Chapter Three: Truth in the Spotlight

Monday Morning — The Langdon Theatre, 10:11 AM

“You're trending in three countries,” Dee groaned, tossing a tablet onto the rehearsal table.

Avery blinked at the screen. There it was a grainy shot of her and Jameson on the sidewalk, mid-laugh, mid-moment, mid-everything. His arm around her waist. Her hand curled into his shirt. Lips inches apart.

KISS OR COVER-UP? the headline screamed.

Beside her, Jameson sipped his coffee like none of it mattered.

“You’re enjoying this,” Avery snapped.

He grinned. “Not particularly. I look puffy in that photo.”

Dee rounded on him. “Do you ever take anything seriously?”

“Do you ever stop micromanaging my breathing?”

Dee opened her mouth, but Avery cut in. “Enough. What do we do?”

Dee hesitated. “Nothing.”

Avery blinked. “Nothing?”

“You want to be a lead on the West End or not?” Dee said crisply. “The buzz is exploding. Ticket sales are climbing. Public interest is peaking. You don’t touch this. You let it ride.”

“So let them think we’re—”

“Let them wonder,” Dee said. “Wonder sells.”

Jameson leaned closer to Avery, voice a velvet threat. “You okay playing pretend, sweetheart?”

Avery stared at him. “As long as you remember it’s just pretend.”

He held her gaze a moment longer than he should have.

The line between reality and fiction? It was blurring.

Fast.

Rehearsal — 12:32 PM

The scene was a simple one. Viola Avery disguised as Cesario, pleads her case to Olivia. But Jameson, playing Orsino, watches from the shadows. A moment of jealousy. A flicker of possessiveness.

But today?

It felt too real.

“Why do you give him your time?” Jameson’s voice snapped out, sharper than the script called for.

Avery turned, startled. “Because he sees me.”

Jameson stepped forward, ignoring the stage block. “And I don’t?”

The room went quiet.

The director stood, squinting. “Jameson, that’s not in the—”

“I see you, Viola,” he continued, tone rough. “I see everything you try to hide. I see the way you lie with grace. The way you tremble when you're alone.”

“Cut!” the director barked.

Avery stood frozen.

Jameson’s eyes locked on hers.

That wasn’t Orsino.

That was Jameson Parker.

And he’d just undressed her soul in front of an audience.

Backstage — Ten Minutes Later

“What the hell was that?” Avery hissed, grabbing his arm and dragging him into the wings.

Jameson pulled free, calm as ever. “It was called acting. Try it sometime.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

He stepped closer, voice low. “Then don’t look at me like that during a scene.”

“Like what?”

“Like you feel it.”

Avery opened her mouth, furious. But the words caught in her throat. Because he was right. She did feel it.

Too much.

Too often.

“I don’t have time to unravel you,” she said coldly.

“Then stop pulling the thread.”

That Night — Press Gala, The Dorchester Hotel, 8:18 PM

They weren’t supposed to arrive together.

But somehow, they stepped from the same car.

And somehow, her dress blood red silk, high-slit, backless matched his black suit like it had been planned.

The flashbulbs screamed.

"Jameson! Avery! Over here! Are you two dating?"

"Is the romance real?"

"Avery, is he a good kisser?"

She smiled tightly. “We’re here for the theatre. Not the tabloids.”

Jameson added, “But thanks for the compliments.”

They walked the carpet like a slow-burning fire.

And they were being watched.

Celine Maddox stood at the far end of the room, drink in hand, smile like poison.

Avery saw her first.

“Is that her?” she muttered.

Jameson’s jaw ticked. “Yeah.”

Avery turned to him. “Tell me she’s not working with the press.”

“She is the press.”

They entered the gala, heads held high, but inside, the storm was coming.

Gala Ballroom — 9:02 PM

Jameson caught Avery by the bar.

“You shouldn’t talk to her,” he warned.

“I can handle myself.”

“She plays dirty.”

“So do I,” Avery shot back, sipping her champagne.

Before Jameson could respond, Celine approached like a panther in diamonds.

“Darling,” she purred. “I was wondering when you’d stop hiding.”

Avery smiled. “It’s hard to hide when the flash is always on.”

Celine looked her over, gaze cool. “You’re prettier in person. Shame about the taste in men.”

Jameson took a step forward, but Avery raised a hand, stopping him.

“I see why you’re upset,” Avery said sweetly. “You lost something you couldn’t control. Must be a trend.”

Celine’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Just be careful, sweetheart. He likes to perform. But once the curtain falls... he’s gone.”

Avery didn’t flinch. “Maybe I’m not afraid of endings.”

Later — Hotel Rooftop, 11:48 PM

London stretched out below them, a glittering mess of lights and chaos.

Avery leaned against the balcony, heels off, champagne forgotten.

Jameson stood beside her, hands in his pockets, breathing slow.

“She wanted to ruin me,” he said at last.

Avery didn’t ask who. She knew.

“She told the press I cheated. Trashed my dressing room. Sent fake DMs. Leaked therapy notes.”

Avery’s stomach turned. “Why didn’t you fight back?”

He shrugged. “Would’ve made me look worse.”

She turned toward him, voice soft. “You didn’t deserve that.”

He met her gaze. “And what do I deserve, Avery?”

She hesitated. “Something real.”

The space between them was so small. So charged. One breath, and it would all change.

“You scare me,” she admitted.

“Because I want you?”

“No. Because I think you might mean it.”

He stepped forward. “I do.”

And then he kissed her.

Not for the cameras. Not for the play. Not for the buzz.

It was a kiss made of everything they’d been avoiding tension, fury, longing, fear.

Her hands fisted in his shirt. His mouth bruised hers. The city vanished.

They pulled apart only when air became necessary.

And when she opened her eyes, Jameson was watching her like she was the only thing left on Earth.

“What now?” she whispered.

He touched her cheek, breath uneven. “Now… we stop pretending.”

End of Chapter Three

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