Chapter Four: No More Stage Directions

Next Morning — Avery’s Flat, 6:19 AM

Sunlight slid through the curtains like a guilty whisper. Avery blinked awake, disoriented by the warmth against her bare back… and the steady rhythm of someone breathing beside her.

Then she remembered.

Last night.

The rooftop.

The kiss.

The way he whispered her name like it was a confession.

How his hands mapped every inch of her skin like she was a song he’d waited years to hear.

She turned slowly, the silk sheet brushing her legs. Jameson lay beside her, shirtless, one arm draped across her waist, curls a mess, lips parted. Peaceful. Uncharacteristically vulnerable.

She studied him in silence.

This wasn’t a character. This wasn’t a performance.

This was real.

And that terrified her.

Flashback — Hotel Room, 12:14 AM

The moment the door closed behind them, their mouths met again, hot and urgent.

Jameson backed her toward the bed, never breaking contact. His hands slid down her spine, slow, reverent, teasing.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered.

She didn’t.

Instead, she pulled his jacket off and kissed him harder.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful.

It was fire in silk sheets.

She moaned when his lips reached the base of her throat.

He cursed when her fingers found his belt.

Their clothes hit the floor like discarded tension.

She wasn’t afraid to touch him. He wasn’t afraid to want her.

And when they finally gave in skin to skin, breath to breath it wasn’t just lust.

It was everything they’d pretended not to feel.

Now — Avery’s Flat

Jameson stirred, eyes blinking open. Groggy. Raw.

Then he saw her and smiled slow, lazy, unguarded.

“Morning,” he murmured.

Avery smoothed her hair back, half-smiling. “You’re still here.”

“I’m not a runner.”

She arched a brow. “Funny. That’s not what the press says.”

He reached for her hand. “Then maybe stop reading lies.”

She let him hold it for a second too long before pulling away and sliding out of bed.

“I’ll make coffee,” she said.

He watched her wrap the sheet around her like armor.

And then he heard the sharp ping of her phone.

Then another.

Then another.

Her Phone Screen Lit Up:

“NEW SCANDAL: Jameson Parker and Avery Rose Scott — KISS CAUGHT ON CAMERA.”

“UNSEEN FOOTAGE FROM DORCHESTER GALA ROOFTOP”

“INTIMATE CLIP CONFIRMS ROMANCE IS REAL”

Her blood went cold.

She dropped the phone on the counter like it had burned her.

“Jameson,” she said quietly.

He already had his in hand. Already scrolling. Already still.

“Who the hell was on the roof?” she snapped.

He stood, grabbing his jeans. “It was private access. No press was allowed—”

“Well, someone was. And now the whole bloody internet has video of us kissing!”

She paced the kitchen floor, panic rising. “This is exactly what I didn’t want. This isn’t just gossip anymore. This is—this is personal.”

Jameson shoved a hand through his hair. “You think I did this?”

She turned, stunned. “What?”

“You think I leaked it?” His voice was quiet, low. Dangerous.

“No,” she said, but there was hesitation in her voice. A flicker of doubt.

He stepped back like she’d hit him. “Wow.”

“Jameson—”

“You really think I’d sell that moment for a headline?”

“I don’t know what to think!” she exploded. “Because I don’t know who you are outside the act!”

His eyes darkened. “Then maybe last night was just another scene to you.”

“Don’t twist this—”

“You already did.”

Silence.

Then the sound of him grabbing his jacket.

Then the door closing.

And just like that, the man she let in was gone.

Later That Morning — Theatre Lobby

The theatre buzzed like a hive of wasps. Everyone had seen the video. Everyone was whispering.

Jameson stormed past the crew, ignoring them all.

In the hallway, Lily intercepted him.

“I need to know if it was you.”

He gave her a cold look. “It wasn’t.”

“You’ve leaked stories before.”

“Never this. Never her.”

Lily nodded slowly. “Then we have a problem.”

Meanwhile — Dressing Room 2

Avery sat in front of the mirror, wiping off half-done lipstick, her phone ringing nonstop.

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t look.

Didn’t blink.

Her heart was still upstairs. On the rooftop. In his mouth. In his hands.

She wanted to scream.

But instead she looked up—

—and saw Celine Maddox at the door.

“Well, well,” Celine said smoothly. “I always did have a sixth sense for stolen things.”

Avery stood. “Get out.”

Celine leaned against the doorframe. “I’d be careful, darling. Jameson has a type wounded little actresses who think they’re the exception.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

Celine smiled. “You should be. Because I still have friends in the press. And you… you just handed them gold.”

Avery narrowed her eyes. “So it was you.”

“I don’t leak. I release.”

Avery crossed the room and slammed the door in her face.

Then, quietly, she sat on the floor and buried her face in her hands.

She didn’t cry.

She couldn’t.

Evening — The Wings of the Stage, 7:00 PM

They hadn’t spoken all day.

Not a word.

But the show had to go on.

Their cue was next.

Jameson stood behind her in the dark, just inches away.

The same distance they had kept before the kiss.

Before the fire.

Before the betrayal.

“You were wrong,” she said without turning.

“About what?”

“Last night wasn’t another scene. It was real.”

He hesitated. “Then why did you doubt me?”

“Because it’s easier than trusting you.”

He stepped forward. “I didn’t leak it. I swear on everything.”

“I know,” she whispered.

They stood there in silence, hearts between them.

“Come back,” he said.

“To what?”

“To us. Whatever this is. Whatever it could be.”

She turned to face him.

No masks. No characters.

Just Avery.

And Jameson.

“I want to,” she said.

Then the stage manager whispered, “You’re on.”

They took hands.

Walked into the light.

And began again.

End of Chapter Four

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