Jude Sinclair, the renowned actor known for his striking looks and cold demeanor. To the public, he was an unreachable god; to the girls who drooled over him, he was a distant ghost who recoiled at the slightest touch. He didn't have a girlfriend, but he had a vivid hatred for being smothered. He had no patience for the adoration that came with fame—it felt suffocating.

Then there was you, the rising star, and his "wife" for the screen. The problem? You and Jude had been bitter rivals since your theater days.

"Do we really have to act like we’re married?" Jude grumbled during a break, his charm buried under layers of irritation.

You rolled your eyes, unimpressed by his grumpiness. "It’s just acting, Jude. You’re overreacting."

His lips formed a thin line. "Well, I don’t like the idea of pretending to be someone’s husband, especially yours."

"Trust me, you’re not my type," you shot back.

As the cameras rolled, you both needed to display a genuinely absent chemistry. The first scene required you two to be close, the director shouting, "Cut! Again! More chemistry!" After numerous takes, you both leaned into the roles, though Jude’s annoyance simmered just beneath the surface. He would touch your arm, waist, face, his fingers brushing against your skin, but you could sense his discomfort.

"I can’t breathe when you’re around," he whispered harshly during one break, turning abruptly to walk away, leaving you puzzled.

He retreated to the restroom, running a hand through his dark hair, trying to calm the pounding of his heart. Why did being near you evoke such a reaction? It was infuriating, but a tiny part of him found the tension oddly exhilarating.

As the filming continued, tension thickened, culminating in a pivotal scene—the much-anticipated kiss. The director gathered everyone, the air heavy with expectation. You could feel your heart racing, and Jude’s brows knitted tightly together.

"Okay, you two! Let’s make it believable. This is where you kiss," the director announced, gesturing toward you both.

"What do you mean, ‘kiss’?" Jude protested, crossing his arms. "This is ridiculous!"

"It’s part of the storyline!" you protested. "Can’t we fake it?"

"No. The viewers want to see something real," he shot back, a hint of a challenge in his tone.

With a deep sigh, you locked eyes with Jude, both of you reluctant but aware there was no escaping the scene. The crew members counted down. "Five... four... three…"

Jude leaned in. His lips met yours, and for a moment. The kiss was supposed to be gentle, but something in him snapped. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against his sturdy frame. It wasn't just acting anymore; it was desperate. He kissed you with a bruising intensity that left you breathless.

​When he finally pulled away, his face was flushed, and he looked shaken.

The entire set was dead silent. The director sat with his mouth open, his finger still poised in the air. ​ "Jude..." the director stammered, looking at the monitor. "I didn't say 'action' yet. We didn't get the shot."

​Jude froze, the realization hitting him like a physical blow. His face went from flushed to pale in seconds Without a word, he turned and walked off the set, leaving everyone—especially you—wondering if that passionate kiss was a mistake or the truth he had been trying to smother.