A caged star

Mordred sat in the dimly lit VIP lounge, the heavy bass of the afterparty music vibrating through the walls. His whiskey glass sat untouched on the table before him. Across from him, Mr. Oliver scrolled through his phone, barely sparing him a glance.

"You've done well tonight," his manager finally said, locking his screen. "The performance, the interviews—it was all clean. The media is eating it up."

Mordred leaned back against the leather couch, his gaze blank. "Glad to hear it."

Oliver's eyes narrowed. "Don't sound so enthusiastic."

Mordred exhaled through his nose, running a hand through his dark hair. "I showed up, I smiled, I played the part. Isn't that enough?"

Oliver studied him for a moment before shaking his head. "There's more work to do. The press wants a piece of you, and that includes maintaining your public image. That means sticking close to Jade. She's good for your brand."

Mordred let out a humorless chuckle. "You mean she's good for your plans."

Oliver's lips pressed into a thin line. "I don't have time for your attitude tonight."

Mordred didn't care. He already knew what was coming.

"You're going to dance with her," Oliver continued. "Smile for the cameras. Let them see what they want to see. It'll keep the gossip controlled."

Mordred clenched his jaw. His life had never been his own, but some nights, the cage felt smaller than usual.

Before he could respond, the lounge door opened.

Jade.

She stepped inside, her green eyes instantly finding him. "There you are," she said smoothly, a practiced smile curving her lips. "I've been looking for you."

Mordred didn't move. "You found me."

Jade raised a brow but didn't comment. Instead, she turned to Oliver. "What's the plan?"

Oliver leaned back in his seat. "You and Mordred on the dance floor. Make sure the photographers get what they need."

Jade smirked, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder. "Of course."

Mordred said nothing as she extended a hand toward him, waiting. He wanted to refuse, to walk out, to disappear. But he knew better.

With a slow breath, he stood and took her hand.

---

The dance floor was crowded, filled with glittering figures and flashing cameras. Mordred moved automatically, leading Jade with practiced ease. The press would write about their "undeniable chemistry" tomorrow. They always did.

But as he twirled her, his eyes drifted across the room.

And there she was.

Navaeh.

She stood near the edge of the crowd, half-hidden behind a group of journalists. She wasn't watching him, at least not directly, but he could tell she was aware of him.

Jade followed his gaze and stiffened slightly. "She's still here?"

Mordred smirked lazily. "Why? Feeling threatened?"

Jade scoffed, tightening her grip on his shoulder. "Hardly. But Oliver won't like this."

Mordred didn't care what Oliver liked.

The song ended, and as soon as the last note played, Mordred stepped away. "We're done here."

Before Jade could protest, he turned and walked off, heading toward the balcony.

---

The cool night air hit him as he leaned against the railing, inhaling deeply. Out here, away from the cameras and the noise, he could breathe.

"You always leave your own parties?"

He turned his head. Navaeh stood a few feet away, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

Mordred smirked. "Only when they bore me."

She walked closer. "I didn't take you for someone who gets bored easily."

He tilted his head. "And what did you take me for?"

Navaeh didn't answer immediately. Instead, she studied him, as if trying to see past the carefully constructed image he wore.

Finally, she said, "Someone who's tired of pretending."

Mordred's smirk faded.

Silence stretched between them, filled only by the distant sounds of the city.

"You could leave," Navaeh said after a moment. "No one's forcing you to stay in this life."

Mordred chuckled, though there was no humor in it. "You think it's that easy?"

"No," she admitted. "But I think if you really wanted to, you'd find a way."

Her words settled in his chest, heavier than he expected.

Before he could respond, the door behind them opened.

Mr. Oliver.

"There you are," his manager said, stepping outside. "The press is looking for you. And Jade is waiting."

Mordred didn't move. His gaze flickered to Navaeh, who remained still, watching.

Oliver followed his eyes, his expression tightening. "The interview is over, Navaeh. You got what you needed."

She nodded, stepping back. "Of course. Thanks for your time, Mordred."

For some reason, Mordred felt a sharp pang of irritation as she turned to leave.

"Navaeh."

She paused, glancing back.

He held her gaze. "I'll see you around."

A small smile touched her lips. "We'll see."

And then she was gone.

Mordred exhaled, turning back to the city skyline.

Oliver sighed beside him. "Be careful with her, Mordred. She's not like the others."

Mordred smirked, but his mind was elsewhere. "That's what makes it interesting."

Oliver's voice dropped, firm. "Just remember—your life is not your own. You don't get to make reckless choices."

Mordred's jaw tightened.

Without another word, he turned and walked back inside.

Back to the performance.

Back to the life that wasn't his.

--