she give me a strange look.

“Of course, I am not someone who forces people. If you’ll not, someone else will and I am sure I can get someone better than you to take my pictures.” She dismiss with a wave of the hand, her voice dripping with a smug confidence that grated on my nerves.

Her words were like a dagger, twisting and turning in the wound of my pride. My heart pounded in my chest, a drumbeat of rage. How dare she? I clenched my fists, my knuckles white.

I wanted to take out my anger but I hold myself back, a flicker of reason reminding me that losing my temper would make things worse.

Instead, I forced a calm smile. “Of course, you can.” I said, my voice tranquil.

But deep inside, I know her words won’t leave me. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not until I’ve proven her wrong