Blurred lines|| [B.E]

STONE COLD

"You don't know me yet. But you will."

Billie wasn't expecting a stranger in her suite.
Not one that tall. Not one that smug.
Not one who looked like she stepped out of a slow-motion music video—dark clothes, darker vibe, green eyes sharp enough to cut glass.

Billie stopped halfway through the doorway, letting the hotel door swing shut behind her with a soft click. She was still in her oversized hoodie and sweats, hair in a messy claw clip, hoodie sleeves half-covering her chipped black nails.

"Can I help you?" she asked, voice flat.

The woman didn't flinch. She was lounging against the window, arms crossed, expression unreadable but very aware. Like a panther pretending to be bored.

"Holden Lancaster," she said. Calm. Cool. Like her name was supposed to mean something.
Maybe it did. It sounded like a secret Billie was gonna regret not knowing.

"And?"

"Your new bodyguard." A pause. Then, a small smirk. "Pleasure."

Billie's eyes narrowed. "The hell happened to Simon?"

"Transferred. Something-something scheduling conflict." Holden pushed off the window and took a few steps forward, slow and deliberate. "They called me this morning. Said you needed someone a little more... dependable."

Billie scoffed. "Great. A last-minute backup."

Holden tilted her head. "You can call it that. I prefer 'upgrade.'"

Oh, okay.

Billie folded her arms, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from reacting. She didn't like being sized up. And this woman—Holden, apparently—was doing exactly that. Not in a gross way. Not in a threatening way. Just... like she already had Billie figured out.

And that pissed her off more than she expected.

"I don't remember asking for a new bodyguard," Billie muttered.

"You didn't." Holden didn't blink. "But apparently people who care about you did."

Billie hated the way her stomach flipped at that. Hated it even more that Holden looked so damn sure of herself saying it.

"You think you can just show up and... what, be glued to me twenty-four-seven?"

"Pretty much." Another smirk. This one slow, controlled, almost teasing. "Unless you plan on dodging every venue, every fan crowd, every stalker, and every lunatic alone. In that case, I'll go pack."

Silence.
Just the hum of the city beyond the window and Billie's heart drumming against her ribs.

"Wow," she said, taking a few steps closer. "You really think you're untouchable, huh?"

Holden gave her a once-over. Not a creepy one. Just quick. Clinical. Cool.
"Not untouchable. Just very, very good."

Billie hated how that voice felt. Like warm honey and cold steel.

"Let me guess," she said dryly. "Military background. Zero personality. Sleeps with one eye open?"

Holden smiled—actually smiled—and it made her look even more dangerous. And hot. But mostly dangerous.
"Close. but I did not go into the military But I have a great personality You just haven't earned it yet."

Oh.
That did something.

Billie rolled her eyes, but her ears were warm.
She grabbed a water bottle off the table, uncapped it, and took a long sip—if only to buy herself time.

"Whatever," she said finally. "Just don't get in my way."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Holden said. "But stay close. People tend to get stupid around you."

Billie turned sharply. "Is that a compliment or an insult?"

Holden shrugged, already stepping back toward the door, effortlessly reclaiming the space like she lived there.
"Whichever gets me a better tip."

That night, Billie told herself she wasn't looking for Holden. But every time she turned a corner, she was there.
Silent in the hallway. Leaning near the stage. Watching the exits. Arms crossed. Eyes steady. Calm. Confident.
Always in control.

Billie wasn't used to people like that. People who didn't try too hard. People who didn't care who she was—who just showed up, already unbothered, already winning.

And when their eyes met, for just a split second backstage, Holden raised an eyebrow.

As if to say,
"Told you I'd be around."