Chapter Five

Angel

When I woke up the next morning, the first thing I noticed was the warm weight of Bowie's arm draped across me. It was a surreal feeling, one that I hadn't experienced in a long time. The memories of the night before flooded back—our late-night conversation, the easy way we'd talked, and how comfortable I'd felt around him. I hadn't intended to fall asleep on the couch, and certainly not with a man I'd just met. But there was something about Bowie that disarmed me, made me let my guard down in a way I hadn't in years.

I carefully slipped out from under his arm, trying not to wake him. My penthouse suite was bathed in the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, and for a moment, I just stood there, looking at him, watching the soft rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. His dark hair was tousled, and his expression was peaceful, so different from the sharp, observant look he'd had the night before. I caught myself smiling at the sight.

But reality quickly set in. I had places to be, commitments to uphold, and an identity to protect. I couldn't afford to get too comfortable, to let someone get too close. I knew better than anyone how quickly things could change, how easily people could hurt you if you let them in.

I walked over to the window, pushing aside the heavy drapes to take in the view of the city below. Los Angeles was already awake, the streets buzzing with life, everyone chasing something—fame, success, love. I had chased those things too, once upon a time. Now, I was just trying to maintain what I had, to keep everything from falling apart.

A rustling sound behind me made me turn around. Bowie was stirring, blinking as he slowly woke up. When his eyes met mine, he smiled, a slow, lazy grin that made my heart skip a beat.

"Good morning," he said, his voice rough from sleep.

"Morning," I replied, trying to sound casual. "I didn't mean to keep you here all night."

He sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm the one who should apologize. I didn't mean to fall asleep. Guess I was more tired than I thought."

"It's okay," I said quickly. "I enjoyed our chat."

"Me too." He stretched, his shirt riding up slightly to reveal a sliver of toned stomach. I looked away, trying not to get distracted. This wasn't like me, to be so caught up in someone I'd just met. But Bowie was different. He was real, and that was something I rarely encountered in my world.

"So, uh, I really need to go," I said, breaking the silence that had settled between us. "I've got some things to take care of."

"Of course," he said, standing up. He hesitated for a moment, then added, "Would it be okay if we exchanged numbers?"

I paused, my mind racing. Part of me wanted to say yes, to give in to the strange connection I felt with him. But another part of me—the part that had learned to be cautious, to protect myself—was hesitant.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," I said, trying to sound nonchalant.

Bowie looked disappointed but didn't push. "I understand," he said quietly. "I just—last night was really nice, and I'd like to see you again. But I get it if you don't feel the same."

I bit my lip, feeling conflicted. The truth was, I did want to see him again. But what would he do if he found out who I really was? That I was the very pop star he had criticized, the one he thought was shallow and fake? I wasn't ready for that conversation, for the inevitable fallout that would come with it.

But at the same time, Bowie had been nothing but kind to me. He hadn't once mentioned my scar or made me feel self-conscious about it. He had treated me like a normal person, something I hadn't experienced in years. And I couldn't deny the fact that I had enjoyed his company, that he had made me feel something I hadn't felt in a long time.

"I enjoyed last night too," I admitted softly. "You never once asked about my scar or made me feel weird about it. That's…rare for me."

He looked surprised. "Why would I? It's just a part of who you are. It doesn't change anything."

His words hit me harder than I expected. For so long, I had seen my scar as a flaw, a reminder of the past I wanted to forget. But Bowie didn't see it that way. He saw me for who I was, not just the exterior that the world defined and judged me by.

"Thank you," I said, my voice barely more than a whisper. "But I really do have to go."

He nodded, though he still looked a bit disappointed. "I get it," he said. "But if you ever change your mind, I'd love to see you again."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I just nodded. "I need to get ready. Do you want me to call you a car?"

He shook his head. "No, I'll just walk out with you whenever you're ready. I'm technically off to day so barring any emergencies with my staff, I don't need to be anywhere in particular. I may hit the gym later. Feel free to take as much time as you need."

"Okay." I said, forcing a smile, wishing I could simply give him my number and make plans to see him again like any other girl. But I'd made the choice to live a different sort of life, one that offered no time or space for relationships. "Let me just freshen up, then."

A short time later, we made our way to the elevator. The silence between us now felt different, charged with something unspoken. I caught Bowie glancing at me out of the corner of my eye, like he was trying to figure out what was going on in my head. But I didn't give anything away. I had spent years perfecting my poker face, and I wasn't about to let it slip now.

The moment we stepped into the mirrored compartment, an overwhelming sense of closeness with the man by my side washed over me. The doors closed with a soft whoosh, leaving Bowie and me standing in the small, confined space. He was so close to me I could feel the heat emanating from his body, almost pulling me toward him with a force all its own. My heart pounded in my chest, and the way his arm brushed mine made my skin tingle with an awareness I couldn't ignore.

I glanced up at him, catching his gaze. There was something in his eyes—something curious and intense—that made my breath hitch. It was as if he was searching for something in me, trying to decipher the thoughts swirling behind my calm facade. For a moment, I hesitated, unsure of what to do or say.

But then a wave of boldness swept over me, a sudden urge to break the tension that had built up between us since last night. Maybe it was the way he had made me feel safe, or maybe it was the desire to experience something real, something unscripted. I didn't know what would happen after we left the elevator, but right now, I wanted to take a chance.

"Fuck it," I whispered, almost to myself.

Before I could second-guess my decision, I reached up, cupped the back of Bowie's neck, and pulled him down to me. The moment our lips met, everything else faded away. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if we were both testing the waters. But it quickly deepened, becoming more urgent, more intense. I could feel his surprise, but he responded almost instantly, his hands gripping my waist as he pulled me closer.

I lost myself in the sensation, in the warmth of his lips and the way he held me as if I was something precious. It had been so long since I'd allowed myself to feel like this—vulnerable, open, unguarded. There was no pretense here, no masks to hide behind. Just two people sharing a moment that felt more real than anything I'd experienced in years.

But as quickly as it started, I pulled away, my breath coming in shallow gasps. My lips still tingled from the kiss, and I could see the surprise in Bowie's eyes, the way his pupils were dilated with the same rush of adrenaline that was coursing through me.

"Sorry," I murmured, averting my gaze as I stepped back slightly. "I…I just wanted to know what it would be like. In case we never meet again."

Bowie stared at me for a moment, his expression unreadable. I worried that I had crossed a line, that I had ruined whatever fragile connection we'd built over the past twelve hours. But then he smiled—a slow, genuine smile that made my heart skip a beat.

"I'm not sorry," he said, his voice low and sincere. "And I hope we do meet again."

His words sent a thrill through me, and I found myself smiling back despite my lingering apprehension. "My job is unpredictable," I admitted, my voice soft. "But yes, I hope so too."

The elevator dinged, signaling our arrival at the lobby, and I felt a pang of regret knowing that this moment was about to end. But before we could step out, Bowie gently touched my arm, stopping me.

"Hey," he said, his voice serious. "Can I have your phone for a second?"

I hesitated, but the look in his eyes was sincere, devoid of any ulterior motives. Slowly, I handed him my phone, watching as he quickly typed something into it. When he handed it back, I saw his number displayed on the screen.

"My number," he said simply. "In case you change your mind."

I looked down at the digits, my heart fluttering at the thought of staying connected with him. For a moment, I considered deleting it, erasing any possibility of future contact. But something held me back—a small, stubborn part of me that wanted to hold on to the chance of seeing him again, however slim.

"Thanks," I said quietly, slipping the phone back into my pocket. The gesture felt strangely intimate, like a promise of something more, something that I wasn't quite ready to give up on.

We stepped out of the elevator, the bright lights of the lobby a stark contrast to the dim, private cocoon we had just shared. But before I could dwell on the end of this unexpected encounter, something caught my eye—a figure standing across the lobby, watching me with a cruel, knowing smile.

My heart stopped cold. I froze in place, my entire body going rigid as I recognized him. The man I had hoped to never see again. The man who had haunted my nightmares for years.

Trace.

A wave of panic washed over me, and I instinctively took a step back, bumping into Bowie. He immediately noticed my change in demeanor and turned to look at me, concern etched on his face.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice low and urgent.

I couldn't speak, couldn't even breathe. Goosebumps broke out over my skin, and I felt the color drain from my face. All I could do was stare at Trace, my mind racing with a thousand different thoughts. How had he found me? What did he want? And more importantly, how was I going to get out of this?

But before I could even begin to process what was happening, Trace started walking towards us, his smile widening with a twisted sense of satisfaction.

I made a small, involuntary noise—a whimper that was barely audible but enough to catch Bowie's attention. He was at my side in an instant, his posture tense as he followed my gaze across the lobby.

"Who is that?" he asked, his voice a mix of concern and protectiveness.

"The devil," I whispered, my voice trembling as Trace closed the distance between us.

Bowie's eyes narrowed as he took in the tall, blonde man approaching us. I could sense the shift in him, the way his muscles tensed, ready to defend me if necessary. But Trace wasn't the kind of man who would make a scene in a public place. No, he was far more charming, and far more dangerous.

As Trace stopped in front of us, looking as handsome as ever with a tanned face and dazzlingly white teeth, his gaze flicked between Bowie and me, his smile never wavering. "Angie," he said smoothly, his voice dripping with false charm. "Darling. It's been too long."

I clenched my fists, trying to steady my racing heart. "What do you want, Trace?"

He raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Is that any way to greet an old friend?"

"We were never friends," I snapped, my fear momentarily overridden by a surge of anger.

Trace chuckled, the sound sending chills down my spine. "Oh, dear. Always so dramatic." His gaze shifted to Bowie, sizing him up with a look of disdain. "And who's this? Your new bodyguard?"

Bowie's jaw clenched, but he didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he took a step closer to me, his presence a silent but powerful statement of support.

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. "Leave, Trace…Now."

He smirked, his blue eyes glinting with cruel amusement. "I'm afraid I can't do that, darling. We have unfinished business, you and I."

Panic clawed at my chest, but I forced myself to stand tall, to not let him see how much he was affecting me. "Whatever you think we have, it's over. You're not part of my life anymore."

Trace's smile faded, replaced by a cold, menacing glare. "We'll see about that. You know as well as I do that we'll always be connected."

Before I could respond, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving me standing there, shaking with a mix of fear and anger. I watched him go, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst out of my chest.

Bowie was immediately at my side, his hand gently resting on my back. "Are you okay? Who was that?"

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath as I tried to calm the storm of emotions raging inside me. "Someone I thought I'd never have to see again," I whispered, my voice shaky.

Bowie frowned, his concern deepening. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I shook my head, the thought of revisiting that dark chapter of my life too overwhelming to even consider. "No," I said, my voice barely audible. "I just need to get out of here."

He nodded, his expression softening as he gently guided me toward the exit. "Let's get you somewhere safe."

As we stepped out of the lobby into the bright morning sunlight, I couldn't help but feel a sense of dread settling over me. Trace was back, and I had no idea what he wanted. But whatever it was, I knew it wouldn't be good.

And now, Bowie was involved too.