Luelle takes a deep breath as she walks out of the restaurant. The warm breeze carried the faint scent of saltwater. She looks at the pedestrian walkway lined with benches and lampposts leading toward the shoreline. The lunch had been polished perfection, exactly as their charade demanded. Every smile, every glance, every exchanged word was calculated to feed the story they needed the Dominion—and the world—to believe.
Ethan tilted his head toward her, the sun catching the edges of his dark hair. "Care for a walk?" he asked, his voice light, his tone casual in a way that never matched the intensity in his gaze.
Luelle—poised as Elena King—offered him a faint smile, her head inclining slightly. "A walk?" she echoed lightly, her voice carrying a hint of amusement. "How very romantic of you, Ethan."
He chuckled, his smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I thought you'd appreciate the effort," he quipped. "Besides, it'll give the paparazzi something to talk about."
Her lips curved into a polished smile as she adjusted her blazer, linking her arm through his with deliberate ease. "In that case, lead the way," she said smoothly.
The pedestrian walkway was quiet, the sound of the water lapping gently against the shore creating a tranquil backdrop to their steps. Luelle fell easily into stride beside Ethan, her arm resting lightly on his as they strolled. To the casual observer, they looked exactly as they needed to—a couple enjoying the afternoon, basking in the warmth of their supposed love.
But Luelle's focus wasn't on the idyllic scenery or even Ethan's subtle banter. As they passed a small café along the walkway, her gaze landed on a man seated near the entrance. He was unremarkable at first glance—a jacket worn enough to appear casual, jeans faded with age, a cup of coffee cradled in his hand. But to Luelle, the details spoke volumes. His posture was too rigid, his focus too deliberate as his eyes flicked toward Ethan. She felt her pulse quicken, the weight of his presence settling heavy in her chest.
She knew him, she encountered him once on one of her missions, he is a Dominion operative, cold, efficient, someone trained to eliminate obstacles without leaving a trace. What he was doing here, so close to Ethan, she couldn't say. But whatever the reason, it wasn't benign.
Her grip on Ethan's arm tightened slightly, though her expression remained perfectly neutral. She forced herself to breathe, to think. She couldn't afford to make a mistake now.
Ethan turned toward her as they slowed, his gaze flicking briefly to her hand on his arm before meeting her eyes. "You're quiet," he said, his voice teasing but carrying an edge of curiosity. "That's not like you."
Luelle tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into a faint smile. "Just thinking," she replied smoothly, her tone steady. "You gave me a lot to consider during lunch."
"About what?" he asked, his dark eyes searching hers.
She shifted her gaze briefly, her focus snapping back to the man by the café. He hadn't moved, but she could see the tension in his posture—the readiness in the way he held himself. "The engagement," she said lightly, her tone calculated. "How we're supposed to sell it when half the Dominion already doubts us."
Ethan chuckled, his smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Come on, Elena. You know how to play the game better than anyone. They don't doubt you—they admire you. And as long as we keep up appearances, they'll believe it."
She forced a soft laugh, her gaze flicking briefly toward the paparazzi she knew were lingering nearby, cameras poised. "Appearances," she said lightly, looping her arm more securely through his. "Let's give them something to talk about. Walk slower—it'll give them time for their pictures."
Ethan raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Slower?" he echoed. "And here I thought you hated the attention."
"I don't hate the attention," Luelle replied with a faint smirk. "I hate being unprepared. There's a difference."
Ethan shook his head, his chuckle low and easy. "You really know how to play the game," he said.
Luelle's lips curved into a polished smile, though her gaze flicked briefly back to the café. The man was still there, his attention locked on Ethan, his body unmoving. Whatever his purpose, it wasn't friendly. She adjusted their pace again, subtly steering them further down the walkway and away from the café.
Ethan studied her for a moment longer, his suspicion flickering behind his easy demeanour. "Cryptic as ever," he said, his voice lower now. "You make me wonder what's really going on in that head of yours."
"You're always wondering about something," Luelle replied smoothly, her tone carrying a hint of teasing deflection. "It's not your job to figure me out."
"It's not?" Ethan asked, leaning slightly closer, his smirk sharpening. "Then what's my job?"
"Your job," Luelle said evenly, though her fingers tightened subtly on his arm, "is to look convincing. Let me handle the rest."
Ethan laughed softly, shaking his head. "You're something else entirely, Elena King."
Luelle tilted her head, allowing herself a moment to lean into him as she maneuverer them away from the threat she couldn't reveal. "Don't forget that," she said quietly, her voice edged with warning.
The walkway stretched ahead, the murmurs of the water blending with the soft hum of distant conversation. Ethan continued talking, his tone easy and relaxed, but Luelle's focus remained on the man by the café and the danger she knew was too close for comfort. Her mind raced, calculating her next move. She couldn't let Ethan see her tension, couldn't let him know the threat was even there. For now, she would play the role he expected—Elena King, calm, composed, untouchable.
But beneath the surface, Luelle's pulse thundered, and her resolve hardened. Whatever the man's intentions, she wouldn't let him get near Ethan. Not today.
Ethan, oblivious to her unease, was speaking about the gala again, his voice easy as he teased her about their upcoming appearances. "You know, if we keep this up, they'll start calling us the Dominion's golden couple," he said, chuckling lightly.
Luelle managed a faint smile, her hand tightening slightly on his arm as they strolled. "Let them call us whatever they want," she replied smoothly. "As long as the pictures are convincing."
Her gaze darted briefly to the café, but the man was gone. The seat he had occupied was now empty, the coffee cup abandoned. Her chest tightened, and she forced herself to breathe evenly. His disappearance didn't mean he had left—it meant he was planning something. She slowed her steps, hoping to buy herself time to scan the area for any sign of him.
"Slower?" Ethan quipped, raising an eyebrow. "What happened to your urgency?"
"Humour me," she said lightly, her voice half-playful, half-serious. "Give the paparazzi a chance to catch us looking happy. You know you love the attention."
Ethan chuckled, shaking his head. "You're starting to sound like you enjoy the show."
Before Ethan could respond, movement caught the edge of her vision—a blur of motion barrelling down the walkway. A cyclist, weaving recklessly through the pedestrians, heading straight for them. At first, Luelle thought it was nothing—a harmless distraction—but the glint of metal in his hand told her otherwise.
It happened fast. The cyclist swerved sharply as he passed them, his arm darting out toward her, the blade flashing in the sunlight. Luelle's breath caught, her grip on Ethan's arm tightening as she twisted her body away, her handbag caught in his grasp. But before she could react, Ethan moved.
Without hesitation, Ethan pulled her out of the way, his body shielding hers as the cyclist lunged. The blade grazed his forearm, blood blooming instantly against his sleeve, but his movements forced the attacker off balance. The cyclist stumbled, his bike skidding against the pavement as the knife clattered to the ground.
The commotion drew gasps and shouts from passersby, some retreating in panic while others froze in shock. Luelle's heart thundered in her chest as she turned to Ethan, her hands hovering hesitantly over his arm. Blood seeped through his fingers, staining his sleeve, though the wound didn't seem life-threatening.
"You're hurt," she said, her voice calm despite the storm raging inside her.
Ethan winced but managed a smirk, his dark eyes meeting hers. "Guess I'm more convincing as a hero than a fiancé."
The cyclist scrambled to his feet, his movements frantic as he darted into the crowd. Luelle's instincts screamed at her to chase him, but the chaos around them made it impossible. For now, it seemed as though he had gotten away.
Her focus snapped back to Ethan, who staggered slightly, his hand pressed firmly to his bleeding arm. "You need medical attention," she said quietly, her voice steadier than she felt.
Ethan shook his head, though his expression betrayed his pain. "I'll be fine. I've had worse."
She met his gaze, her own sharper now, the tension in her chest tightening. "Don't argue," she said, her tone carrying an edge. "You're going to the hospital. Now."
For a moment, Ethan seemed ready to protest, but then his smirk softened into something warmer. "Bossy much?" he muttered, though he allowed her to lead him away, the crowd parting as they moved.
Luelle's heart didn't settle as they walked. She couldn't stop thinking about the attack—the way the cyclist had targeted her, not Ethan. It wasn't random. Someone had sent him, and she needed to find out who. But for now, her priority was Ethan. The attacker might have escaped in the chaos, but Luelle knew better than to leave loose ends. Her people would find him. And when they did, she would make sure he answered for what he had done.