Chapter 17

Monday hit like a storm.

The studio lot was alive, humming with the chaotic rhythm only the first day of filming could bring. Production assistants darted across the pavement with clipboards, hair and wardrobe teams rushed between trailers, and the director’s booming voice carried from somewhere near the soundstage.

I adjusted my sunglasses, trying to mask the nerves beneath my calm exterior. No matter how many times I’d done this, day one always lit me up—equal parts adrenaline, dread, and thrill.

And then I saw her.

Rowan.

She walked across the lot with her jacket slung over her shoulder, chin lifted, eyes steady. It wasn’t forced—it was who she was. A magnet in human form. Conversations seemed to hush as she passed, people’s heads turning without them even realizing.

She spotted me instantly. Of course she did. Her lips curved into that small, devastating smile, the one that said she knew exactly what she was doing.

I kept my pace steady, forcing my face into something polite, professional. Inside, my stomach twisted.

The makeup trailer was buzzing when I slid into the chair, stylists chatting as they pinned, brushed, and blended. I stared at my reflection, repeating the mantra in my head: professional, professional, professional.

Five minutes later, the door opened.

Rowan strolled in like she owned the place, dropped into the chair beside me, and greeted the room with a nod. Then her eyes found mine in the mirror.

“Morning,” she said softly, just for me.

My throat tightened. “Morning.”

Her smirk deepened, slow and deliberate.

The stylist tugged a comb through my hair, blissfully unaware of the silent storm in the room.

“You ready for this?” Rowan asked, her tone easy.

“Always,” I answered, even though my pulse was hammering.

She leaned back in her chair, eyes still locked on me through the mirror. “Good. Because this is where it all begins.”

Before I could respond, the director burst in, clapping his hands together like a conductor summoning an orchestra.

“Alright, everyone—today we start building history. And our stars…” He swept a hand toward Rowan and me, grinning. “Let’s show the world why they’ve been waiting for this.”

The room broke into scattered applause and cheers.

SCENE ONE

FADE IN:

INT. SOUNDSTAGE – NIGHT

A sprawling set: chandeliers, terrace doors, a painted city skyline. The “Marquez Estate” in all its glamour. Cameras on tracks hum, crew adjust lights.

The DIRECTOR (50s, intense) claps his hands.

DIRECTOR
Quiet on set! We’re rolling Scene One. This is the spy intro, remember: tension, not romance yet. And—let it breathe.

A hush sweeps across the room. The air feels charged.

ON SET – TERRACE

ELENA VEGA (played by CELESTE) enters through the French doors. She wears a black gown that glimmers under stage light, heels clicking softly on marble tiles. She moves like someone who belongs everywhere, but trusts no one.

At the railing, ISABELLA “IZZY” MARQUEZ (played by ROWAN) gazes out at the shimmering skyline backdrop. Hair swept back, her posture relaxed but her eyes thoughtful.

The crew leans forward as the camera glides closer.

DIRECTOR
And… action.

ELENA (IN CHARACTER)
Not a fan of the crowd?

Izzy turns, her face catching the golden light. She doesn’t rush the line. Instead, she lets her eyes linger on Elena a moment too long before answering.

IZZY (IN CHARACTER)
Crowds are fine.
(beat)
It’s the masks I can’t stand.

Elena’s lips twitch, a near smile.

CUT TO: THE MONITOR
The image is intimate. Almost too intimate for a first scene.

ELENA (IN CHARACTER)
Maybe some people wear masks for protection.

Izzy tilts her head, studying her. There’s an unspoken rhythm between them.

IZZY (IN CHARACTER)
And what are you protecting yourself from?

A silence falls. It’s scripted—but Elena hesitates. Her gaze flickers, breaking through the character. For a heartbeat, it’s Celeste and Rowan.

CUT TO: CREW
They notice. Boom operator raises brows. Makeup artist whispers to another.

In Elena’s earpiece, the prerecorded handler line feeds in.

HANDLER (V.O.)
Focus, Vega. She’s the assignment. Nothing more.

Elena blinks, almost startled. She swallows hard, then—

ELENA (IN CHARACTER)
(softly, almost confessing)
Bad conversations.

Izzy reacts with a quiet laugh, genuine and unscripted. Not quite the delivery rehearsed—but real.

IZZY (IN CHARACTER)
Well, then I’ll try to make this a good one.

CUT TO: THE MONITOR
Their faces linger too close, framed against the false skyline. The tension is undeniable.

DIRECTOR (O.S.)
Beautiful… hold… hold—

Elena doesn’t move. Neither does Izzy. It’s no longer just the lines.

Finally—

DIRECTOR (O.S.)
And… cut!

ON SET
The crew exhales. A few chuckles. Someone mutters, “That felt real.”

The Director swivels to the camera operator.

DIRECTOR
That’s the energy. Print it. But keep it professional, ladies—we’ve got forty-one days to go.

Celeste (Elena) steps back, mask sliding into place. She nods politely, but her eyes flick to Rowan.

Rowan (Izzy) sips water, pretending to review her script, though her hands tremble just slightly.