Chapter 58

The crew bustled around the set, resetting lights and checking playback, but Celeste remained frozen in place, her chest rising and falling like she was still Elena Vega in the study gun in hand, rage boiling under the surface. 

Naomi noticed it first the way Celeste’s chest was still heaving like she’d just stepped out of the warehouse scene instead of a soundstage. Her eyes were sharp, unfocused, still Elena’s eyes, not Celeste’s.

“Celeste?” the Director called gently from his chair, but she didn’t move. Her eyes were locked on the floor, her hands twitching like they weren’t ready to let go of the weapon, even though the prop was long gone.

“Celeste,” the Director tried again, louder this time. Still nothing.

Crew members shifted uncomfortably, exchanging glances. The room was thick with tension, the kind that made even the lights overhead feel too bright.

Naomi stepped forward cautiously, her heels echoing on the concrete. She reached out, touching Celeste’s hand. The reaction was immediate Celeste jerked back like she’d been burned, her gaze snapping to Naomi’s, wild and lost. Naomi’s heart clenched. This wasn’t something she could fix with words. “Celeste, hey… it’s me. You’re okay. You’re here.”

She turned her head, scanning the set until her eyes landed on Rowan standing near the monitors. Rowan’s face was pale, her lips parted, torn between stepping forward and staying back. Naomi called out, her voice cutting clean through the haze.

“Rowan! Over here. Now.”

Rowan didn’t hesitate this time. She pushed through crew and cables, weaving fast until she was right there, just a breath away from Celeste. Naomi’s voice dropped lower, meant for them but still loud enough for the people nearby to catch pieces of it.

“She told me if this ever happened, if she lost herself she needed a kiss to bring her back. She asked me to do it.” Naomi’s expression softened, her usual teasing gone, her tone edged with seriousness. “But I think we all know you’ll reach her faster than I ever could. Everyone’s watching, Rowan. Claim what’s yours.”

The crew collectively froze. Someone near the soundboard muttered a soft “holy shit,” but no one moved to interfere.

Rowan crouched down slowly in front of Celeste, who was still gripping the fake pistol like it was real steel, her knuckles white, her breathing ragged. Rowan slid her hand carefully over Celeste’s, fingers warm, deliberate, grounding. “It’s me,” Rowan whispered, her voice trembling but steady enough to cut through. “I’m here, baby. It’s Rowan. I’m okay. You’re safe.”

For the first time since “cut” had been called, Celeste’s eyes flicked toward hers. Rowan didn’t wait for permission. She leaned in, closing the small gap, pressing her lips to Celeste’s. It wasn’t forceful, wasn’t dramatic. It was soft, certain, full of quiet conviction.

The change was immediate. Celeste’s shoulders dropped, her breathing slowed. Her grip on the gun loosened until it slipped from her hands, clattering to the floor with a hollow echo. Rowan kissed her again, longer this time, and Celeste finally moved. Her hands trembled as they lifted, then steadied as they wrapped around Rowan’s waist, pulling her in like a lifeline.

The kiss deepened, no longer just an anchor but a release Celeste melting into Rowan, grounding herself in her warmth. The tension bled from her body, the last remnants of Elena fading.

The set seemed to exhale with her. A few crew members exchanged watery smiles; someone whispered, “that’s real,” and another quietly sniffled. The director, arms folded across his chest, gave the faintest nod of approval, though his eyes lingered on Celeste with something like relief.

Rowan finally pulled back just enough to whisper against Celeste’s lips, her forehead resting on hers. “See? You’re back. With me. Always with me.”

Celeste closed her eyes, breathing Rowan in, before whispering, barely audible, “Don’t let go.”

Celeste’s eyes fluttered open, still hazy, still fighting the storm inside her, but Rowan’s face was the anchor she clung to. Without a word, she leaned in again, capturing Rowan’s mouth in another kiss this one deeper, hungrier, threaded with all the fear, relief, and need she couldn’t voice.

Rowan let out a soft sound, half gasp, half moan, as Celeste’s arms cinched tighter around her waist. Celeste kissed her like she’d die if she let go, her fingers curling into the fabric of Rowan’s shirt as though holding her in place was the only way to stay grounded.

The crew shifted uncomfortably, but no one dared interrupt. Naomi, standing just a few feet away, crossed her arms and smirked knowingly. “Guess she’s not letting go anytime soon,” she muttered under her breath.

Rowan broke the kiss only to whisper against Celeste’s lips, her breath trembling. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

But Celeste didn’t give her a chance to say more. She pressed another kiss to her lips, softer this time, almost desperate, like she was memorizing the taste of her. Her voice came out rough, raw. “I can’t… not yet. I don’t want to let go.”

Rowan’s hands moved up, cupping Celeste’s face, steadying her as much as kissing her back. “Then don’t,” she said simply, her words low but firm. “Hold on to me as long as you need.”

Celeste breathed her in, finally resting her forehead against Rowan’s, her lips brushing hers again, unwilling to put space between them. Her whisper carried only for Rowan, though everyone nearby could feel the weight of it.

Celeste’s eyes fluttered open, her chest still heaving, and only then did she realize she was still clutching Rowan tightly against her. The warmth of Rowan’s body anchored her, but as her gaze lifted, the reality of the set came rushing back lights blazing, cameras cooling, and every pair of eyes fixed on her. The crew had fallen silent, watching the two of them like they’d just witnessed something too raw to belong to fiction.

Celeste exhaled slowly, her grip on Rowan loosening though she didn’t fully let go. She looked down at her, her hardened edges softening just for her, and pressed one more kiss to Rowan’s lips gentle, lingering. When she pulled back, her voice was a low whisper meant only for her.

“Thank you.”

She brushed her thumb against Rowan’s cheek before finally releasing her. Straightening, Celeste smoothed her hands down her costume, then turned and began walking across the set, the weight of the moment still hanging heavy in the air.

She stopped by the director, who was standing now, headset hanging loosely around his neck. Her tone was even, calm but edged with fatigue.

“Can we resume tomorrow?”

The director studied her for a beat, then nodded without hesitation. “Yes. Take the night. We’ll start fresh.”

Celeste gave the faintest nod in return, then walked on without another word, heading straight for her dressing room.

Behind the closed door, the noise of the set faded away. She changed out of her costume quietly, each piece shed like she was peeling away Elena’s rage bit by bit, until she was back in her own clothes. When she finally glanced at herself in the mirror, she barely lingered just enough to see her eyes, red-rimmed but steady again.

She gathered her things quickly and strode straight out of the studio, her pace measured but unyielding, like if she slowed down the weight of the scene and the kiss, the eyes, the pressure might crush her. The cool night air hit her face as she pushed through the stage doors, and she spotted her car waiting just outside.

Naomi was already in the driver’s seat, engine running, headlights casting long beams across the lot. She leaned against the wheel, expression calm but alert, as though she’d known Celeste would need this escape before Celeste herself even realized it.

Without a word, Celeste slipped into the passenger seat, shutting the door quietly. Naomi glanced at her, searching, but said nothing—just shifted the car into gear and pulled away. The drive was silent, broken only by the hum of the road beneath the tires. Naomi kept her eyes forward, giving Celeste room to breathe, the kind of support that didn’t demand explanations.

When they reached the condo, Celeste finally exhaled, long and shaky. She stepped out, her body heavy with exhaustion she couldn’t shake off. Naomi stayed behind, parking the car, while Celeste headed upstairs.

Inside, the first thing she did was head straight for the bathroom. The sound of the shower filled the condo, steam rising almost instantly as Celeste stepped beneath the hot spray. The water pounded against her skin, washing away the grit of makeup, the smell of set smoke, and the lingering intensity that still clung to her like a second skin.

For a long moment, she pressed her palms against the tile, eyes closed, letting the heat ground her. Alone, she could finally breathe really breathe and let the weight of Elena’s fury and Celeste’s own unravel in the hiss of water.