Anri POV
Lucien was back on set.
Officially "recovered"—whatever that meant to someone who never slowed down to begin with.
He didn't hover or interfere—he never did—but everyone felt it. The crew moved sharper, the lighting team stayed perfectly timed, and even the director chose her words more carefully with Mr. Tantoco standing in the shadows like a museum curator watching his most valuable exhibit.
He wore all black today. A lightweight knit shirt tucked into sharply tailored slacks, sleeves rolled to the forearms. No branding. Just a slim silver watch and the kind of posture that said he didn't need to try.
He stood with one hand in his pocket, face still as stone, eyes trained somewhere past the camera.
But he wasn't looking at the monitor.
He was watching me.
I'd felt it since the second I walked into makeup this morning. That burn at the base of my neck that never went away when he was in the room. Even when he wasn't touching me—even when he barely acknowledged me—his presence had weight. It pulled, slow and suffocating, like gravity just slightly stronger around him.
"Your... boyfriend's watching again," Jacob muttered beside me as we waited behind the scrim, already in costume.
I glanced at him. "Don't mind him."
Jacob raised an eyebrow. "He looks like he wants to throw me into the bay every time I breathe near you."
"He always looks like that."
"Not to me, he doesn't," he whispered. "And especially not when I'm rehearsing lines about kissing you."
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling. "Just pretend he's not there."
"That's like telling a deer to ignore a lion in the clearing."
I rolled my eyes but didn't argue. Jacob wasn't wrong.
Lucien hadn't said a word since we arrived—not to me, not to anyone else—but I felt the air shift the moment he stepped onto set. I'd told him to keep it lowkey, to stay near the producer and pretend like we hadn't come together, like he always used to do. And he listened. Stayed in the background, spoke only when spoken to.
But even from across the room, his presence was impossible to ignore. It was like everyone had instinctively straightened their backs. Like the entire room started holding its breath without realizing it.
"Positions!" the AD called out from across the floor.
I followed Jacob onto set, the long train of my pale silk dress trailing behind me. We were filming Scene 47A today—Elira in the solarium, reeling after her arranged husband, Dominic, humiliates her during a formal dinner. Calix follows her out. Comforts her. Challenges her. There's a moment where he dares her to choose him. To let go of what's safe.
He leans in like he might kiss her.
She doesn't let him.
It's a pivotal moment in the script. Not because of the kiss that doesn't happen—but because of what it reveals. That Elira never loved Calix. That she only clung to him when she was afraid, when the world around her collapsed and she needed someone, anyone, to remind her she still had options.
The audience won't know that yet.
But it had to feel real today.
"Rolling," someone called.
"Scene 47A, Take One. Mark."
Clap.
"Action!"
I stepped into place, pacing toward the solarium's wide glass doors, voice trembling. "He embarrassed me in front of everyone."
Jacob—Calix—followed. "Because he knows he's losing you."
I turned sharply, eyes narrowed. "He doesn't care. He never did."
"He doesn't see you," Calix said, low and insistent. "Not like I do."
He stepped closer, close enough that I could feel his body heat. My breath caught, just for a second. He reached for me—hand brushing the air near my waist—but didn't touch.
"I see the girl you try to bury under all that silk and silence."
His face was inches from mine now. Close enough for the camera to frame us in that ambiguous way—where breath looks like intimacy, where almost becomes more powerful than actual.
My lashes dropped. My hand hovered.
But Elira doesn't let it happen.
Instead, she steps back.
"I don't want to be seen."
"Cut!"
The director's voice rang clear but calm. "Good start. Anri, can we hold that moment just a bit longer before you break away? Let the tension linger."
I nodded, lips pressed tight. "Got it."
Jacob turned to me with a sly smile. "That almost felt real."
"Don't get cocky."
"I'm just saying, your breath hitched. You sure it was the character, not you?"
I rolled my eyes and grabbed a tissue from the side table to blot the corners of my mouth. "You're not my type."
"Oh, I know I'm not your type," he said, cocky now. "Tall, big-shot specters who stalk film sets, right?"
"Shut up."
He laughed, brushing dust from his coat sleeve. "He's watching again, by the way."
I didn't look.
I didn't need to.
I could feel it. That burn. That slow, simmering pressure building somewhere across the room. Lucien hadn't moved from his spot by the lighting station, but I could see the outline of his jaw from the corner of my eye. Tense. Sharp. Still.
He hadn't blinked once.
By the second take, the silence had deepened. Everyone knew the beats now—crew barely shuffled, camera operators leaned in closer, the air between Jacob and me practically crackled from the lighting setup and proximity.
And still, I could feel him.
Lucien.
Watching.
Measuring.
Waiting.
I was used to being observed. I'd been on camera long enough to learn how to move through someone's gaze without letting it devour me. But Lucien's wasn't just a gaze. It was a touch I couldn't shake. A heat that lived under my skin.
Especially now.
"Scene 47A, Take Four. Reset and action."
We hit the same lines. Same blocking. Same breathless moment near the kiss.
Except this time, Jacob leaned in just a little too close.
Not on purpose. Not in a way anyone else would notice.
But I felt it.
The tip of his nose brushed mine. Barely. A feather-light mistake. Enough to freeze me for a beat longer than I meant to. Enough to make my pulse stutter.
And enough, apparently, for Lucien to twitch.
I saw it in the glass wall beside me. A faint reflection.
He shifted forward. Only a step. Just a slight move of his left foot. But it was sharp. Sudden. Like a crack splitting through a sheet of black ice.
The director didn't notice.
But I did.
The scene ended. The camera cut.
Jacob smiled. "Almost made you flinch."
"You didn't," I said, too quickly.
But he raised an eyebrow anyway.
And in the silence that followed, I found myself turning—just once—to where Lucien stood.
Our eyes met.
And in that one long, distant glance, I felt everything he wasn't saying. Every word he was holding back.