The shadow in his spotlight
Jamie's POV
I didn’t want the night to end.
Lying there with Aiden, his head on my chest, my heartbeat under his ear, the soft hum of the city outside our window—I’d let myself imagine that this was real. That I was his in the light as much as I was in the dark. That if only the world could see that the man they know and adored, whispered my name when no one else was listening. I could’ve stayed in that moment forever. The world was silent in that room. No cameras. No fake smiles. Just us.
But I knew better. Fantasy is a cruel thing.
Morning always came, and with it, reality.
I was no longer the man he kissed breathless against the wall. I was his assistant again, sharp-suited and professional, juggling bags, coffee orders, and schedules.
By the time the sun pushed through the curtains, Aiden had already slipped out of bed to answer a call. His voice softened when he thought I was asleep. I kept my eyes closed and listened.
Victoria.
It was always Victoria. His manager. His mother. The keeper of his perfect, untouchable image.
She was already prepping the next event, rattling off times and places like the world might stop spinning if he didn’t follow the script. She didn’t ask how he was feeling. She never did.
Aiden, the pre-event dinner is confirmed for seven. The car arrives at six-thirty. Don’t be late, and remember to wear the charcoal suit; the stylist will meet you there. The press loves that color on you.”
Yes, Victoria,” Aiden said with his usual practiced charm. “Anything else?”
“Photoshoot at noon. I’ll send the brief. Don’t bring… distractions.” Her pause was pointed.
I felt the jab, although my eyes were still closed. She didn’t have to say my name; the disdain in her tone did it for her. I might as well have been furniture to her.
She has never acknowledged me. Not once. To her, I was nothing but just a pair of hands holding things and a mouth that is meant to stay shut. Maybe that was all I was supposed to be in this world. A shadow.
When I emerged from the shower, dressed in my usual slim‑fit black suit—polished but invisible—Aiden was pulling on another designer jacket. His movie‑star smile returned the moment he caught sight of me in the mirror.
“Morning,” he said softly, but there was guilt in his eyes.
I adjusted his collar, smoothing the fabric, the gesture was intimate even though it looked professional. “Morning,” I murmured. “Did you sleep well?”
Aiden hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah ofcourse I did. One of the best night I’ve had in weeks.”
I smirked faintly. “You’re welcome.”
By mid‑morning, we were back in his world—the bright, noisy, soul‑eating machine of stardom.
I walked a few steps behind him, his phone in one hand, his iPad in the other, while assistants, photographers, and makeup artists swirled around us. I was a shadow again, moving when I was supposed to, disappearing when I wasn’t needed.
Later that afternoon, Aiden had a photo shoot. Cameras clicked in the bright studio light as stylists hovered over Aiden, brushing invisible dirt from his jacket and adjusting his collar. He moved through it all like a man born to be worshipped, elegant, magnetic, and untouchable.
I leaned against the wall just off‑camera, watching him pose with that effortless charm the world couldn’t get enough of.
That’s when I saw it.
The co‑star from his latest film, a tall brunette with a model’s grin, walked right up to him during a break and placed a manicured hand on his arm. She laughed at something he said, leaning in just a little too close and whispering something that made him grin in that lazy, devastatingly hot kind of way.
Jealousy burned hot and sharp in my chest before I could stop it. I knew it was irrational—public flirting meant nothing in this business. Half of Hollywood was built on fake chemistry.
But it didn’t matter.
I could own him in private a thousand times, and still, something about watching someone else touch him, even casually, got on my nerves.
He glanced at me once across the room. He saw it. The flicker in my eyes.
Later, we were in the car, heading to lunch at Aiden’s favorite restaurant. He reached for my hand the moment the tinted door closed, and I let him take it for a second before pulling away just slightly. My voice was calm, almost teasing, but laced with the truth I wanted him to feel.
“She’s… friendly,” I muttered, staring out the tinted window.
Aiden glanced at me, his brows arched in amusement. “Friendly?”
“You know what I mean,” I said, trying to keep my tone neutral. “All the touching, the laughing… She was practically all over you, touching you like she owns you” I said, my gaze still on the passing city outside.
Aiden’s chuckled, his mouth curved into a small, guilty smile. “Jamie, you know that meant nothing. She flirts with everyone. It’s part of the job. I was just—
“Smiling for the world,” I finished for him. I finally looked at him, letting my tone drop lower, gently asserting my dominance through my words. “Just remember who you belong to when the lights go out.”
His breath caught. The air in the car shifted, thick with tension he couldn’t hide from me. His fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach for me again, but he didn’t.
“Always you,” he murmured.
“Good,” I said, leaning back, satisfied. He needed these reminders. He needed me to tether him when the performance of his life was swallowing him whole.
Lunch was at his favorite restaurant—a discreet little spot with a dark wood interior and just enough privacy for someone like him. The staff knew him well; they didn’t need a menu to know what he wanted.
“Steak and mashed potatoes,” I said to the server before he could. “Perfectly Medium rare.”
Aiden smirked at me across the table. “You really do know me too well.”
Lunch felt almost normal. We talked about the pre‑event dinner Victoria had been fussing over, the scripts waiting for him in his inbox, the endless cycle of press and appearances. He complained lightly about the tux he’d have to wear again. I teased him about how much he loved the attention, even if he wouldn’t admit it.
In those rare moments, with no cameras pointed at him, Aiden was just a man. Soft, funny, human. Mine.
I was mid‑bite when my phone buzzed.
I glanced down, expecting another calendar update or message from the driver.
Instead, my stomach dropped.
“Who Was in Aiden Vale’s Hotel Room Last Night? Exclusive Gossip Alert.”
The push notification from one of the biggest entertainment blogs glared up at me, accompanied by a blurry, grainy photo of a silhouette in a hotel suite window. Two figures close together. Unmistakably intimate.
For a second, all I could hear was the low hum of the restaurant and the pounding of my own heartbeat.
Across from me, Aiden noticed the change in my expression. His brows drew together. “What is it?”
I didn’t answer immediately. Instead, I slid the phone across the table, screen up.
For a moment, time stopped.
He stared at the image, his jaw tightening, eyes flicking to mine in silent recognition. Tension filled the air like a storm about to break.
Neither of us spoke, but the truth screamed in the space between us.
We’d been careful. We’d been cautious. And yet, someone had caught a glimpse of the life we weren’t allowed to have.
Aiden and I lock eyes over the phone as the gossip headline glares up at us:
“WHO WAS IN AIDEN VALE’S HOTEL ROOM LAST NIGHT?”