Chapter 52

Celeste settled into a chair by the monitors, her suit jacket draped neatly over the back as if even off-camera she refused to let the image slip. The Director leaned forward beside her, replaying the hallway sequence. On screen, Rowan’s fear looked raw, electric, and Celeste’s voice through the split screen carried a dangerous edge that made the hair on the back of everyone’s neck stand up.

“You see that?” the Director said, tapping the screen as the Russian line replayed. “That’s exactly what I wanted. Controlled, but about to snap. You held it just right.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “Whatever’s going on in your head, don’t lose that fire. Channel it.”

Celeste only nodded, her gaze fixed on the screen. She could feel Rowan’s presence lingering somewhere behind her on the stage, but she didn’t turn around.

The Director leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temple before looking at Celeste again. “Listen,” he said, his tone softer now, less like a commander and more like someone giving advice. “The next few scenes we’re moving into? They’re going to wring you out emotionally. You’ll be carrying Izzy, the house, the danger—everything on your shoulders. That kind of weight will bleed into you if you’re not careful.”

Celeste kept her eyes on the playback, jaw tight, but she gave a small nod.

“So,” he continued, “find your anchor. Whatever it is. Something that lets you step out of Vega and back into Celeste. Otherwise, you’ll burn out before we even hit the halfway mark. And I need you steady.”

He rewound the clip again, pausing on the moment her voice cracked with fury through the split screen. “That” he gestured at the frozen frame, “is gold. But I don’t want to lose you in it. Got it?”

Celeste finally looked at him, her expression cool but with a flicker of vulnerability. “Got it,” she said quietly.

The set had mostly emptied out, the buzz of crew members fading into the background. Celeste stayed behind in her dressing room, the mirror reflecting a face she barely recognized—hard eyes, jaw tight, the echo of Elena Vega still clinging to her. The Director’s words circled in her mind: these next scenes will drain you, find an anchor.

Her chest tightened. She knew she couldn’t do it alone.

Turning, she saw Naomi waiting quietly by the door. She’d come to set with her today, a calm, steady presence in the chaos. Naomi put her phone down the second she noticed Celeste’s stare.

Celeste drew in a shaky breath. “Naomi… these scenes they’re getting under my skin. I don’t always know how to come back to myself when the cameras stop. The Director told me I need something to hold onto, and…” She hesitated, vulnerable. “I was hoping that could be you.”

Naomi crossed the room without hesitation, her hands finding Celeste’s shoulders. “Cel, you don’t even have to ask,” she said softly but with conviction. “I’ll be your anchor. When it gets heavy, when it feels like you’re drowning in Elena’s world, I’ll remind you of who you are. Not her. Not the character. You.“

The knot in Celeste’s chest eased, her lips curving into the faintest smile. “Thank you,” she whispered, voice cracking with the relief of being understood.

Naomi squeezed her shoulders firmly. “I’ve got you. Always.”

Celeste finally pulled her bag over her shoulder, exhaustion etched across her face but her posture still sharp. She turned to where Naomi waited just outside the dressing room, scrolling her phone.

“You ready to go?” Celeste asked, her voice softer now that the day was behind them.

Naomi slipped her phone into her pocket and smiled. “Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”

They walked together out to the lot, the hum of the city faint in the distance. Once they settled into Celeste’s car, the silence was comfortable, the kind that only came from trust. Celeste leaned back against the headrest before starting the engine, glancing at Naomi with a small smirk.

“You mind staying over again tonight?” Celeste asked, her tone light but genuine. “I kind of like having you as my personal bodyguard.”

Naomi chuckled, buckling her seatbelt. “Personal bodyguard, huh? Do I get paid for this gig?”

Celeste laughed, a sound that broke some of the tension clinging to her. “Your payment is putting up with me.”

“That’s priceless, I guess,” Naomi teased.

As they pulled out of the lot, Celeste drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “You hungry? We can stop and grab dinner.”

Naomi nodded immediately. “Yeah, that works. Let’s go to that nice steakhouse the one you dragged me to last month. That place was incredible.”

Celeste grinned, turning onto the main road. “Deal. Steakhouse it is.”

By the time the last bite of molten chocolate cake was gone, Celeste leaned back in her seat with a content sigh, her wine glass balanced delicately between her fingers. Naomi dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, still grinning from their back-and-forth banter.

For a moment, Celeste just studied her how Naomi’s laugh seemed to light up even the dim restaurant, how steady and sure she’d been all night. The words slipped out before Celeste could second-guess herself.

“I wish we were attracted to each other.”

Naomi blinked, her brow arching as she tilted her head. “Why?”

Celeste shrugged, swirling what was left in her glass, then met Naomi’s eyes with a small, thoughtful smile. “Because you’d make a great wife. A great partner. You’ve got that mix of loyalty and patience, and you never let me get away with my bullshit. You’d keep me balanced.”

Naomi chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Celeste…”

“But,” Celeste continued, her lips quirking into a warmer smile, “best friend works just as well too. Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Naomi’s teasing melted into something gentler, her expression soft as she lifted her glass again. “Then it’s settled. You don’t get rid of me. Ever.”

Celeste raised her glass to meet hers, their eyes locking across the table. “Deal.”