Chapter 3

"Do you know those men?" Hoven asked, taking a swig from the ice box, his gaze lingering on the three men in black suits who stood by the edge of the set. "They've been here the whole time. At first, I thought they were part of the show, but it seems like they're here because of you."

I ignored him, my gaze fixed on the men, a wave of unease washing over me as I remembered the events of the previous night.

I shrugged. I didn't feel guilty about the slap. Gideon deserved it. But I couldn't understand why he had sent his men to escort and guard me at my workplace.

"What's with the long face, Miss Williams? You don't really like to work with me, do you?" Hoven muttered, his voice a touch too casual.

"Don't ask the obvious," I said, my voice flat.

"Woah, chill," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Always," I said, my tone leaving no room for argument.

He fell silent, sensing my aversion to idle chatter. I turned my gaze to the front, watching the crew prepare the set.

This project, a twenty-minute music video, encompassed six different summer categories. It meant weeks of working with Hoven, not to mention the inevitable distractions that came with a film set.

I sighed, the weight of the situation settling on my shoulders. This was going to be a long, uncomfortable ride.

A couple of minutes later, a sharp clap echoed through the studio, cutting through the chatter of the crew.

"Break is over! Let's get back to work!" Miss Lawrence, the director of the project and Falcon Industry's in-house director, stood before us, her voice sharp and commanding.

She was responsible for most of my photoshoots and advertisements, a woman who exuded a quiet authority.

"The break time was too short," Hoven muttered, his voice laced with a touch of complaint.

"Miss Williams and Mister Hoven, are you ready for the next setup?" Miss Lawrence asked, her gaze sweeping over us.

"Woah! When did you arrive in front of us, Director Lawrence?" Hoven retorted, his face a mixture of surprise and annoyance. He seemed startled by her sudden appearance.

"Just now," Miss Lawrence said, her voice calm and steady. "It seems your mind isn't with you, Mister Hoven. Do you still want to rest?"

"Thank you, Director Lawrence," Hoven said, quickly composing himself. He turned to me, his eyes holding a hint of amusement. "As long as my part--"

"Project partner," I interrupted, my voice firm, emphasizing the words. "Don't forget that." Hoven stared at me, his lips slightly parted in surprise.

"Yeah, right, Director Lawrence. As long as my project partner wants to do it, then no pressure."

I rolled my eyes, secretly. This man, he was starting to get on my nerves.

Hoven and Miss Lawrence were deep in conversation about the next setup, a welcome distraction from the annoying guy who seemed determined to get under my skin.

I stood there, watching them, a sense of relief washing over me. But then, I felt it. Those persistent stares.

I turned, my gaze meeting theirs, my left eyebrow raised.

They were Gideon's men, their eyes darting away as soon as our gazes met. I didn't like being watched, even unintentionally. It was unsettling, a violation of my privacy.

People needed to be aware of how their stares could affect others. It was disarming, unsettling. I hated being watched.

It was one of the reasons I didn't socialize much. With my face plastered on magazine covers and billboards across the country, it felt like I never had a day off.

"You dozed off," Hoven said, his voice breaking through my thoughts. "We were calling out for you, but you didn't listen. Are you okay?" I stared at him for a moment, then turned to Miss Lawrence.

"Shall we start, Miss Williams?" she asked, her voice professional and efficient. I nodded. It was time to work.

We started walking towards the next setup, Hoven's complaints about my lack of appreciation trailing behind us like a persistent shadow.

Why would I appreciate him? I wasn't obligated to be at anyone's beck and call.

No one could...

I froze, my words hanging in the air, a sudden chill running down my spine. Was there really no one? No one who could...

"Are you really okay?" Hoven asked, his eyes filled with concern. "If you won't answe--" He stopped mid-sentence as I nodded, a small, involuntary movement. "Oh, you're really fine," he said, catching up with Miss Lawrence's brisk pace. "I finally got a response from a walking Ghiaccio."

"Ghiaccio?" I murmured, my brow furrowed.

"Finally, I got Miss Williams' curiosity," he shouted, not bothering to look back. I shrugged, my patience wearing thin.

How could he possibly hear that? I took a deep breath, trying to quell the rising tide of frustration, and followed them.

We arrived at the new setup, and the filming for the first episode resumed. This was the first day of my collaboration with Hoven, and the thought of weeks of working with him, of enduring his arrogance, filled me with a sense of dread. I couldn't cope with him. Not for weeks, not for days, not even for minutes.

"STOP!" Miss Lawrence's voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding.

"Williams, your body is too stiff. Relax, put your mind into this one. This is a romantic vintage. Focus on touching Hoven's body." Before I could react, she turned her attention to Hoven.

"And you, Mister Hoven, can you act accordingly to your role as possessive? Remember, this category includes a plantation owner in love with his female gardener. Be more conscious of your body language." Miss Lawrence strode back to the crew, her gaze fixed on the camera.

"ACTION!" she shouted, and a click echoed through the studio.

A hand clamped onto my waist, pulling me close. I stared at Hoven, my eyes wide with shock, as his grip tightened, his chest pressing against mine.

"What are you doing?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.

"I'm just doing my role as a possessive lover," he mumbled, his voice a low murmur. A flash of light erupted in front of us.

"That's great!" Miss Lawrence shouted, her voice brimming with approval. Before I could react, Hoven's hands moved, his fingers tracing the curve of my hips. My heart pounded in my chest, a mixture of fear and anger bubbling within me.

This was too much. Too intimate. Too real

"Hey!" I practically roared, my voice sharp enough to cut glass. I glared at Hoven, my eyes blazing with fury. "What do you think you're doing?" He shrugged, his expression nonchalant.

"We're working," he said, his voice a casual drawl. "This is our profession."

"I'm going to sue you for this," I hissed, my glare so intense it could have melted steel.

He chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down my spine. It was the kind of chuckle that made my skin crawl, as if he found the whole situation amusing, as if I were a mere plaything in his hands.

"I'll be waiting for your entreat, Miss Williams," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He released my hand, and for a moment, I thought he was finally backing down, but then, he grabbed my hand again, pulling me closer.

This time, he was holding me close, his arms wrapped around my waist, his body pressed against mine.

I could feel his heat, the warmth of his skin radiating against mine, and my own body temperature spiked.

His fingers traced the curve of my cheek, a touch that sent a jolt of electricity through me.

"You look beautiful," he murmured, his gaze lingering on my face, his eyes filled with a strange intensity. I was speechless, my mind reeling.

Before I could even find my voice, his grip loosened, and he stumbled backward, falling to the ground with a thud.

His side lip was bleeding, a thin red line against his pale skin.

"Take your filthy hands off her," a voice boomed, cold and menacing. It was a voice that sent a shiver down my spine, a voice I recognized instantly.

Gideon.

He stood there, his face a mask of fury, his eyes burning with a possessive intensity that made my blood run cold.

"No one is allowed to touch my wife except me."