—Alec—

My convoy pulled up before the Auriela Grand Hall. I climbed down from the car and as usual—there were clicks of cameras in a distance.

“Alec! Mr. Rivera, just one photo, please!” someone shouted from the press barricade.

I didn’t slow my pace until a young photographer, no older than twenty, broke past security and rushed up, breathless and bold.

“Sir, please, just one pose. My editor says I need at least one clear shot of you tonight or I lose my job.”

He held up his ...