The glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice was supposed to be refreshing.
Instead, it became the opening shot of Ethan Aviel Scaforte’s latest public meltdown.
The studio that morning was sweltering with hot lights, make-up artists fussing over Ethan’s hair, photographers barking orders about angles and filters. He’d just come back from a midnight shoot in Tokyo and he was done. Bags under his eyes? Concealer. Bad mood? Blame it on jet lag. The last thing he needed was some incompetent junior model knocking into his seat.
Which, naturally, is exactly what happened.
“Sorry!” squeaked the wide eyed newbie as the glass of juice tipped, splashing golden liquid down the front of Ethan’s designer silk shirt. The citrus stung when it hit the tiny scratch on his collarbone but what stung more was the feeling that everyone was looking at him.
Ethan stared down at the wet stain. His lips parted in horror.
“Oh. My. GOD.”
“What—no, sir, I can fix—”
“FIX?” Ethan shrieked, leaping up so fast the chair nearly toppled. He tore off the ruined shirt dramatically, holding it out like it was some ancient, shredded relic. “This is custom silk, you incompetent excuse for a house plant! Do you know how much this costs?!”
“I-I’ll get tissues—”
“Don’t you DARE touch me!” Ethan slapped the poor co-model’s hands away. The entire set went dead silent as the director tried to intervene. Ethan was already on a roll his voice slicing through the tension like a stiletto. “First, your ugly shoes stepped on my bag last week, and now you’ve violated my wardrobe? I’m too pretty for this. I won’t stand for it. This is sabotage, I’m calling my mother!”
Somewhere in the background, an assistant snapped a photo on their phone just as Ethan, shirtless, shoved the drenched silk shirt at the hapless co-model’s chest.
“Keep it! It matches your cheap attitude! I’m leaving!”
“Mr. Scaforte, we still have half the shoot—”
“Cancel it! My image has been tainted. I’m a victim. I’m emotionally compromised!”
He stormed out of the studio half-naked, sunglasses on, phone pressed to his ear.
“Mama!” he snapped when his mother answered. “I want a new manager, a new co-model, and a new life!”
By the time his chauffeur dropped him at the Scaforte estate, the incident was already all over social media.
The hashtags trended:
#EthanScaforteMeltdown
#JuiceGate
#SilkDramaKing
Clips of him yelling circulated on gossip accounts, complete with memes of his horrified gasp and the poor co-model’s shell-shocked face.
His father Arion texted: “Baby, just come home, Mama will fix it. I made cookies!”
His mother’s assistant: “Please don’t make any more statements online. Stay home.”
Ethan stomped through the marble foyer, dripping drama like spilled perfume.
He flung open the double doors of the family sitting room only to freeze.
Cleo Valeria sat regally on the velvet couch, tablet in hand, watching the trending chaos with that same unreadable look she always wore when business got messy.
Arion perched beside her, mouth full of cookies, eyes wide with worry. “Baby! Look, I baked your favorites—”
Ethan ignored him. “Mama! It was sabotage. I’m pressing charges. I want a new PR team—”
“Sit down, Ethan,” Cleo said, her voice so quiet it made the air thrum with warning.
He blinked. “What? Mama, no—”
“Sit.”
And because he might be spoiled rotten but he was not an idiot, Ethan sat.
It was then he noticed her: the woman standing by the massive bay windows, posture so perfect she made the antique drapes look sloppy.
She wore a crisp black uniform with silver insignia that gleamed under the soft light. Her dark hair was pulled into a brutal bun. Her eyes? Cold as frostbite.
Ethan’s nose wrinkled. “Who’s the funeral guest?”
Arion snorted a laugh before Cleo elbowed him sharply. “This is General Araxie Gryec.”
Araxie inclined her head once. “Mr. Scaforte.”
Ethan bristled. “Ew, don’t ‘Mr.’ me, you look like you salute before you breathe. What is she doing here, Mama?”
Cleo laid the tablet down with a decisive click. “She’s here because you can’t keep yourself out of trouble.”
“I—Mama! That was juice! It’s not my fault I attract incompetence!”
“Ethan.” Cleo’s tone sharpened like a blade. “This is the last time I watch you spiral because you think the world revolves around you.”
Ethan flinched. Arion reached for a cookie in solidarity.
Cleo continued, voice calm but final: “From today onward, General Gryec is your personal assistant and your bodyguard. She will oversee your schedules, your PR, your transport, and your security. She will not tolerate your tantrums, nor will she cover for you when you cause a scandal. If you disobey her, you answer to me.”
He gawked at her like she’d just announced he was being exiled. “You’re kidding.”
Araxie stepped forward, boots silent against the marble. “I never kid, Mr. Scaforte.”
Ethan swung his glare between them. “Papa! Do something!”
Arion, caught mid-cookie, just shrugged helplessly. “Yes, baby. I mean—yes, dear,” he corrected at Cleo’s side eye.
“Mama, no! I don’t want this statue following me around!”
“You need discipline.”
“I’m twenty four! I’m a grown adult! I—”
Araxie’s voice sliced in, calm but lethal: “You can file a complaint with your mother, your father, or the Commander of the Armed Forces. Either way, you will report to me tomorrow at 0600.”
Ethan threw up his hands, half-shriek, half-whine. “SIX IN THE MORNING?! I’m a model, not a soldier!”
Araxie’s eyes flicked up and down his silk-clad chaos. “Then stand straighter.”
Cleo leaned back, sipping her coffee. “Done. She starts now.”
Ethan stood, hands on his hips, glaring so hard it might’ve set Araxie’s uniform on fire. “You won’t last a week, General Barbie. I’ll make sure of it.”
Araxie didn’t flinch. Didn’t even smirk. She just looked him dead in the eye and said, “Try me.”
And just like that, the spoiled prince and the iron general locked horns in a house that had seen plenty of storms, but maybe never one quite like this.
Tomorrow would be early wake-up calls, security drills, and Ethan’s endless screaming about his latte being too hot.
Araxie didn’t care.
She’d been given a mission: protect the Scaforte heir from the world and from himself.
And she’d never failed a mission in her life.
YOU ARE READING
Command
RomanceEthan Aviel Scaforte a scandal-prone, spoiled, luxury-loving model-can't keep his name out of the headlines. When his chaos risks the family's legacy, his mother assigns him a walking nightmare: General Araxie Gryec. Cold, unyielding, and terrifying...
