Chapter 92

Morning comes too fast.

The room is still dim, early light barely peeking through the curtains, painting everything in soft gray-blue tones. Rowan is the first to stir, her internal clock still set to early call times. She blinks slowly, disoriented for half a second before she registers where she is.

Naomi’s bed.

Naomi.

Celeste.

Celeste is already half-awake beside her, staring at the ceiling like she’s mentally preparing for the day. Their alarms haven’t gone off yet, but responsibility has.

Rowan shifts carefully, trying not to wake the warm body curled against her.

Too late.

The second Rowan lifts her arm, Naomi lets out a small, dramatic whine.

“Mm—no,” she mumbles, eyes still closed, blindly reaching for Rowan’s waist. “Where are you going? It’s cold.”

Celeste chuckles softly from the other side as she tries to untangle her leg. “We have work, sleepy.”

Naomi groans louder this time, rolling onto her back as the heat from both of them disappears. “I don’t like this arrangement,” she mutters. “I was very comfortable.”

Rowan leans down, brushing her fingers gently through Naomi’s hair. “We have to get up. Early call.”

Naomi cracks one eye open. “I know you do. That doesn’t mean I approve.”

Celeste slides a hand over Naomi’s arm soothingly. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

Naomi immediately grabs Celeste’s wrist before she can fully pull away. “You can’t just take your warmth and leave. That’s rude.”

Rowan laughs under her breath. “You’re such a baby in the mornings.”

“Your baby,” Naomi shoots back automatically, though her voice is still thick with sleep.

Rowan’s smile softens.

Celeste leans in and presses a gentle kiss to Naomi’s temple. “We’ll text you.”

Naomi hums dramatically, rolling onto her stomach and burying her face into the pillow. “Fine, I’m ordering breakfast and not saving you any.”

Rowan gasps playfully. “Threats already?”

“Absolutely,” Naomi says into the pillow. “I lost two personal heaters. I deserve compensation.”

Celeste laughs quietly as she slips out of bed. “We’ll earn our way back into it tonight.”

Naomi peeks at them as they start gathering clothes. “You better. And if either of you leaves this room without kissing me goodbye, I will personally show up on set.”

Rowan crosses back over immediately, leaning down to kiss her properly this time — soft, lingering, warm.

Celeste follows, brushing her lips gently against Naomi’s cheek, then her mouth.

Naomi sighs contentedly. “That’s more like it.”

They pull away reluctantly.

Rowan grabs her bag. Celeste checks the time.

Naomi curls back under the covers, already reclaiming the space they left behind. “Be brilliant,” she murmurs, half-asleep again.

Rowan looks back once before stepping out. “Always.”

By the time they arrive on set, the calm of the morning is already gone.

The studio hums with movement—crew members weaving past each other with clipboards and coffee cups, lights being adjusted, voices calling out cues. Rowan and Celeste step out of the car and the switch flips immediately. Sleepiness is gone. Warmth is tucked away. Focus snaps into place.

“Morning,” the director calls as soon as he spots them.

“Morning,” Celeste answers easily, already walking, sunglasses coming off, posture straightening into work mode.

Rowan follows right beside her, shoulders back, jaw set. They don’t have to say anything to each other—it’s automatic. Years of rhythm kick in.

“Hair and makeup, five minutes,” someone calls out.

They split smoothly, Rowan veering one way, Celeste the other, exchanging a quick look that says we’ve got this.

In the makeup chair, Rowan closes her eyes as hands immediately start working—powder, brushes, quiet chatter around her. The warmth of Naomi’s bed feels like another lifetime already. Here, everything is sharp and deliberate.

Celeste is already in wardrobe when Rowan steps onto set, script tucked under her arm, scanning the space.

SCENE SIXTY-TWO — THE MESSAGE

INT. SOUNDSTAGE – SMALL-TOWN DINER SET – MORNING

A bell jingles over the door. The diner looks ordinary—formica tables, coffee steam, a jukebox that still works if you hit it twice.
Outside, the world is washed clean by rain; a highway sign buzzes faintly in the distance.

DIRECTOR (O.S.)
Scene Sixty-Two — quiet morning, invisible tension.
Keep voices low. The fear is in what isn’t said.
(beat)
Action.

ON SET – DINER

ELENA VEGA (Celeste) and IZZY MARQUEZ (Rowan) slide into a corner booth. The waitress sets down two mugs, smiles, and drifts away.

Elena keeps her eyes on the parking lot through the window. Izzy studies the laminated menu like she’s pretending to be normal.

IZZY (IN CHARACTER)
Do you think anyone even knows we’re alive?

ELENA (IN CHARACTER)
That’s the plan. Ghosts don’t get mail.

Izzy smirks, then excuses herself, heading toward the restroom.
Elena waits until she’s gone before pulling out the burner phone.

A single new message blinks on the dark screen.
No number—just UNKNOWN.

You can’t protect her forever.

Elena freezes. The neon from outside reflects in her eyes as she scrolls for signal data—none. The message arrived over a private satellite relay.

STAGE DIRECTION – CAMERA ANGLES

Extreme close-up: the text on the screen.

Medium: Elena’s jaw tightening.

Over-the-shoulder: the reflection of the empty diner window behind her—someone could be watching.

Elena deletes the message, powers down the phone, then pries the battery out and slips both pieces into separate napkin dispensers.

Izzy returns, hair damp from washing her face.

IZZY (IN CHARACTER)
They have pancakes shaped like hearts. Want one?

Elena forces a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

ELENA (IN CHARACTER)
Sure. Order two.

Izzy sits, flipping the menu again. The normalcy is paper-thin.

IZZY (IN CHARACTER)
You okay?

ELENA (IN CHARACTER)
Fine.

IZZY (IN CHARACTER)
You’re lying.

Elena exhales, looks down at the table.

ELENA (IN CHARACTER)
Someone pinged the phone. A message. No traceable source.

Izzy’s hand goes still.

IZZY (IN CHARACTER)
What did it say?

ELENA (IN CHARACTER)
(quietly)
That I can’t protect you forever.

Izzy leans back, stunned. The coffee between them ripples with each passing truck outside.

IZZY (IN CHARACTER)
Then we stop hiding. Fight back.

Elena meets her eyes—equal parts admiration and fear.

ELENA (IN CHARACTER)
We will. But not from here.

She tosses a few bills on the table, scanning the diner one last time.
A man at the counter lowers his newspaper just a fraction too slow.
Elena’s expression hardens.

ELENA (IN CHARACTER)
Let’s go. Now.

They rise, moving briskly to the door.
Outside, the morning light flares white as they step into it.
Behind them, the man with the newspaper taps a small device on the table and whispers into his collar mic:

MAN (V.O.)
Target confirmed. Both moving northbound.

CUT TO: MONITOR
The last frame freezes on the empty coffee cups, steam still curling upward.

DIRECTOR (O.S.)
And… cut!
Beautiful tension, everyone. 

Crew chatter fills the soundstage.
Celeste checks her phone between takes; Rowan grins and bumps her shoulder.

FADE OUT.

“Alright, everyone—fifteen-minute break!” the director calls out, clapping his hands once. “Grab water, reset, we’re back in a quarter.”

The tension on set loosens immediately. Crew members scatter, chairs scrape, someone laughs too loudly as the spell breaks.

Rowan exhales and rolls her neck. “Thank God.”

Celeste grins, wiping her hands on a towel. “You crushed that last take.”

“Right back at you,” Rowan says, still catching her breath.

They barely get two steps off their marks when a familiar voice cuts through the controlled chaos.

“Excuse me—coming through.”

Rowan turns first.

Naomi stands just off set, sunglasses perched on her head, oversized tote slung over one shoulder, looking entirely too put-together for someone who claims she didn’t leave the house in a rush. There’s a bright, mischievous smile on her face—the kind that already tells on her.

Rowan’s face lights up instantly. “Oh my—”

Celeste laughs, disbelief and warmth hitting at the same time. “You did not.”

Naomi opens her arms like she’s presenting a prize. “Surprise.”

She steps in close, quick but affectionate—one kiss to Rowan’s cheek, then one to Celeste’s lips, soft and unapologetic, like she belongs here. A couple of crew members definitely notice. Naomi does not care.

“I brought you two lunch,” she says proudly. “Real food. Not whatever sad protein bar you were about to inhale.”

Rowan groans. “I was literally about to eat almonds.”

Naomi winces. “Absolutely not. I love you too much for that.”

Celeste slips an arm around Naomi’s waist instinctively. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I know,” Naomi says easily. “I wanted to.”

She tilts her head toward the hallway. “It’s already set up in your dressing room. I figured you’d want somewhere quiet.”

Rowan grins. “You figured correctly.”

They walk together, Naomi between them now, fingers laced casually with both of theirs as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. The hallway hums with muted activity, but the closer they get to the dressing rooms, the calmer it feels.

Celeste opens the door to her dressing room and immediately stops short.

“Oh wow.”

The small table is already laid out—containers neatly arranged, napkins stacked, drinks sweating lightly against the tabletop. It smells incredible. Warm. Comforting.

Naomi shrugs, pleased with herself. “I might’ve gone a little overboard.”

Rowan drops onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. “No such thing.”

Celeste closes the door behind them, the noise of the set fading away. She looks at Naomi, eyes soft. “This is really sweet.”

Naomi waves it off, but she’s smiling. “Eat first. Compliments later.”

Celeste sat down and shuffled through her bag, searching for her phone charger. Naomi plopped down on the worn velvet couch, tugging Rowan down beside her.

Celeste turned around, a small frown creasing her brow. “Can’t find my—” Naomi leans in and kisses Celeste.

When Naomi finally broke the kiss, her eyes glittered with mischief. “You’re taking charge on set, and I love it,” she purred, running her fingers through Celeste’s hair. “But I think it’s time you surrendered to me.”

Without warning, Naomi straddled Celeste’s lap, their faces mere inches apart. She leaned in, capturing Celeste’s lips in a searing kiss. Rowan watched with a lazy smile, her hand drifting up Naomi’s thigh.

As Naomi ravaged Celeste’s mouth, she whispered between kisses, “Can I have you now?” Her words were punctuated by fierce nips and licks.

Celeste nodded, her voice strained. “Yes, please.”

Naomi slid her hand down, feeling for the zipper of Celeste’s pants. She unfastened them, her fingers finding the hard length beneath, and freed it from the confines of fabric.

Celeste moaned softly as Naomi stroked her dick, her head falling back in pleasure. Naomi lined herself up, the head of Celeste’s dick nudging her entrance. With a slow, deliberate movement, Naomi sank down, taking Celeste inside her. The sensation was incredible, the heat and fullness making her gasp.

“Oh fuck, you feel amazing,” Celeste breathed, her hands gripping Naomi’s hips as she began to move. Naomi set a steady rhythm, her body rocking in time with Celeste’s thrusts.

Rowan set her coffee aside, standing up to join them. She reached out to cup Naomi’s breasts, thumbs teasing her nipples as Naomi continued to worship Celeste’s dick. She leaned in, pressing her lips to the soft skin of Naomi’s neck, breathing in her scent as she watched Celeste lose herself in pleasure.

Naomi pulled back, her cheeks flushed and her eyes glassy with desire. “Fuck,” she gasped.

With a cry, she came undone, her pussy clamping down on Celeste’s dick as she collapsed against her.

Celeste held Naomi close, panting heavily as she felt her own orgasm approaching. With a few more thrusts, she reached her peak, her cock pulsing as she filled Naomi with her seed.

Rowan let out a low whistle, her voice still husky. “Well… that was hot.”

Celeste chuckled breathlessly, resting her forehead against Naomi’s shoulder. “You’re telling me.”

Naomi laughed softly, still catching her breath. “Yeah, I know.” She reached over for the takeout bags she’d brought earlier and set them on the small coffee table. “Now let’s eat before the director calls you two back to work. We’ve got about fifteen minutes before someone comes knocking.”

Rowan grinned, sliding off the couch and grabbing a pair of chopsticks. “Fifteen minutes? That’s barely enough time to chew.”

Celeste smirked, finally pulling her shirt back into place as she joined them. “Guess we better make it count, then.”

Naomi handed her a box of noodles and leaned back against the couch, her expression softening. “You two killed it today,” she said, taking a sip from her drink. “You really have a way of pulling everyone in. Even the crew couldn’t look away.”

Rowan laughed between bites. “That’s because they thought we were actually about to start making out again mid-scene.”

Celeste rolled her eyes, though a faint blush crept up her cheeks. “Maybe we were,” she teased.

The three of them laughed quietly, the mood light and easy again. For a few precious minutes, it didn’t feel like they were on a schedule or part of a production just three people tangled in something real, eating cold takeout and stealing glances that said more than words ever could.

Outside, the faint hum of activity signaled that the next setup was almost ready. Rowan groaned dramatically and stood, brushing crumbs from her pants. “Alright, lovers. Duty calls.”

Celeste stood too, tucking a stray curl behind Naomi’s ear before kissing her cheek. “We’ll finish this later.”

Naomi smirked, tilting her head. “You better.”

Rowan threw a playful salute as she headed for the door. “Come on, superstar. Let’s go make some movie magic.”

Celeste laughed, following her toward the hallway, but not before glancing back at Naomi the look lingering just long enough to say everything she didn’t have time to.

When the door closed behind them, Naomi smiled to herself, leaned back on the couch, and whispered under her breath, “Yeah… my girls.”