Sabotage in the Spotlight

9

Riley’s POV

The studio buzzed with quiet energy, a mix of faint chatter, the hum of studio lights, and the click of camera shutters. This was my favorite time of day—the calm before the chaos, when the shoots hadn’t quite kicked into high gear yet, and I could just *be*.

Greg’s deep voice echoed from across the room, calling out to one of the interns. “Hey, Cass, adjust that backdrop! The light’s catching wrong on the edge.” He turned toward me, raising an eyebrow as I leaned against one of the steel support beams, fiddling with the settings on my camera.

“Riley, you good?” he asked, his tone gruff but familiar.

“Always,” I replied with a grin, lifting the camera to my eye to frame a test shot. “Just tweaking for the morning lineup. Who’s first?”

“Some big-shot exec who thinks he’s the next GQ model,” Greg said, rolling his eyes. “Just get him to smile without looking like he’s passing a kidney stone, yeah?”

I chuckled, already picturing the awkward stiffness I’d have to coax out of him. Greg had been my boss for two years, and his sarcastic humor was one of the things that made the long days bearable. That, and the fact that he trusted me enough to let me take the lead on most shoots.

But today… something felt *off*.

It started as a prickling sensation at the back of my neck, like a static charge in the air. I lowered my camera, frowning slightly as I scanned the room. The interns were bustling around, adjusting lights and props. Greg was flipping through his schedule on his tablet, muttering to himself. Everything seemed normal.

So why did my instincts feel like they were on high alert?

“Riley,” Greg called again, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Seriously, man, you’re zoning out. You good?”

I forced a smile, shaking off the weird sensation. “Yeah, sorry. Just need coffee.”

“Don’t we all,” he grumbled, gesturing toward the break room. “Go. But don’t take too long. Mr. GQ’s arriving in twenty.”

I nodded and made my way to the small kitchenette in the back of the studio. As I poured myself a cup of black coffee, the feeling intensified. My senses sharpened, every sound and scent in the room amplifying. The faint smell of perfume from one of the interns. The metallic tang of the lighting equipment. And then, something else—something unfamiliar.

A faint, musky scent that didn’t belong.

My grip tightened on the coffee mug as my mind raced. It wasn’t human, but it wasn’t a full wolf scent either. It was faint, like it was being masked, but my instincts didn’t care. My muscles tensed, my heartbeat quickened, and my vision honed in as if searching for a threat.

I placed the mug down carefully, trying to keep my movements casual. As I stepped back into the studio, Greg was watching me, his sharp eyes narrowing.

“You’re acting weird,” he said bluntly, crossing his arms.

I hesitated, forcing a laugh. “Weird? I’m always weird, Greg.”

“Not like this.” He gestured vaguely toward me. “You’re… I don’t know. Tense. Like you’re about to bolt or something.”

I opened my mouth to brush it off, but before I could say anything, the studio door opened, and the smell hit me again—stronger this time.

I turned sharply, my gaze locking on the man who walked in. Tall, broad-shouldered, and impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, he looked every bit the corporate exec Greg had described. But his scent told a different story.

*Rogue.*

The word flashed in my mind like a warning bell. My jaw clenched as I fought to keep my expression neutral. Rogues didn’t usually wander into downtown studios for photo ops. What the hell was he doing here?

Greg clapped his hands together, oblivious to the tension rolling off me. “You must be Mr. Carson. Welcome! Riley here will be your photographer today.”

I swallowed hard, forcing a polite smile as I stepped forward. “Nice to meet you.”

Carson’s gaze flicked to me, and for a split second, something passed between us. Recognition? Challenge? It was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a practiced smile.

“Likewise,” he said smoothly, his voice dripping with corporate charm.

As Greg walked him over to the set, I stayed rooted in place, my hands curling into fists at my sides. My instincts were screaming at me, my wolf pacing just beneath the surface. Carson wasn’t just any rogue—he was deliberate, calculated. He knew what he was doing here, and it wasn’t just about a photoshoot.

“Riley!” Greg’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. “What are you waiting for? Let’s get this rolling!”

I nodded stiffly, grabbing my camera and stepping onto the set. As I adjusted the lighting, Carson watched me, his gaze sharp and unyielding.

“You’ve got a good eye,” he said casually, but there was an edge to his tone. “How long have you been doing this?”

“Long enough,” I replied shortly, not bothering to look at him.

Greg raised an eyebrow at me, clearly noticing my tone, but thankfully, he didn’t say anything.

The session started, and I forced myself to focus on the work. Frame the shot. Adjust the angle. Direct the client. But the whole time, I could feel Carson’s eyes on me, his presence a heavy weight in the room.

When the shoot finally wrapped, Greg clapped Carson on the shoulder, thanking him for his time. Carson turned to me, holding out his hand.

“Thanks for the great session,” he said, his smile sharp.

I hesitated for half a second before shaking his hand. His grip was firm, and I couldn’t miss the subtle pressure he applied—just enough to remind me he wasn’t as harmless as he seemed.

As soon as he was out the door, Greg rounded on me.

“Alright, spill,” he said, crossing his arms. “What the hell was that?”

I blinked, feigning confusion. “What was what?”

“Don’t play dumb, Riley. You were on edge the entire time, and you looked like you were ready to pounce on the guy. What’s going on?”

I hesitated, searching for an explanation that wouldn’t sound completely insane. “I… didn’t like his vibe. He was—”

“Riley.” Greg’s voice was sharp, cutting me off. “I know you. You don’t get like this over a bad vibe. What aren’t you telling me?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it again, cursing under my breath. Greg had a way of seeing right through me, and I hated it.

“It’s nothing,” I said finally, avoiding his gaze. “Just a weird feeling. I’ll shake it off.”

Greg studied me for a long moment, then sighed. “Fine. But if you keep acting like this, it’s going to start affecting your work. Whatever’s going on, sort it out.”

I nodded mutely, watching as he walked away. My heart was still racing, my wolf still restless.

Carson hadn’t just stumbled into the studio by chance. He was here for a reason, and I needed to figure out what it was before it was too late.