Chapter 13
JAKE
She’s gone.
The cold air bites at my skin and burns my lungs, but I barely feel it.
I stand there, frozen, staring after her as the crowd swallows her whole and the night steals her from me.
She ran. And I… I let her.
My breath comes too fast, and my pulse roars in my ears, drowning out the distant chatter, the city noise, the low hum of people filtering back inside the theater behind me.
I don’t move. I can’t. If I do, if I take even one step forward, this will be real. The moment I admit she’s gone… it becomes permanent.
I let fear ruin the best thing that ever happened to me.
A sharp pain claws through my chest, radiating through every inch of me until I don’t know where it ends, and I begin.
My hands twitch uselessly at my sides, aching to go after her. To run. To fix this. To beg.
But there’s nothing left to fix because I broke it. Because I lied.
And now… I’ve lost her.
Because she meant it. I never want to see you again.
The words carve through me, a wound I’ll never stop bleeding from.
I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing down the scream that wants to rip free. When I open them, I tip my head back and stare at the sky, half expecting the universe to take pity on me. To give me a sign. To give me… something. Anything. But there’s nothing. Just the dark.
Nothing but this hollow ache where she used to be.
I should chase her. I should fight.
But what would I even say? What could possibly make this better?
Nothing. I already destroyed us.
“Mr. Hollander?”
The voice barely registers. It takes me a second to blink back down, my head turning slowly toward the woman in front of me.
She’s wearing a headset, her expression painfully neutral. Professional.
Like my whole world hasn’t just imploded at my feet.
“The premiere is starting,” she says softly.
Right.
The premiere.
Like it matters.
I nod numbly. “Sorry. I’m coming.”
My voice is steady, somehow. My face falls back into the role like it always does.
Jake Hollander. Hollywood’s leading man.
Heartbreaker. Liar. Fraud.
I pull on my jacket, stand tall, and follow her back inside.
Tonight, I’ll play the hardest role of my life—pretending I’m not already broken.
The second I step into the room—right into the roar of cheers and applause—I feel it. The weight. The suffocating pressure.
And then I see him… Will.
He’s grinning like the charming asshole he is, but his eyes… they’re scanning the crowd, searching. He knows.
Maybe I’m not pretending as well as I think I am, or maybe it’s easier for one broken soul to recognize another.
The smile on my face physically hurts, my cheeks aching from the effort. I raise a hand, waving to the screaming fans, the cameras, the world.
And all the while, my lungs feel too tight, like I can’t pull in a full breath.
I sit, swallowing hard, my gaze flickering to the empty seat beside me. The one I’d saved for her.
Before the ache can settle too deep, Will moves quietly and without a word. He abandons his spot at the end of the line, slips past the others, and drops down into the seat next to me.
I don’t look at him. I can’t. But my voice cracks as I whisper, “She’s gone.”
Will doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to. His hand lands heavy on my shoulder.
And for once, the loudest guy in the room just… sits there, silent and solid.
Because what the hell is there left to say?
The lights dim, and the movie starts. But I don’t watch.
Instead, I pull out my phone. My thumbs move frantically.
Texts pour out—apologies, rambling explanations, declarations of love—all messy, pathetic nonsense.
All marked undelivered.
I don’t stop until, suddenly, the phone is ripped from my hands.
I flinch, turning sharply, ready to snap. But Will’s already staring straight ahead, his jaw tight and his eyes hard.
He doesn’t even glance at me—just holds my phone like it’s burning him. And somehow, that’s what makes me stop fighting.
I sag back into the seat. “I love her, man.”
“I know.” His voice is quiet..
“She hates me.”
“She doesn’t,” he whispers, like if he says it softly enough, it might become true.
I stay silent for the rest of the movie, itching to grab my phone back. To email her, message her on AO3—something. But Will sits stiff beside me, and I know damn well he’d tackle me in front of a full theater if it came to that. No need to add public humiliation to the list tonight.
So I sit there, barely hearing the final hour of blood and drama on-screen, my mind spinning.
Making a plan.
I know where she lives. I could go to her.
The thought makes me wince. Yeah, that sounds predatory as hell.
She deserves space. She deserves better than this.
But if I let her walk away without explaining—without telling her why I did what I did, no matter how fucked up it looks—then I’ve lost her. Maybe I already have. But I can’t live without trying.
By the time the credits roll and the lights come back up, the decision is made.
It’s a half-baked, borderline disastrous plan—one worthy of Will Winters himself. But it’s all I’ve got.
“Whatever you’re thinking of doing?” Will mutters under his breath, flashing a practiced smile as we both turn toward the guests and wave.
I open my mouth—
"Don’t," he says again, sharper this time, a command more than a suggestion. His hand tightens on my shoulder, anchoring me in place.
I clench my jaw so hard it hurts, but I don’t move. I don't fight him.
Deep down, I know he’s right.
For the next thirty minutes, we sit through the Q&A. It’s tedious—soulless, even—but thank God, most of the questions are directed at Will and his very cinematic death.
When it’s finally over and the last polite applause dies out, people start filtering toward the exits. I immediately hold out my hand.
“Phone.”
Will sighs but pulls it from his pocket, slapping it into my palm just as Landon, our agent, appears out of nowhere, smiling like a man who smells fresh blood.
“There you are,” Landon says, already steering us toward the exit. “Let’s go.”
I frown, shoving my phone into my jacket. “Go where?”
“The after-party, of course.”
“Will there be booze?” Will grins, almost hopeful.
I just shake my head. “I’m not going.”
Landon stops, eyebrows shooting up as if I just told him I was quitting acting to become a monk.
Then he laughs—a short, sharp sound. “Of course you’re going.
You’re contracted to go. These people paid a shitload of money to see you tonight and bankroll your next film.
You’re going to smile, shake hands, sign whatever the hell they shove at you—and you’re going to make them love you. ”
The rage bubbles fast,—but before I can open my mouth and tell him exactly where to shove his party, Will nudges me hard in the ribs.
“Don’t,” he murmurs. “Not now. Not like this.”
And just like that, I know—I’m trapped.
Will winks at Landon. “You go ahead. Save me a bottle of champagne.”
Landon eyes me, then Will, then back again. He sighs like we’re both children. “Five minutes. Or I’m coming back for you.”
He turns and disappears into the crowd.
The second he’s out of earshot, I whip around, glaring at Will. “You seriously enjoy this, don’t you?”
Will shrugs, completely unbothered. “What? Someone’s gotta stop you from torching your entire career over a girl.”
“She’s not just any girl,” I grit out. “She’s my soulmate.”
He snorts. “Jesus, you sound like one of those shitty movies you refuse to audition for.”
I glare harder. “I mean it.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Will waves a hand, his smirk softening just a little. “And if she really is? Then don’t screw it up more than you already have.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out—because he’s right.
And we both know it.
“She wouldn’t want you to burn everything down for her,” Will adds quietly. “That’s not who she is.”
I look away, my jaw clenched so hard it aches. No. She wouldn’t.
Will claps me on the back, smirking like the cocky bastard he is. “Don’t worry, Padawan. Stick with me, and I’ll teach you how to survive these things in under an hour and still make it look like you did your job.”
I shake my head but follow him, letting him lead me through the throng of producers, investors, and assorted industry leeches. It’s everything I hate—fake smiles, meaningless small talk, everyone trying to out-name-drop each other.
I nod when I have to, shake hands when expected, and sip expensive champagne that tastes like regret. My mind isn’t here. It’s still outside, in that alley, watching Amy walk away from me.
Just as I start edging toward the exit, ready to bail, Will appears out of nowhere—his shoulders tense, face pale, his phone clutched tight in his hand.
My stomach drops. “What?”
He doesn’t answer. Just hands me the phone like it weighs a thousand fucking pounds.
I glance down… and the world tilts.
The headline screams at me in bold black letters: Jake Hollander Gets Dumped at His Own Premiere.
There’s a transcript. The worst part of the fight. My begging. Her dismissal.
But that’s not what hits hardest.
It’s the photos.
One, grainy but clear, of us in the alley.
And another… a full shot of her. Amy’s face, lit up by the marquee lights. Beautiful. Furious. Heartbroken.
Exposed.
My chest constricts painfully. She didn’t ask for this. She didn’t deserve to be dragged into my world like this.
I look up at Will, and he just nods grimly. “It’s everywhere already.”
My throat works, but no sound comes out.
And then, finally, “Fuck.”