Prologue: The Gossip Curtain Rises

London, 7:42 PM — West End, Outside the Lyric Theatre

“Is it true?”

“Are they dating?"

“Jameson! Avery! Over here, look this way!”

Flashbulbs exploded like miniature suns. Jameson Parker clenched his jaw and tugged his hood lower. The crowd was relentless their camera phones raised, their questions rapid-fire and personal. Beside him, Avery Rose Scott kept her head high, smile practiced, hand steady at her side. Not touching him. Not denying it.

They were good. That much couldn’t be denied. Professional. Controlled. Convincing.

Which only made the rumors burn hotter.

"Smile, love," Jameson murmured out of the corner of his mouth. "You're the starlet. Give them the show they paid for."

“I’m not here to be a headline,” she replied, voice sharp but quiet. “I’m here to act.”

He glanced sideways at her, amused. “Same thing, really.”

They stepped into the awaiting black car. The door shut. Silence fell like a curtain.

Inside the cab, the energy changed. Avery exhaled, her shoulders relaxing just a notch. Jameson leaned back, legs stretched out arrogantly. The driver said nothing he’d driven more celebrities in more awkward silences. This was nothing new.

Except maybe, it was.

Avery turned her face away, watching the glittering lights of Shaftesbury Avenue blur past. Her thoughts were not with the stage tonight. Nor the critics. Nor the co-stars, makeup artists, agents, or theatre gossip accounts who lived to dissect her every breath.

Her thoughts were with him. The man beside her.

The man she was supposed to hate.

The man who, last night, had touched her bare shoulder backstage and whispered: “You made me believe again.”

She shouldn’t have cared. Shouldn’t have blushed. Shouldn’t have wanted it to happen again.

But she did.

God help her, she did.

Three Weeks Earlier

Avery

“Jameson Parker? You cannot be serious.”

Avery blinked at her agent as if he’d just suggested she perform Hamlet in a bikini. “He’s toxic. Tabloid gold. He hasn’t had a clean headline in six months.”

Marcus sleek, silver-haired, and not in the mood rubbed his temples. “Which is exactly why this works.”

“Explain it to me slowly, then, so I don’t throw this coffee at your head.”

He smirked. “Look, Twelfth Night is going to be massive. New direction. Big names. Think edgy Shakespeare. You’re the breakout star, and Jameson’s—”

“—a walking PR disaster.”

“—a ticket magnet,” Marcus corrected, leaning forward. “You light up the screen, Avery. But the West End? It’s brutal. You need to dazzle. Parker dazzles — when he isn’t punching photographers.”

She crossed her arms. “He’s arrogant. Difficult. Reckless.”

“He’s also brilliant, and if you two don’t set the theatre on fire with your chemistry, I’ll eat my own tie.”

She stared at him. Then at the contract. Then back again.

“Fine,” she said coolly. “But if he so much as smirks at me, I walk.”

Jameson

“What’s this one’s name again?” Jameson asked, flicking ash from his cigarette.

His new manager, Lily, didn’t even look up. “Avery Rose Scott. Trained at RADA. Breakout in Belgravia Blue. Critical darling. Currently being groomed for national treasure status. Don’t mess it up.”

“Sounds boring,” Jameson muttered.

“She’s the opposite of boring. That’s the problem.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“She’s sharp. Smart. Not afraid to put you in your place. She’s not going to fall for your pretty-boy crap or tolerate your tantrums.”

Jameson grinned lazily. “Sounds fun already.”

Lily snapped her notebook shut. “Try to make it through the first week without a scandal.”

He shrugged. “No promises.”

First Rehearsal

The rehearsal room buzzed with nervous energy. Folding chairs, scripts, coffee cups, and egos. Avery stood at the far end, skimming her lines. Viola was a dream role layered, witty, vulnerable.

Across the room, Jameson made his entrance all leather jacket, stormy eyes, and the kind of smirk that screamed trouble.

“Miss Scott,” he said, voice like velvet soaked in whiskey. “Lovely to meet you.”

Avery didn’t offer her hand.

He noticed.

She raised her chin. “Let’s just get something straight, Parker. I’m not here to babysit your reputation.”

“Fair enough.” He leaned closer. “But who’s babysitting yours?”

A few people laughed.

She didn’t.

But she did notice the way his eyes darkened when he looked at her. Not mocking. Not playful. Just… intense.

Like she wasn’t just a co-star. She was a challenge.

And he was already losing.

Scene: Act I, Scene IV – “Disguise, I see, thou art a wickedness…”

“Say the line again,” the director snapped.

“Slower. Like you mean it.”

Avery swallowed hard. Jameson’s hand was on her waist part of the scene. But it burned like a brand.

“Disguise,” she said, her voice steady, “I see, thou art a wickedness, wherein the pregnant enemy does much.”

Jameson’s gaze locked on hers.

“Slow it down,” the director barked again.

“I am slowing it—”

Jameson cut in softly. “You’re too stiff.”

She turned sharply. “Excuse me?”

His voice lowered, just for her. “You’re overthinking it. You want him. But you can’t have him. That’s the tension. Let it build.”

“You don’t think I can handle tension?”

“I think you’re afraid to feel it.”

Avery stared at him.

His hand slid a fraction lower.

The director clapped once. “Again. From the top.”

Tabloids — One Week Later

London Flame

This just in: romance takes center stage as West End theatre’s Jameson Parker steps out with none other than castmate Avery Rose Scott.

Jameson Parker used to be the hottest actor in London, but the only thing firing up lately is his temper.

We all love to love a bad boy, but Jameson's antics have made him Enemy Number One, breaking hearts across the city.

Have the tides turned? Has English Avery Rose Scott made him into a new man?

Sources say the mismatched pair has been spotted at multiple events, arm in arm and hip to hip. From fits of jealousy to longing looks and heated whispers, onlookers are stunned by this blooming romance.

Could the rumors be right? Could this unlikely romance be the real thing? Or are these gifted stage actors playing us all?

Backstage — That Night

Avery stormed into the green room, shoving her phone in Jameson’s face. “Did you see this?”

He glanced at the screen, unfazed. “Looks like a decent photo of you.”

“You don’t care they’re making up lies?”

“Are they?”

She paused.

He leaned in, brushing a stray curl behind her ear. “Because if they are… we could always make them true.”

She slapped his hand away — but her heart was hammering.

“I don’t do fake press romances.”

“I wasn’t offering fake.”

He left her staring, breathless and off-script for the first time in her career.

End of Prologue

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