Take A Deep Breath, Bri
Brielle
The air in this room is thin. Hot. Dark. And the smell—like rust that’s been soaking into metal for decades.
I press my back against the cold wall, breathing like I just sprinted a marathon. This 1x2 meter space feels like a holding cell—walls too close, ceiling too low, and a metal door that swallows every sound.
It’s like the childhood nightmare I never fully escaped.
My palms slide along the wall, desperate for anything solid to anchor me. I bite down a sob as panic crawls up from my throat to the tips of my fingers.
“I don’t wanna die in here… please… is anyone out there?” My voice shakes on its own.
I pound on the door—once, twice, three times—until my skull throbs.
“This isn’t what I wanted…”
“Cut!”
The door swings open and studio light floods the cramped room. I suck in a lungful of air so fast it hurts, like my chest is finally released from a cage.
“Brielle, that was…” The director rushes toward me, eyes wide with awe. “That was a masterpiece. Natural. Raw. Perfect. If there was an award for this month’s most emotional scene, you’d win it hands down.”
I give him a small smile, even though my heart’s still rattling. “Thank you, Sir.”
“But take a break. Fifteen minutes. You look genuinely shaken.”
Yeah. Because I’ve been here before.
I step out of the tiny set, letting real-world sounds settle me—footsteps, metal rigs being moved, the hum of industrial fans. Noise has never felt so comforting.
I reach my makeup chair just as my phone buzzes. Noah’s name lights up the screen.
Noah Calling…
I swallow. How many weeks have I felt… weird? Our relationship looks perfect in front of everyone. He’s sweet, always says he misses me, always wants to pick me up and drop me off. But lately… it’s too much.
I answer. “Hello?”
“Elle, sweetheart.” His voice is soft, warm—too warm. “I checked your schedule. You wrap at ten tonight, right?”
“Yeah…”
“I’ll pick you up, okay? I’ll be outside around nine-fifty.”
“Oh… you don’t have to. I can go home with my manager or the production driver.”
“Sweetheart.” His tone shifts—firmer, heavier. “You know I don’t like you going home alone. You should tell me when you’re heading out.”
My brows pull together. “Noah—I just don’t wanna trouble you.”
“You’re not trouble.” He laughs, but there’s something off in it. “I just… need to know you’re safe.”
A chill works its way down my spine.
Once, this kind of attention felt sweet.
Now, it feels like a leash tightening.
“Okay… whatever you want,” I say eventually.
“That’s my girl.” He sounds satisfied. “See you later, sweetheart.”
The call ends.
I close my eyes. I love Noah—I keep trying to tell myself that. But I also know that love is starting to crack.
“Brielle,” my assistant manager, Mira, calls. “I need five minutes.”
I nod. “What’s up?”
“Your new bodyguard arrives today. Starts the night shift.”
I blink. “That was fast.”
Mira sighs, worry tightening her face. “You know Brody resigned because of trauma, right? Poor guy. I checked with the hospital—he fractured a rib and needs full rest.”
I nod again. Last week’s incident isn’t something you forget. That fifty-kilo lighting rig fell straight toward me. If Brody hadn’t shoved me out of the way… I’d be the one in the hospital.
“That wasn’t a normal accident,” Mira whispers. “One of our tech guys said the bolts were tampered with.”
My stomach drops.
“I know,” I murmur. “I’ve been feeling that too.”
“Your new bodyguard is waiting in the lobby. Identity’s confidential. Sent directly from an A-level security firm.”
“…Why confidential?”
“They said it’s for your safety.”
I study Mira’s face. There’s fear hiding in her eyes.
The obsessive fan is getting worse.
And the threats are getting real.
Trying not to think about any of it, I head back to set. The makeup artist rushes over to give me fake bruises and dried blood for my final scene.
The last shot of the day is me lying on a hospital bed—bruised, hooked to fake IV lines, camera angled from the right.
“ACTION!”
I stare at the ceiling, breathing slow. In the script, my character just survived a car crash.
I get through it easily. Honestly, I just want to go home.
“CUT!”
“That’s a wrap!” the director calls.
Lights go off one by one. The crew starts packing. I head to my table where fan gifts usually pile up.
There’s a large white box sitting there, neatly wrapped.
I smile a little. “My fans are really sweet, huh—”
The smile dies when I see the note taped on top.
Brielle, I know you’re alone tonight.
My throat tightens. My hands shake as I lift the lid.
Inside—
“Oh god…”
A white dove. Dead. Its neck twisted almost completely. Feathers matted with dried blood.
“No… no…” My breathing shatters. The world spins tight around me. My ears ring. “Oh my god…”
My knees give out. I collapse onto the studio floor without a sound. Pain clamps around my chest; air gets stuck in my throat. Panic slams into me full force.
“Miss Summers?”
A deep, steady voice. Familiar somehow.
But I’m too busy fighting for air.
“Miss Summers, look at me.” A warm hand grips my shoulder. “Hey. Breathe with me.”
I hear Mira’s footsteps, the crew murmuring in panic—but his voice cuts through everything.
“Inhale… slow… and exhale.” Softer now. “You’re safe. I’m right here.”
My fingers clutch his arm without thinking. The world stays blurry, but his voice pulls it into focus, inch by inch.
After a few long minutes, my breath steadies.
“I…” My voice is scratchy. “Thank you.”
I finally look up at him.
Black cap. Black mask. Gray-blue eyes I swear I’ve seen before. A presence I recognize—warm, grounding, safe in a way that hits too close to home.
He stands in front of me as the new bodyguard assigned to my detail. Yet something in the way he looks at me echoes a memory I can’t fully place. His gaze holds a subtle pull, a recognition that stirs beneath the surface, as if our paths have crossed somewhere I can’t name.
The moment stretches, steady and unnervingly intimate. His hand hovers close, not touching, but the closeness feels like something I’ve known before—an old warmth, a forgotten safety.He stands but stays slightly bent so we’re eye-level.
“Take your time. I’ve got you.”
I nod, though my knees are still jelly. When I try to stand, I wobble.
He catches me instantly—strong arms, steady hold, gentle touch.
It feels like… home.
“I’m okay,” I whisper.
He nods back, eyes unreadable behind the mask. Then he says the words that freeze my entire bloodstream.
“Alright. Let’s get you home, Bri.”
I go still.
Only two people have ever called me Bri in that voice: My father.
And—Seth.
The name hits like lightning.
Seth, my first love—the man who vanished five years ago in a plane crash. The man whose body was never found.
I blink hard, breath trapped in my chest. The new bodyguard watches me quietly.
“What’s wrong?” he asks softly.
I don’t answer. Because for one impossible, terrifying second…
…that mask can’t hide him.
And I swear I’m staring at Seth.
Five years of grief and panic slam into me like a tidal wave. My heartbeat pounds in my ears.
Is he Seth?
Or a dangerous illusion?
I don’t know if I’m ready to find out.
