Chapter 12 #2
I stood beside the closed production door, my ear pressed lightly against the cool wood.
Egon was in another part of the resort being interviewed by the police.
A human woman named Catherine Egara has shown up with a giant Warlord in tow.
His name was Bahre and he’d taken one look at Egon, then me, and not left Egon’s side.
Me? I had the Prillon warriors on me like shadows.
Which was fine because it turned out they wanted to eavesdrop through this damn door just as badly as I did.
Of course, Chet was in there. Their mate.
He didn’t sound like the dramatic showman at the moment.
He sounded like a really pissed off business executive.
Stern. So serious. This was the guy who’d handed me millions of dollars like it was candy.
Inside the room, voices rose and fell in tense bursts. Chet’s laugh cut through the noise—sharp and unmistakable, like someone shaking sequins in a metal bowl. Normally it meant chaos and theatrics.
Tonight, it sounded strained.
Other voices followed. Lower. Angry.
“…security breach—”
“…how the hell did he get through checkpoint two?”
“…trespassing charges—”
“…civilian infiltration on a closed set…”
My stomach tightened.
Derek.
The word pulsed through my thoughts like a bruise I couldn’t stop pressing.
Ever since the incident at the Fairy Tale Ball, the question had been gnawing at me. How had he gotten inside? The show had security everywhere—guards, locked entrances, production staff watching every hallway.
Someone had helped him.
And the look I’d seen across the ballroom—Jessica’s cool, calculating glance toward Derek as they dragged him out of the room—had been impossible to ignore.
She knew he was here. They’d planned it. I just didn’t have proof yet.
The office door flew open.
I jerked back so fast I nearly lost my balance.
Chet Bosworth burst into the hallway like a glitter cannon had gone off behind him.
His gold-spiked hair looked even more chaotic than usual, strands dusted with shimmering powder that drifted through the air every time he moved.
He was rubbing the Prillon mating collar that circled his throat like it was causing him pain.
“Tori!” His grin flashed bright and theatrical. “Just the princess I was hoping to see!”
My pulse was still racing from nearly being caught eavesdropping. “I wasn’t—”
He waved a hand dismissively, cutting me off before I could finish the lie.
“We’re doing pickup shots tomorrow for the Fairy Tale episode,” he said, already pacing as if he were directing invisible cameras. “The producers want reaction footage. Confessionals. Something with emotional grit.”
His eyes skimmed over my face critically. “Can you do wounded but defiant? Betrayed but strong? A little heartbreak but still glamorous?”
I wasn’t even sure what the hell all that was supposed to mean.
“Chet, I’m not an actress.” My voice came out sharper than I intended. “I need to know—”
“How Derek got in?” The shift in him was immediate.
The glittering showman faded, replaced by something colder and far more perceptive. For a moment the hallway felt smaller. “We’re investigating,” he continued quietly. “Security footage. Staff logs. Badge access. The works.”
His mouth twisted slightly. “But these things take time.”
“Jessica helped him.” The words left me before I could soften them.
Chet’s brows lifted slowly. “That’s a serious accusation, my dear.”
“I saw them.” My voice lowered, heat rising under my skin as the memory sharpened. “Right before he grabbed me. She was keeping Egon distracted—talking to him, flirting, pulling his attention away.” Even thinking about it made my chest tighten. “She was buying Derek time.”
Chet didn’t answer immediately. He studied me the way a chess player studies a board—quiet, calculating, weighing every piece. Then his hand came to rest lightly on my arm. The touch surprised me. For once it wasn’t theatrical or exaggerated. Just steady. “Be careful, Tori.”
His voice had dropped. “Accusing another contestant of conspiracy?” He tilted his head slightly. “That’s the kind of thing that gets you disqualified.” A small pause. “Or worse.”
“I don’t care about the show,” I said immediately. My pulse hammered in my throat. “I don’t care about the money.” Holy shit, I actually meant that. “I care about—”
“I know what you care about.” His gaze softened just enough to reveal the truth behind his performance.
He knew. Everyone knew. Egon. I only cared about Egon.
“And I’m on your side,” Chet continued quietly.
“But I need evidence before I can act. Real evidence. You don’t just throw a billionaire in jail, you know?
And for what? Trespassing? In a public place?
Can’t make that stick.” His fingers squeezed my arm once before he stepped back.
“I assume he is pressing assault charges against our favorite Warlord as we speak.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
Chet’s shrug did not give me comfort. “I’m working on it. Give me time.” He reached up and touched Rohn and Krag on the cheek, each in turn. They didn’t move. Didn’t blink.
Chet’s eyes were softer than I’d ever seen them. “I’ll see you two at home.”
And just like that the host returned. He spun on his heel and swept down the hallway in a swirl of velvet and glitter, already barking orders into his phone.
I stood there with my bodyguards, jaw slack. Waiting had never been my strength.
My entire life had been built on doing things myself—working double shifts, studying through the night, clawing my way through college because no one else was going to hand me anything.
If something needed to be fixed, I fixed it.
If a problem existed, I hunted it down.
So that’s exactly what I did.
Over the next twenty-four hours I started asking questions. Small ones at first.
The makeup artists were the easiest. They lived on gossip like oxygen, whispering between foundation brushes and curling irons. A little curiosity and a sympathetic smile got them talking fast.
Jessica had been making late-night calls.
The camera operators were next. I found them during their smoke breaks behind the equipment trailers, trading complaints about producers and brutal shooting schedules. One cup of strong coffee bought me twenty minutes of venting—and a handful of useful details.
Production assistants were the best source of all. They were exhausted, underpaid, and desperate to complain.
Apparently, Jessica had been asking a lot of questions.
Security rotations. Arrival schedules. How many Coalition males were attending Fairy Tale Night. What time they would enter the ballroom.
Piece by piece the picture sharpened.
Jessica had known Derek was coming. She’d helped him get inside. The realization settled cold and solid in my stomach. That fucking bitch.
I was so focused on fitting those final pieces together as I walked back to the suite that I didn’t hear the footsteps behind me. Not until a voice drifted through the quiet hallway.
“Hello, Tori.”
That. Voice. I knew that voice. Ice shot down my spine.
I turned. My heart slammed painfully against my ribs.
Derek stood a few feet away. Directly between me and the nearest exit.
For a moment my brain refused to accept what my eyes were seeing. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed softly, washing the corridor in pale, sterile brightness. Derek Sterling looked nothing like the immaculate billionaire who had once walked into boardrooms and owned every inch of the room.
His suit was wrinkled, the expensive fabric hanging crookedly from one shoulder. His tie had vanished. His dark hair—normally styled with obsessive precision—fell unevenly across his forehead as if he’d been dragging his hands through it for hours.
And his eyes.
They were bloodshot. Wild. The kind of wild that prickled along the back of my neck.
Desperate men were dangerous.
“You shouldn’t be here.” My voice came out steadier than I felt. Inside, fear coiled low in my stomach, tightening with every second that passed. “Security is looking for you. If they find you, you’ll be arrested.”