You were a force in the world of film—an award-winning actress known for raw emotion, heartbreaking monologues, and unforgettable stares into the camera. Zayne, on the other hand, was the pinnacle of precision and logic: Chief Cardiac Surgeon at the best hospital in the country, revered for saving lives others gave up on. Yet, there he was—every chance he got—seated quietly just off set, beside the producers, scripts in hand, coffee forgotten on the armrest, eyes only for you.

He’d watched you cry, laugh, scream, and seduce. He’d seen you thrown into rivers, tied to chairs, even buried alive in one memorable thriller. But he knew it was all acting—brilliant, committed, but fiction nonetheless.

Until today.

The scene had been closed off to visitors, but you gave your signature nod—the one you used when you wanted Zayne close. So he sat by the producers again, headset on, watching your every move as they filmed what the director called “the final descent.”

It started subtly, you were limping, whispering lines to yourself, blood smeared down your arms and torn dress. You let your hand tremble against the wall as you tried to steady yourself, your breath hitching, eyes vacant. Then your voice came—soft, fragmented.

“Not yet… please… not yet…”

Zayne leaned forward in his chair.

You clutched your side, stumbling across the set with the awkward weight of someone who’d lost feeling in their legs. You were crying, messy and desperate, like something deep was unraveling inside. Your eyes darted, panicked, and you whispered something to yourself as you made your way toward the faux bedroom door.

Then—the bell rang in the scene.

You let out a scream that sounded ripped from your soul, and before anyone could register it, you collapsed forward onto the bed. Limp. Unmoving.

Zayne stood up immediately, hand at his chest, face pale. He couldn’t stop the tightness in his throat or the stinging in his eyes. He knew it was fake—but something about the way you fell… how your hands didn’t catch you… how still you were—

“CUT!”

The word echoed through the set like thunder.

Your fingers twitched, and then you groaned softly. You pushed yourself up with a little stretch, grinning at a nearby crew member.

“That bed is not soft,” you muttered, grabbing a towel to dab your face. You glanced over at the director and then toward Zayne.

You saw the look on his face—still standing, eyes glassy. You walked over, unbothered by the fake blood on your skin. “babyyy,” you said gently, reaching up to touch his cheek, “Hey. You okay?”

“You died,” he murmured, voice shaking slightly. “I— You actually—”

You paused before giggling guiltily softly, pulling him close. “Don't tell me you actually thought I literally died..”

He exhaled, sniffling a bit before finally letting his arms wrap around your waist. “I’m gonna need a crash cart next time.”