Aurora Sage didn't knock.
She pushed through the side entrance of the production lot like she owned the place, her gait steady, calculated—quiet, but not timid. The message on her laptop still burned behind her eyes. If you don't walk away from him, the next photo they release will be his body.
Not hers.
His.
They'd chosen the one threat that would actually shake her.
And they knew it.
Inside the dim backstage hallway, she passed makeup trailers and sound equipment, ignoring the startled looks from crew members. She moved like someone with clearance—like someone not to be questioned. The low click of her boots on the concrete floor was the only sound.
She stopped at the set entrance, peeking past the curtain.
There he was.
Logan Mason.
