Page 7 of Untamed

Reply from @dreammafiaqueen

Chapter 2

EMBER

The high fromtoday’s photoshoot still hums through me. My arms ache from holding my equipment, my knees from crouching for the perfect angles. I can’t remember the last time I ate, and the California sun left my skin warm and tight. I’m probably going to be sore tomorrow, but it’s worth it.

There’s nothing like nailing the perfect shot to remind me why I do this—why I’ve fought so hard to build something that’s mine. It’s the only time I’m untouchable.

And tonight? I’ve got a delicious book waiting for me. I need it after today.

“Hey, Ember!” I look up to see Victoria, one of the other photographers, hurrying across the parking lot with my phone in her hand. “You forgot this!”

“Oh god, thanks!” I take it from her with a grateful smile, though my stomach knots. The phone buzzes in my palm like a live wire.

No one in my real life knows about my side gig.

She hesitates. “Uh… you might want to check it. Your phone’s been buzzing nonstop. You’ve got fans or something?”

Crap. I keep my work and my personal life separate for a reason, and the thought of someone stumbling across the latter? It’s enough to make me sweat.

I laugh it off. “Oh, probably just a group chat exploding. You know how it is.”

“I do. Later!” She grins, waves, and jogs off to her car. Innocent as hell.

I sigh, tucking my phone into my back pocket as I head to my car. I toss my camera bag onto the passenger seat and glance at my hands. The scabs on my knuckles from last week’s shoot have just started to heal. It had been a gritty urban portrait session with a graffiti artist, and I’d spent half the day gripping the sharp edges of scaffolding for the perfect rooftop shot.

It’s worth it though. Every bruise, every ache, every risk. Being a freelance photographer is unpredictable, feast-or-famine, but I love it. I love telling stories with my camera, crafting something permanent out of fleeting moments.

This is what I control, what I can really and truly lean into.

The influencer work? That’s another story. For some reason, that’s takenoff,so I’m fully planning on making hay while the sun shines because who knows how long this will last.

I’ve somehow landed myself a super fan, and I can’t get him out of my mind, no matter how hard I try.

I toss my duffel on the passenger seat of my car and peel off my gloves, trying not to wince at the new scrape across my knuckles. How’d I even get that one?

I glance at my phone.

I give myself the brief luxury of scrolling through notifications and reading comments. It’s fun, an escape from reality into the safe bubble of my book world where book boyfriends can do no wrong. Or, no wrong we can’t forgive easily, knowing there’s a happy ending coming.

Sigh.

When I get home, the apartment is quiet, just the way I like it after a day full of coordinated chaos. I kick off my boots, head to the kitchen, and pop open a cold one, already thinking about the video I’ll post tonight.

I kinda wish I had a sweet little fluffy pup to greet me at the door, but my hours are too unpredictable, and if I’m honest—I’mtoo unpredictable and not ready for the responsibility of another living being to care for. Doesn’t mean I don’t have a whole folder of puppy videos saved to smile at when I’m stressed. It’s just not time.

I’ve survived too much—no.I won’t let my mind go there. I read romance for a reason, to remember there’s softness in the world. After hours, I step into that role, not to forget, but to reclaim what was taken.

To dream a little.

Sliding onto the couch, I pull my laptop closer and start scrolling for inspiration.

Victoria wasn’t kidding. The notifications are on fire, and it isn’t just the comments and likes on my posts. I have to disable those so I can save my battery during a shoot, but I still get private messages.

Tonight, my timeline is full of familiar faces—friends. Other girls like me who’ve mastered the art of blending their real lives with their fictional fantasies. We collectively drool over all of them—mafia men, billionaire bodyguards, forbidden romances, sexy vampires. And then something catches my eye.

I’ve got twenty private messages, and they’re all my friends sending me the video.The guy from last night.

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