Anri POV
We wrapped late. I was exhausted. My feet still ached from spending all day in heels in a fake terminal — but my brain wouldn't shut up.
That moment in the hallway kept playing on a loop. The way he looked at me. The way his voice dropped, like he was trying not to yell. Like I'd done something worse than just... leave.
And honestly? I still didn't get it.
Wasn't it supposed to be casual?
We met at a bar. Talked more with our eyes than our mouths. Slept together like we both knew there wouldn't be a tomorrow. No names. No numbers. No promises.
But now he was here. In the same building. On the same shoot. Looking at me like I was the villain in a story I wasn't even handed the script for.
I kept trying to rationalize it. Maybe it wasn't about me. Maybe he was just having a bad day. Maybe he was annoyed about something on set. Maybe he—
No. I wasn't fooling myself. He was pissed. At me.
And the worst part? A tiny part of me felt... guilty. Which I hated. Something that was supposed to be simple now lived rent-free in my head.
I rolled out of bed the next morning with a groan and got ready for another shoot. Makeup, wardrobe, styling—the usual. But my stomach stayed tight. Not from nerves. From anticipation.
Would he be there again?
Today's set was an upscale lounge mock-up. Meant to look like a business class area. Gold accents. Velvet chairs. Mood lighting. It looked more like a perfume commercial than a travel campaign.
I had barely stepped into staging when an assistant waved me down and handed over a costume bag.
"Flight attendant uniform," she said. "We're starting with Cabin Sequence A. You're paired with Kelvin."
Kelvin?
I thanked her and changed inside one of the makeshift dressing tents. The uniform fit tight and crisp, like every inch was steam-pressed. I was used to it. Being dressed like a product. Just part of the job.
What I wasn't used to was stepping out and immediately hearing, "So you're the Miss Aussie?"
I turned.
Tall. Fair-skinned. Definitely mestizo. Hair styled like it was in a shampoo ad. Pretty boy. Too pretty, actually.
"Kelvin Mateo." he said, offering his hand. "Actor. And your co-cabin crew today."
I shook it briefly. "Anri Sevilla."
He gave me a slow once-over. "Figures."
I blinked. "Have we met?"
"Nope," he said with a grin. "It's just that your accent's cute. I've got a thing for Aussie girls."
Okay.
Bold.
He was objectively attractive. Lean. Gym-fit. Dior Sauvage practically trailing behind him like mist. But the kind of guy who took mirror selfies at the gym and called himself a content creator. Pretty boy energy with a side of look-at-me confidence.
Not my type.
Not even close.
There was a reason I never seriously dated. Why I waited until 24 to lose my virginity. I wasn't into average. I liked men who looked expensive. Who carried themselves like they'd built something real. Men who didn't need to say they were powerful—you just felt it.
I played nice anyway.
We rehearsed lines. I walked the "cabin," pretending to serve invisible passengers. He leaned into every shot like we were filming a toothpaste ad. Nudged my elbow, whispered one-liners, trying to break me.
"You look too serious," he said during take three. "Crack a smile, Miss Aussie. You're supposed to be happy to see me."
"I'll work on it," I said, flat.
He laughed. "Feisty."
I didn't respond.
In my head, I already filed him under: smile politely, but do not engage.
And then I glanced up.
Lucien.
Standing behind the monitor again. Arms folded. Expression unreadable. Head tilted slightly like he was analyzing every frame.
He hadn't acknowledged me once. Not since yesterday.
But right now?
He was watching.
And he didn't look amused.
Every time Kelvin leaned in, touched my arm, whispered something, that crease between Lucien's brows deepened.
I felt... exposed. Not in a flattering way. In a raw, unfiltered way. Like he was peeling back layers I didn't offer up.
I turned back to Kelvin with an overly bright smile. "Let's nail the next one, yeah?"
Kelvin chuckled. "Bossy. I like it."
Ugh.
"Reset," the director called. "Back to Row 4. Anri, more warmth this time. Kelvin, ease up on the flirting."
I nearly choked. So... that wasn't acting?
Kelvin scratched his head, sheepish. "Sorry, Sir."
Sir?
I turned. The director had looked straight at Lucien.
Right.
Sir Lucien.
Not crew. Not talent. Something higher.
He wasn't wearing a headset or holding a clipboard, but people shifted when he moved. Watched him for cues.
So what was he? Investor? Airline rep? Corporate executive?
Whatever it was, it wasn't small-time.
And now that I was thinking about it—what were the odds?
One nameless hookup in Melbourne. No follow-up. No goodbye. And now here he was. Judging me from the side of a set in tailored slacks like the universe decided to slap me in the face for fun.
We kept shooting.
Kelvin kept trying. Offered me water between takes, brushing my fingers "accidentally."
"You do social media too?" he asked.
"Some," I said. "Mostly brand stuff. Reels."
"You've got that classy vibe," he said. "Like the kind of girl guys like me ruin."
I blinked. "Excuse me?"
He winked. "Kidding. Unless you're into that."
I laughed once—because what else could I do?
"You're not my type," I said simply.
He raised a brow. "Oh? What is?"
I didn't answer.
Before he could push it, someone called, "Reset! Row 4, take seven!"
I practically bolted to my mark.
We got through another shot. He was still trying—lowering his voice, angling his face toward mine like we were in a steamy K-drama. At one point, his hand brushed my waist during a turn, and it took everything in me not to visibly recoil.
Then we cut again.
He leaned in, casual, like we were old friends. "Hey, I was thinking... we should hang out after the shoot. I know this bar in BGC. Really chill."
I blinked at him. "You're asking me out?"
"Just drinks," he shrugged. "We're both in the industry. Gotta network, right?"
God, I was so annoyed.
I'd met enough guys like Kelvin during commercial shoots and castings. All charm, zero depth.
I don't date actors. Never have.
Because I am one. And I don't need the drama, the jealousy, the overcompensating energy. And definitely not someone who earns the same as me and thinks he's God's gift because his last TikTok reel hit five thousand views.
So I smiled. Professional. Polite. Noncommittal.
"Oh, I'm pretty boring," I said, adjusting my scarf. "Mostly stuck in the hotel. Early call times."
Kelvin smirked. "That's what after-parties are for."
"I'll pass," I said lightly. "Thanks, though."
A moment of silence stretched between us before he backed off, half-shrugging like he was saving face.
"Cool, cool. Just thought I'd try. Never know if you don't shoot your shot, right?"
I nodded once. "Right."
And then — like the universe finally had my back — we were dismissed for a break.
I exhaled and walked straight to the snack table, pretending to inspect the fruit platter like it held answers to life.
Lucien was still there.
Now talking to someone from production, his expression unreadable. He looked... expensive. Again. Button-up shirt tucked into tailored navy pants. Watch glinting under the lights.
And yeah. Maybe I looked again.
Just a second too long.
Our eyes met.
Only this time, he didn't look away.
And neither did I.