Seth's POV
I stayed hidden behind the stacked equipment cases, barely breathing.
The corridor backstage was dimly lit, illuminated only by weak overhead utility lights that flickered every few seconds. The deeper part of the loading dock bore no resemblance to the glamorous arena outside. No music. No flashing cameras. Just concrete floors, metal pipes, and shadows stretching long across the walls.
And Casey stood right in the middle of it.
She looked smaller somehow. Not physically. But the arrogance she usually carried around like armor was gone.
The men surrounding her made sure of that.
There were three of them.
Big.
Rough-looking.
The kind of men who didn't belong anywhere near a fashion event.
One had a scar running from his jaw down his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his leather jacket. Another wore thick rings across tattooed fingers, his face hard like concrete. The third—the one clearly leading them—had cold eyes that looked completely empty of mercy.
