Lio’s hands tremble as he tugs on a faded long-sleeve shirt, blood seeping through the bandage at his forearm. He leans against the back door of Serris’s trailer, jaw set and eyes ringed with exhaustion, but when Serris steps out—her silhouette razor-sharp in a fitted black dress and hair swept into a severe, elegant knot—his lips part. She looks like defiance in heels, but her gaze darts and her breath comes in uneven snatches. She knots her fingers tight around the edge of her phone, and for a moment neither of them speak, the tension between them wound so tight it vibrates.

“I can’t fix it,” Serris whispers finally, voice shaking. “They’re everywhere. My face, your name. All of it.” Her arms cross defensively over her chest, but a tear slips down, smudging charcoal liner. Lio crosses the few steps between them, the air pulsing. He lifts a calloused thumb to wipe the tear away, warmth lingering—a touch that says more than apology could. For a heartbeat, she lets her head fall against his shoulder, silent, both craving solace neither can give.

A studio golf cart screeches by, and both flinch. Lio’s jaw flexes. “If I run now, I lose you. I can’t do that.” The words taste reckless, but he means them—every syllable carving truth between them. Serris stares up, lashes trembling, and then—urgency cuts through grief. She kisses him, hard. He responds instantly, hands finding her waist, pulling her close. Her body melts into his, need eclipsing fear. For a moment, there’s nothing but the heat of skin, the desperate tangle of mouths and hair and stifled gasps.

Behind a thin partition, Zian’s shadow looms—phone pressed to his cheek, breath shallow, recording every sound. His eyes are wild, pupils blown wide with something between hunger and hatred. When Serris breaks away from Lio, laughter snapping raw and unsteady from her lips, Zian’s fingers whiten around his phone. He mouths her name silently, watching as she clings to Lio—her whole world narrowed to someone who isn’t him.

A corridor away, Ryven hunches in a darkroom streaked with red light, sweat glinting on his brow. His shirt clings to his back and he trembles as he loads a film reel, muttering curses. Vesta bursts in, lips bitten raw, mascara smeared. She looks at him with bruised longing, and when she grabs his face and drags him into a desperate, angry kiss, he doesn’t resist. Her nails scratch at his neck, the collision of teeth and tongue stark, hungry, almost violent. They crash into each other, hands everywhere, and his camera falls to the floor with a metallic clatter.

“I can’t be your secret anymore,” Ryven chokes out between gasps. Vesta presses her lips to his collarbone, hard—leaving a mark. “No secrets left,” she breathes. “Not tonight.” When it’s over, both are breathless, sweaty, half-dressed, sharing a look that’s more apology than promise.

On set, Corin paces, hair askew, suit jacket unbuttoned, tie limp. His eyes flicker with panic behind forced bravado as Maeve corners him. “Everyone knows what you did to Lio,” she says quietly, voice slicing through him like glass. He blinks, trying to mask his fear with fury, but she only scoffs. “You’re not untouchable anymore, Corin. None of us are.”

Flashing red-and-blue strobe lights blare outside the lot—the police have come. Word spreads. A surge of shouting, scattered footsteps. Lio stiffens, Serris gripping his hand so tightly her knuckles blanch. He exhales shakily, pressing his forehead to hers. “If I’m gone—” he starts, but she cuts him off, voice hoarse: “Then I’ll burn it all down for you.” Their kiss is messy, frantic, like drowning and coming up for air all at once.

“Lio Vaellen?” a voice booms. Uniforms flood the hallway. Serris screams, reaching for him as Lio is pulled away, wrists snapped into cold cuffs. Flashbulbs ignite—chaos, agony, her mascara running as she’s shoved back by reporters.

In the shadows, Zian lowers his phone, a twisted smile flickering on his lips as he whispers, “It’s only the beginning.”

To be continued...