Anri POV
The set was already half-empty by the time I stepped out of the dressing room—people laughing, hugging, taking selfies, exchanging numbers like it was the last day of school. And in a way, it kind of was.
We'd wrapped our final shoot before a two-week break.
That strange, weightless high always came after a big finish—the kind of relief that made your limbs float but your chest feel oddly tight. Like your body knew it was supposed to rest, but your brain hadn't caught up.
Lucien came today.
He said it was to check in with the producers, to meet with the EP about some executive matter that had nothing to do with me—but I knew better. It wasn't just about the business. It was the fact that today was the last day. That this chapter—this strange, heightened bubble of filming—was closing for now.
And maybe part of him wanted to make sure it closed with us still intact.
I said my thank-yous, hugged the hair team, gave Jacob a polite cheek tap even though he smelled like sweat and lavender makeup remover.
I was tired, my dress felt too tight around the waist, and my lashes were starting to itch—but still, I was smiling.
Until I saw Lucien standing by the lot.
His posture hadn't changed much since this morning—shoulders squared, one hand in his pocket. But his eyes were different now.
Darker. Distant.
Still watching me.
He waited until I reached him, then took the coat from my arm without asking, the way he always did. Folded it neatly, his jaw tense. I watched his fingers flex just slightly as he took my bag too.
"Thanks," I mumbled.
Lucien didn't answer. Just stepped ahead of me and opened the car door.
Another Aston Martin—not the one from Manila. This one was a deeper shade of grey, almost blue under the evening light.
I slid in, the cool leather pressing against my back, and waited for him to join me.
When he did, the silence followed.
It was the kind of silence that wasn't born from distance—but from too much proximity. From having to hold back what you wanted to say, because saying it out loud might ruin everything.
His hand found mine as he started the engine. Fingers curled into mine like muscle memory. Warm. Firm. Possessive.
But he still hadn't said a word.
I let the silence stretch for two blocks before I exhaled, shifting toward him just slightly.
"You're mad."
Lucien's eyes didn't leave the road. "No."
I tilted my head, voice gentler. "Lucien..."
He sighed. A sharp breath through his nose. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Pretend you don't know."
His tone was low, careful—controlled in the way only he could manage. But I could feel it unraveling beneath the surface. Like a wire pulled too tight.
I looked out the window, blinking against the city lights. "It's work. You knew this. You were literally on set."
"You think I don't know it's work?" he snapped, suddenly, voice cutting through the still air.
I flinched. Just a little. Not because he was loud, but because Lucien never raised his voice unless he'd already spent hours—days—holding it back.
He exhaled, then gripped the steering wheel tighter, like he was anchoring himself to it.
"You think I haven't been watching you act scenes like that from every angle the past weeks?" he muttered. "You think I haven't memorized every breath, every fucking look he gives you?"
"Jacob?" I frowned. "He's harmless."
"That's not the point."
"Then what is?" I asked, sharper now. "You said you wanted me to do this. That you supported it."
"I do."
"Then why are you acting like I cheated on you in front of a camera crew?"
The car stopped at a red light, and for a second, he looked at me. Really looked at me.
Eyes stormy. Lips parted, like he couldn't decide whether to curse me or kiss me.
"I watched him lean into you," he said, voice low and rough now. "I saw the way you looked at him."
I bristled. "Elira looked at him. Not me."
"No, you looked at him as if you like him!"
I crossed my arms, heat crawling up my chest. "Then maybe you shouldn't come on set if you can't handle watching me act."
Lucien's jaw flexed.
A beat passed.
Then another.
"Just tell me," he said, quietly. "Is there more?"
My breath caught. "More what?"
Lucien's knuckles whitened against the wheel. "More scenes like today. More of them even breathing near you."
My mouth opened—but I hesitated.
And that hesitation was loud enough for both of us.
"You're being unreasonable..." I sighed.
He didn't look at me. Just pulled through the green light like he needed the movement to keep from breaking.
"When we come back from the break," I said finally, voice softer. "I start filming scenes with Andres."
He didn't respond.
I forced myself to keep going. "There's... a real kiss scene. And a love scene."
Lucien's head turned—slowly. His eyes met mine, and the silence between us crackled like the static before a storm.
"A love scene."
I nodded. "It's not real—"
"I know it's not real," he said through gritted teeth. "But it still kills me."
His hand released mine.
The absence was immediate.
He reached up to loosen the top two buttons of his shirt, breathing hard through his nose like he was trying not to lose control. But his other hand was still on the steering wheel. Still driving. Still calm, somehow—physically.
Emotionally, though?
He was boiling.
I turned toward him, heart pounding. "Lucien, you knew this when you started dating me. You knew what my work could involve."
"You did," he muttered. "But I didn't think it would feel like this."
My voice cracked. "Then what? You want me to quit? Turn down lead roles every time there's a kiss involved?"
"Don't do that," he snapped. "Don't reduce this to ego."
I stared at him, blinking fast.
"I'm not jealous because of my pride," he said. "I'm jealous because you're mine. And it makes me insane that I have to sit there, backstage, and watch someone else touch you, even for a second."
I swallowed hard.
The car turned a corner—my apartment just a few minutes away now.
Neither of us said anything.
The air felt thick. Heavy. Hot from all the words left unsaid.
Then Lucien did something sudden.
He pulled over.
Right there. Side of the quiet street. Engine still running.
He turned to me, eyes blazing now.
"You have no fucking idea what you do to me."
Before I could ask what he meant, his mouth was on mine.
Rough.
Hot.
Desperate.
It wasn't like our other kisses. This one had teeth.
He kissed me like he was punishing himself for wanting me. Like he was trying to erase Jacob's breath from my skin, and carve his name there instead.
I gasped, and his hand slid behind my neck, pulling me in harder, thumb stroking just beneath my jaw like he needed to remind me—you're mine.
And I was.
My fingers twisted in his shirt. I kissed him back. Open-mouthed. Needy.
Because I wanted this too.
Even if it was selfish. Even if I'd been the one to poke the bruise.
Lucien pulled back just long enough to breathe. "I'm not apologizing for this."
"I didn't ask you to."
He kissed me again.
Rougher.
And then—
Then he opened the car door, stepped out, and walked around to my side.
Like a man possessed.
He opened the door, unbuckled my seatbelt, and with a low grunt, scooped me into his arms.
"Lucien—"
"Quiet," he muttered, voice thick with need. "If I wait any longer, I'm going to lose my mind."