“Fashion is what you buy. Style is what you do with it.” – Unknown

  Veronica

  The music pulsed through the ballroom, a vibrant rhythm that mirrored the frantic beat of my heart. I moved through the crowd, a practiced smile plastered on my face, but my mind was a whirlwind of anxieties. The upcoming show loomed large, a mountain of details and logistics threatening to overwhelm me. And then there was *him*.

  My gaze drifted across the room, searching for the familiar figure at the edge of the crowd. He was there, as always, a silent observer in the midst of the glittering chaos. His presence was a constant, a subtle hum beneath the surface of the party, both reassuring and unsettling.

  “Ronnie, darling, are you sure about this?” Marcus’s voice cut through my thoughts. He stood beside me, his brow furrowed with concern. “It’s a big show, just a few days away. And you’ve been… distracted.”

  “I’m fine, Marcus,” I insisted, though the lie felt like sandpaper against my throat. “Just a lot on my mind.”

  He gave me that look, the one that saw right through my carefully constructed fa?ade. “It’s him, isn’t it? The security guy.”

  I shrugged, feigning indifference. “He’s just doing his job.”

  “He’s watching you, Ronnie,” Marcus countered, his voice low.

  “He’s watching everyone, Marcus,” I replied, a touch of exasperation in my voice. “That’s what security guards do.”

  Marcus chuckled, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “True enough. Venue’s security. They hired a good firm, I’ll give them that. Keeps me from having to worry too much.” He paused, then added, “Though, I don’t mind him paying a little extra attention to you. Keeps you safe.”

  I rolled my eyes playfully. Marcus was fiercely protective of me, ever since we were kids. He loved me like a sister, and sometimes, his concern could be a bit… much.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “I can handle myself, Marcus,” I said, bumping his arm with my shoulder.

  He grinned. “I know you can, Ronnie. Just looking out for my girl.”

  I glanced at the security guard again. He was watching me, his expression unreadable. It was as if he was waiting for something, anticipating a move I hadn’t yet made. The air between us crackled with unspoken tension, a silent dialogue that only we could hear.

  Suddenly, a commotion erupted near the entrance to the ballroom. Not loud voices this time, but a different kind of disturbance – a cluster of people pushing and shoving, a flash of bright lights, the distinct sound of shattering glass. A photographer, eager for a shot of one of the celebrities present, had gotten too aggressive, knocking over a display of champagne flutes and nearly colliding with an elderly woman. The crowd was becoming agitated, voices rising in complaint.

  I frowned, a knot of unease tightening in my stomach. This kind of chaos could quickly escalate, especially with so many high-profile individuals present.

  Before I could react, I saw him move. The security guard. He moved with a speed and grace that belied his size, weaving through the crowd with focused determination. He reached the center of the disturbance in seconds, his calm authority immediately diffusing the tension.

  “Please, everyone, just a moment,” he said, his voice clear and commanding. He gently but firmly guided the flustered photographer away from the crowd, his words soothing and reassuring. “It’s alright, no one is hurt. Just a little accident.”

  He then turned his attention to the elderly woman, who was visibly shaken. He offered her his arm, his expression one of genuine concern. “Are you alright, ma’am? Let me escort you to a seat where you can rest.”

  Within minutes, he had the situation under control, the crowd dispersing, the tension easing. He moved with such effortless efficiency, such quiet competence, that it was hard to believe he was just one man.

  I watched him, mesmerized. He wasn’t just doing his job; he was doing it with a level of professionalism and empathy that was truly remarkable. He wasn’t creating the conflict; he was resolving it.

  Marcus, who had been watching the scene unfold with me, let out a relieved sigh. “See? Told you they hired a good firm,” he murmured.

  I nodded, my gaze still fixed on the security guard. He was making his way back towards the edge of the room, his eyes meeting mine for a fleeting moment. A silent acknowledgment passed between us, a shared understanding of the delicate balance between order and chaos, between the carefully constructed illusion of the party and the reality that lurked beneath the surface. And as he turned away, I couldn’t shake the feeling that his job, whatever it was, was about to become much more complicated.