"Ride with him?" I hesitated. "Aren't you worried the paparazzi might catch us riding together again?" "You two are from the same company. And how can you be so sure there aren't any reporters lurking around? If they snap a shot of your broken car, that's still better than catching you in a compromising scene," Sandra said, giving my shoulder a reassuring pat. As she spoke, she casually fired off a message to Jasper's manager. I pursed my lips. Jasper's manager had come running to take me away. Just as I was about to post a snarky tweet about it, I noticed the blank black screen of my phone. A wave of quiet disappointment washed over me. "Why are you still here? Are you here to pose for the cameras?" Sandra poked my forehead, snapping me out of it. I mumbled something vague and quickly caught up. The next second, I climbed into Jasper's van—but before I could even settle in, I saw a figure stumbling toward us from the distance. Samuel's POV: I spotted Naomi's van and ran over, only to find the driver standing there alone. "Where's Naomi?" I peeked into the vehicle, but it was empty. "You are ... ?" The driver blinked, startled by my sudden appearance. I opened my mouth to explain I was her boyfriend but hesitated. The driver recognized me anyway. "You're Samuel, right? Naomi's boyfriend." The driver slapped his forehead, as if the name had just clicked into place. "Is she still filming?" I asked with a small smile. "Nope. She just left," he replied, shaking his head. "Left alone?" I was confused. Her van was still here—if filming was over, shouldn't she have left in it? The driver tapped the side of the van with a sigh. "Nope, the van broke down. I'm waiting for a tow truck. She caught a ride with someone else from the company." I stood there stunned, taking a step back. I looked down at my phone—several unanswered calls from Naomi stared back at me, and my chest felt tight with unease. Naomi's POV: This scene was set in a bar—intended to explain away that little incident between Jasper and me. A clumsy cover-up, really. But I suppose it was the studio's way of controlling the narrative. Now that Jasper and I were both rising stars under Starplay Entertainment, they were clearly willing to go the extra mile to protect us. "Just follow the script," the director gestured as the cameras rolled into place. I sat across from Jasper, resting my chin in my hand. "Didn't think we'd have to reenact this mess." The past few days had been nothing but chaos. Even the drink in front of me—a prop—was mostly watered down. Tasteless. Boring. "I'm sorry," Jasper said softly, glancing at me. "I don't accept," I replied with a faint smile. My voice was low, out of range from the mic. "We're filming now. You're supposed to say your lines, not apologize." Jasper's eyes flickered, and he reached out, gently brushing my cheek before leaning in and kissing me. At that moment, the camera zoomed in on my expression. I froze for a second, then slowly closed my eyes. Same gesture as that night—but a very different feeling. "Push!" the director called out from the monitor. I instantly shoved Jasper away, wiping my mouth hard. "You're drunk," I said, reciting my line from the script. Jasper stayed silent, reaching for me again. I yanked my arm away and stormed off without looking back. "Cut! That's a wrap!" the director shouted. I hurried to the monitor to watch the playback. No noticeable mistakes. We continued filming a few more takes, dragging on until nearly midnight before the crew called it a night. "Tweet something already. You haven't posted in days," Sandra said, draping a jacket over my shoulders. "Huh?" I was startled and explained, "My phone's dead. I'll do it when we're back." "Your phone dead? Don't you carry, like, five portable chargers?" She teased, narrowing her eyes. I looked away, suddenly sheepish. Thankfully, she let it slide and just reminded me to tweet once I was in my room. After a long day, all I wanted was to rest. I mumbled a reply and wandered back toward the hotel. It was well past midnight by the time I returned. At the front desk, two staff members were chatting, and though I didn't mean to eavesdrop, their conversation caught my attention. "Did you see the news? There was a crash on Chestnut Avenue." "Chestnut? That's just a few blocks from here. What kind of crash was it? Was anyone hurt?" "Some car slammed into a tree. I didn't look at the photos, but it looked pretty bad. The driver was rushed to the hospital." I shook my head. Probably a drunk driver. Who else would randomly crash into a tree? Ding. The elevator doors opened. As I stepped inside, I heard one last thing. "Whoa, check the license plate—it's 9246."