7. Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
No Room to Breathe
Simone
If my phone were a grenade, the hospital would be rubble by now.
I’ve been staring at the screen since I woke, watching headlines flood in like a tsunami.
The notifications are endless. Every time I clear one batch, another wave appears.
Articles.
Tweets.
Mentions.
Tags.
My family has become the center of the world’s attention.
The media is dissecting everything that happened last night—my supposed whirlwind romance with Adrien, the attack at Dad’s gala, his injury, and the cancellation of my tour.
I’ve always claimed I enjoy being the center of attention.
But this is different.
This kind of attention is maddening.
It’s speculation layered with lies, every outlet twisting the facts to make its version more dramatic than the last.
It’s control slipping through my fingers.
It’s being trapped between Dad’s safety and the expectations of millions of strangers.
And, of course, there’s the bodyguard who watches me as though I’m made of equal parts glass and explosives.
Influential Family in Chaos: Assassination Rumors Surround the Rocheforts.
Assassination Attempt at Rochefort Gala: Whose Toes Did Francis Rochefort Step On?
Fast-Rising Pop Star Simone Rochefort Cancels Tour Following Family Attack.
Security Threats Surround Music Heiress as Belcourt Romance Heats Up.
Francis Rochefort Rumored Dead at Fifty-Six.
I throw the phone onto the empty chair beside me and shove both hands through my hair.
I shouldn’t let it rattle me.
I shouldn’t care about the lies being repeated by people who weren’t there. I’ve been through this before—speculation, assumptions, and confidently written accounts from people who know nothing.
But when I lower my hands to my thighs, they’re trembling.
It isn’t fear.
At least, I don’t think it is.
It’s the restriction. The pressure. The sensation of every wall moving closer.
I’m angry at whoever planned the attack.
Angry at whoever decided my father’s life was something they could threaten.
Angry that one faceless enemy managed to tear apart everything I had planned.
I need an outlet.
My guitar, preferably.
Music listens.
It doesn’t lecture or question me. It doesn’t stare as though I’m a puzzle that needs to be solved.
Unlike him.
Whenever Luca is near, my pulse forgets how to behave.
I could go home.
I could hide inside my private studio, wrap my fingers around the neck of my guitar, and lose myself in the one place where the world makes sense.
But I can’t leave Dad.
My presence doesn’t determine his safety. He has enough security stationed around him to defend a small country.
Still, last night changed something.
Seeing my only remaining parent pale and motionless in a hospital bed filled me with a terror I can’t shake.
A terror that makes walking farther than a few rooms away feel impossible.
The hospital is too quiet.
Too sterile.
Too heavy.
I’m slowly losing my mind in here.
My fingertips ache for guitar strings. For the sting of metal against skin. For something loud enough to drown out the thoughts circling me since the first gunshot.
I hate being idle.
Idleness leaves room for memories.
Music is how I’ve always kept them contained.
After Mom died, grief hollowed out every corner of our house.
I had only just begun to understand what she meant to me—how her presence couldn’t be replaced by money, staff, or any of the luxuries surrounding us.
One afternoon, I wandered into the attic and found an old guitar beneath a dusty sheet.
Dad told me it had belonged to her.
The wood was scratched. The strings were rusted. I had years of piano lessons behind me, but none of that taught me how to hold a guitar properly.
So I taught myself.
Anything that might bring me closer to her was worth learning.
Eventually, the instrument stopped feeling like something she had left behind.
It became part of me.
I glance toward Dad.
He still hasn’t woken from his latest stretch of sleep. The surgery drained him, and instead of resting afterward, he insisted on talking to Bran and me.
The nurses have changed his IV, and the doctor believes he can be discharged tomorrow if his condition remains stable.
So far, that’s the only good news I’ve received in the last fourteen hours.
I stand, smooth the wrinkles from my jeans, and pull on my jacket.
I’ll ask someone to bring my guitar here.
That way, I won’t have to leave Dad.
But as I approach the door, I remember why I’ve remained rooted to the same chair for so long.
The bane of my existence is standing on the other side.
Luca Moreau.
My personal bodyguard.
The irony is almost funny.
My hand closes around the doorknob.
For one pathetic moment, I consider retreating to my chair and drowning in the silence rather than facing him.
Then I shake off the thought.
I shouldn’t care that he’s outside.
I shouldn’t care how disheveled I look compared to him.
And I definitely shouldn’t care what he thinks of me after last night.
I don’t care.
Not at all.
With that lie firmly in place, I open the door and step into the corridor with my chin lifted.
Then I hear a familiar voice.
Adrien.
I can’t see him because Luca’s broad, six-foot-five frame blocks the corridor like a human barricade.
He isn’t touching Adrien or openly threatening him, but his posture sends a clear message.
He has no intention of letting Adrien any closer.
“I already told you,” Luca says, his voice cold and flat. “This isn’t a good time. Go home.”
Adrien sounds calmer, though frustration sharpens his words.
“I only need a few minutes. I want to see for myself that she’s all right.”
Luca scoffs. “She’s fine.”
My jaw tightens as I close the door behind me.
“Luca.”
Both men turn.
Luca’s expression remains blank, but his jaw hardens when he notices that I’m looking past him.
At Adrien.
Relief immediately loosens the ache in my chest.
He isn’t injured.
He isn’t lying in another hospital room or numbered among the people caught in the crossfire after we were separated.
Seeing him feels like fresh air.
For the first time since last night, something in my life resembles normal.
Adrien’s face brightens. His warm blue eyes crinkle as he smiles at me.
I cross the remaining distance, brushing Luca’s arm as I pass.
Heat rushes through the point of contact.
I ignore it and wrap my arms around my newest friend.
Adrien returns the hug, warm and solid.
Somehow, he already feels familiar.
We haven’t known each other long, but he’s easy to trust. Easy to like.
That means something, considering I don’t make friends easily.
“Glad to see you aren’t dead,” he says, rubbing one hand gently down my back. “Your brother told me you were safe. I wanted to come sooner, but I didn’t want to intrude.”
“You’re late.”
I pull away and examine him as though I need physical proof that he’s unharmed.
“I would have broken up with you if you’d waited any longer.”
Adrien places one hand over his heart. “Not when our great love story has only just begun, princess.”
Behind me, Luca makes a low sound in his throat.
Even without turning, I can feel his stare pressing against the back of my head.
I grin and loop one arm through Adrien’s.
“Come on, Adri. Let’s go downstairs. You have no idea how exhausting it is being surrounded by human machines.”
“Ten minutes,” Luca says.
I ignore him.
Adrien hesitates and glances over my shoulder as though Luca has a sign attached to his chest reading Do not move.
He might as well.
I smile sweetly. “I wasn’t asking.”
Then I start toward the elevators.
Adrien follows.
I don’t need to look back to know Luca is behind us too. His footsteps are heavier and more deliberate, each one reminding me that I can’t escape him no matter how hard I try.
The hospital cafeteria is hardly glamorous.
Fluorescent lights. Stiff chairs. Muted conversation. The stale scent of disinfectant barely covered by fresh coffee.
But it’s quiet, and there’s enough space for me to breathe without my brother or father looking at me like I might fall apart.
The original plan was to ask for my guitar.
Now that Adrien is here, he’ll have to serve as my distraction instead.
I choose a table against the far wall and sit across from him.
Adrien studies my face before glancing repeatedly over his shoulder.
Luca stands several feet away with his arms folded, scanning the cafeteria as though it’s an active crime scene.
Adrien leans closer and lowers his voice.
“Do you want to explain why he followed us down here?”
I sigh and lace my fingers together on the table.
“Your wish came true.”
“You’ll have to be more specific, princess. I have many wishes.”
“My father assigned him to be my personal bodyguard until all of this is over.”
Adrien’s grin widens.
“Oh, wow.”
He looks toward Luca again.
Luca appears as delighted by the arrangement as I am.
Which means he looks like he’d prefer being buried alive.
“You know,” Adrien says, “I think he hates me.”
“That isn’t unusual. Luca hates everyone except my brother.”
“So he hates you too?”
“The feeling is entirely mutual.”
“Of course it is.”
Adrien continues smiling as though he knows something I don’t.
I narrow my eyes.
“Why do you look so pleased?”
He points toward his face. “Do I?”
“Yes.”
“I’m simply happy for you. Now you’ll finally have the opportunity to sleep with—”
“Shut up.”
I lean forward and glare at him while heat rushes into my cheeks.
“Jesus. He might hear you.”
Adrien opens his mouth again.
I cut him off.
“And I have absolutely no intention of sleeping with him. I hate him. I would rather shit in my hands and clap.”
Adrien snorts.
He looks ready to argue, but one warning glare makes him lift both hands.
“Fine. Whatever you say.”
His laughter softens the edge of my irritation.
Then he reaches across the table and takes my hands.
Concern draws his brows together.
“How are you really handling everything? The media is vicious right now.”
“Fine.”
The lie comes automatically.
“I can manage it.”
“I’m sorry about the tour,” he says gently. “That must hurt.”
I wave one hand as though he mentioned a delayed lunch reservation.
Inside, I’m coming apart.
There’s no easy way to explain what the tour means to me.
It isn’t merely a job or a string of performances.
It’s months of planning.
Months of writing, rehearsing, and building something that belongs to me.
I’m proud to be a Rochefort.
But I’ve always wanted the world to know me as Simone.
Not Francis Rochefort’s daughter.
Not Brandon Rochefort’s sister.
Me.
Now all of it is suspended because of a threat with no face.
Because Dad was shot.
Because the world refuses to let me breathe without dissecting every second of my life.
Just because I’m comfortable with Adrien doesn’t mean I’m ready to let him see those parts of me.
I barely acknowledge them myself.
Sharing them with someone else feels impossible.
“It’s nothing to worry about.”
I force a smile.
“I’ll be back onstage before you know it.”
Luca appears beside our table before Adrien can answer.
“Time’s up.”
His voice is mechanical.
I lift my brows at Adrien as though to say, See what I’m dealing with?
“Come on,” Luca says.
“No.”
He blinks slowly and holds my stare.
The first two buttons of his shirt are open, revealing part of the silver chain around his neck.
My gaze drops toward the strong column of his throat.
I immediately drag it back to his eyes.
“We agreed on ten minutes,” he says.
“I don’t remember agreeing to anything.”
I lean back in my chair.
“I remember you dictating how long I could spend with my fr—boyfriend.”
I nearly slip.
“I don’t think deciding who I talk to is part of your job.”
“It’s fine,” Adrien says quickly, sensing the tension rising between us. “I can leave and come back another time.”
“Smart,” Luca says without taking his eyes off me.
“This is a clear invasion of privacy.”
I glare at Luca.
For a fraction of a second, amusement flickers in his eyes.
“You’re here to keep me safe,” I continue. “Not to control who I talk to or how long I spend with them.”
“I’m just doing—”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
I hate those words.
He repeats them in the same cold, emotionless tone as though he’s reading from a script.
I hate how much they bother me.
“—my job,” he finishes.
“If you have a problem with how I do it, speak to your father. He’s my boss. You aren’t.”
His gaze moves briefly toward Adrien.
“Now, if the playdate is over, I’ll take you back upstairs.”
Adrien begins to rise. “Seriously, it’s fine. I can—”
“Sit down,” I tell him.
He immediately lowers himself back into the chair.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Then I turn toward Luca.
“I have just experienced the worst night of my life.”
My voice lowers, but the anger remains.
“I don’t think asking for a little time and space with someone who doesn’t treat me like I’m about to shatter is unreasonable.”
His jaw tightens.
“If you’re going to protect me, then protect me. But don’t try to parent me. I’m an adult, Luca.”
I hold his gaze.
“Are we clear?”
I expect him to argue.
To remind me that he follows orders.
To treat me like the same little girl he rejected years ago.
But he doesn’t.
Surprisingly, he listens.
His jaw clenches and releases once.
Then he nods.
Without another word, he turns and walks away.
I watch every step.
He doesn’t leave the cafeteria. He only moves far enough to give us privacy while keeping me within sight.
“He listened,” I say.
The words sound like a revelation.
Adrien gasps dramatically. “Who knew you could tame the beast?”
My lips curve with reluctant amusement.
But somewhere deep inside me, in a locked and heavily guarded corner I refuse to acknowledge, there’s another Simone.
One who wishes Luca had argued.
One who enjoys getting on his nerves.
One who likes hearing him say her name in that angry, accented voice.
That Simone is deeply disturbed.
I don’t know her.
And she’d better remain buried.