Page 10 of Hunted Hearts
When the world went still, and she exhaled music.
This was a recorded performance for a nighttime talk show with a very small live audience, not an entire arena bursting with fans. Yet, she felt it just the same.
After years of performing, she knew this type of energy was unpredictable. It had nothing to do with the size of the crowd or the paycheck at the end of the day. It was just part of the art.
The producer’s voice crackled in her in-ear monitor. “Juliette, we’re rolling in thirty seconds. You’re perfect, just breathe.”
She nodded faintly, not daring to lift her hand in case she broke the energy threading through her muscles. A quiet hum passed behind her—crew members shifting, cameras adjusting, the rustle of the small studio audience waiting just beyond the velvet curtain.
She did breathe.
And then she felt it.
A pull.
Juliette’s gaze flicked to the wings, just off stage left. He was there. Her bodyguard. Standing like a shadow cut from stone. His thick arms were crossed, which caused the black shirt to pull tighter across a chest she hadn’t meant to notice.
He wasn’t even man-sized. He was the equivalent of a military tank.
His face was in shadow, but she knew his steady stare was fixed on her.
And just like that, the flutter spiked.
Not the good kind. Not the artistic kind.
Call me Theo. Ugh.
The man was impertinent and infuriating, impossible, insufferable, insistent, intrusive, intimidating…
And inexplicably intriguing.
“Ten seconds,” the producer informed her.
She rolled her neck and lifted the bow.
This was her moment. A domain she moved through like she owned it, because she had since the age of three when she walked up to her father and demanded a violin.
Even as she played the first note, she felt the weight of Theo’s gaze, stronger than any spotlight.
The notes flew out of her fingertips, vibrated through her bow and into her whole body. She threw herself into the music, letting it pull her under.
Before she knew it, her fingers zipped through a light, fluid run—a cascade so effortless it felt more like breathing than playing. The sound shimmered in the air, and for a moment, there was nothing else. No cameras. No whispers. No eyes watching from the wings. Just the music. Just her.
When the final high E note rang out, the bubble that Juliette knew so well hovered around her, enclosing her in a private joy of creation.
Applause broke out across the stage, and her mind cleared of vibratos and harmonics. She blinked once, then lowered her instrument. Cradling it close, she bowed.
Then she turned for the wings. Harper would be standing there waiting to receive her instrument and place it carefully in its case. As she approached the shadows, the weighty stare of the man in the wings tracked her every move.
Harper was all smiles as she accepted Juliette’s violin. “You killed it!”
“Juliette! Juliette!” The crowd’s chanting washed over her, shooting her even higher. As she crossed the stage to the seating area where Camden Kline was waiting to speak to her, she waved at the audience, still humming with energy.
Camden Kline clasped her hand and drew her in for an industry hug, brief but not without warmth. She slipped into theleather armchair next to the host’s desk, and a blanket of calm settled over her.
She sat tall in the seat, posture perfect, legs crossed and a soft smile playing on her lips. With the cameras rolling, the host leaned in with a flash of his white teeth. The audience broke into applause once more as he introduced her simply as, “Juliette!”
On a big screen on the wall behind them, video footage of her concerts played without any sound.
