The ride back to the Setai was a masterclass in tension. Aubrey sat in the back of the SUV, the blacked-out windows shielding him from the very fans he had just courted at the press conference. He didn't look at his phone. He didn't check the charts. His eyes never left the side mirrors. He was hyper-aware of every customized car that drew too close, every camera flash from the sidewalk that looked like the muzzle flash of a gun. He felt like a predator protecting his territory, his mind racing through the logistics of a war he hadn't asked for but was fully prepared to win.
When they reached the penthouse, the sun was beginning to dip, casting long, golden shadows across the marble floors. Robyn was on the balcony, her back to the door, looking out at the Atlantic. She looked peaceful—a rare sight. She was holding a glass of green juice, her hair blowing in the salt breeze. She looked like the #1 artist in the world, completely oblivious to the black velvet box sitting in Aubrey's pocket.
"How was it?" she asked, turning around as Aubrey entered. She saw his face and frowned slightly, stepping back into the room. "You look... intense. Did the sharks bite too hard?"
Aubrey forced a smile, the kind he used to practice in front of the mirrors back in his basement apartment in Toronto. He walked over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He needed to feel the warmth of her skin, the reality of her breath. He needed to know she was still safe, still his.
"The sharks were fine," he murmured against her skin. "Just a lot of talking. I think I'm just ready to get out of the lights for a second. The heat in Miami is getting a bit much."
"Wayne was a hit, I assume?" she laughed, her hands coming up to rest on his forearms.
"Wayne was Wayne. He told them I had 'stank' on me," Aubrey joked, though his eyes were scanning the rooftops of the buildings across the street, looking for the glint of a lens or a figure that shouldn't be there. "Listen... Jas and I were talking. The press is getting too thick here. The 'Miami Meltdown' is a global event now, and the Setai is becoming a fishbowl. We're moving the flight to Toronto up to tonight. My city, my rules. We can finish the mix for the rest of the album at my spot. It's private. It's secure. And nobody knows the back alleys like I do."
Robyn pulled back, searching his eyes with a clinical intensity. She knew Aubrey, and she knew when he was hiding a layer of the truth. Her intuition was a finely tuned instrument, and it was prickling. "Tonight? Aubrey, we were supposed to have the celebration dinner at Prime 112. The label bought out the whole floor."
"We'll have it in Toronto," Aubrey insisted, his grip tightening just a fraction. "I just want you to see where I'm from. I want to show you the 6ix before the world tries to take any more of our time. Please. Trust me on this."
She hesitated, the salt air ruffling her robe. She saw the fierce, protective hunger in his gaze—a look that told her he would burn the city down before he let anything touch her. She didn't know about the shell casing, but she knew the feeling of a man standing guard.
"Okay," she whispered, her voice softening. "Toronto
tonight. Let me pack."
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