Chapter 15
Liam
Emma hadn’t spoken to him all day. She’d told him she needed space, time to think, and Liam had given it to her. Now she was in the living room, damp hair curling at her shoulders, her arms crossed over her chest like a shield. Her eyes were dry now, but the faint redness around them gave her away.
He hovered on the edge of the couch, his knees bouncing and his hands clamped together.
He felt like a schoolboy waiting outside the principal’s office to be told just how badly he’d screwed up.
Only he wasn’t a boy anymore. He was a grown man who had let the entire fucking world watch something he hadn’t even fully admitted to himself.
Emma took a seat next to him. “I can’t do this. I can’t sit here, carrying your child, while the whole world watches you kiss him like nothing else exists. Like we don’t exist.”
His head snapped up. “It wasn’t like that.”
She gave a short, humorless laugh. “Wasn’t it? Because from where I was sitting—and from where everyone else was sitting—it looked like the moment they called cut, you kissed him harder.”
Liam stood before he thought better of it, restless energy driving him to pace the room.
“It wasn’t planned. We didn’t know someone was secretly filming.
It just—” He broke off. His mind kept skipping ahead to places he didn’t want to go, and he had to yank himself back before he lost his train of thought completely. “It got out of control.”
Her eyes locked on his and held him there. “Yeah. It did.”
The quiet that followed pressed in thick and suffocating.
“I’m your wife, Liam.” Her voice didn’t shake. “And when I watched that video, I didn’t feel like it.”
He moved toward her, kneeling by her feet, his hands flexing at his sides like he wasn’t sure if he could touch her.
“Emma, I’m not asking you to understand this,” he said, words rushing faster than his brain could keep up.
“I don’t even understand it. That kiss…” He exhaled.
“Yeah, I got carried away. There’s chemistry. But that doesn’t mean—”
He stopped. Because he didn’t know what it didn’t mean. He didn’t know what the hell it meant at all.
When he looked at her again, her eyes were swimming with unshed tears, and the fear behind them made his chest tighten.
“I love you,” he said quickly. “We’re having a baby. You’re my wife. That hasn’t changed.”
Emma let out a breath like she’d been holding it for hours. When she spoke, her voice cracked for the first time. “I need you. I can’t do this without you. I don’t want to.”
The words knocked the wind out of him. He reached for her without thinking, pulling her into his arms. She clung to him instantly, fingers digging in like he was the only solid thing left.
Maybe he was. Maybe this moment—her body against his, her need wrapped tight around him—was the only thing that still made sense. He held her so tightly it hurt.
“You’re not losing me,” he whispered into her hair. “I love you. I love you so much.” He said it again and again, a prayer of desperation. Like maybe if he repeated it enough, it would become true in every part of him.
They talked for a while in low voices, quiet words smoothing over the cracks. He told her she didn’t need to worry, that he wasn’t going anywhere. She believed him and even smiled once—small and tired, but real—and something in his chest eased at the sight.
When she finally went to bed, he stayed by her side, stroking her hair until her breathing slowed and she drifted off to sleep.
He wanted to hold on to that peace, but when the room fell still, his mind wouldn’t follow. He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head bowed like a man trying to pray, but too guilty to find the words. There was only the restless ache of not knowing who he was anymore.
He’d said the right things. He told her he loved her, and he meant it, but the words didn’t quite bridge the space between thought and truth. Something lived in that gap—a shadow, a ghost, a name etched too deep under his skin to ignore.
His brain wouldn’t quiet. The hum of the air-conditioning, the tick of the clock, the thin strip of light cutting across the floor—his mind kept catching on everything at once.
His eyes landed on his phone, and he picked it up.
Dozens of unread messages and alerts filled his screen.
He scrolled past all of them until he reached the one thread he shouldn’t be looking for.
Jacob.
He stared at it, thumb hovering, pulse hammering. He typed with no edits, without second thoughts, just the truth that burned too sharp to swallow.
Me: What the hell are we doing?
The message sat there, delivered but unanswered. No typing bubble, no response. Some questions didn’t have answers, certainly not ones Jacob would give.
Liam exhaled slowly and set the phone down. He stretched out on the bed beside Emma, the mattress dipping under his weight. He told her he loved her, held her while she cried, and promised her she wasn’t losing him. And still, he texted Jacob.
He dragged a hand down his face, disgust settling deep in his gut. The guilt didn’t crash in waves anymore. It sat heavy and constant, sour as rot. He hated himself for what he’d done.
And worse—for what he still wanted to do.
* * *
Liam hadn’t planned on falling apart today, but he wasn’t ruling it out either.
The makeup chair felt too bright, the lights too harsh, and the crew too loud. Every cheerful good morning scraped across his skin like sandpaper. Nobody mentioned the video, but the omission felt worse than words, as if the entire room had agreed to pretend.
He was tired of pretending.
What the hell are we doing? He had sent it like a question, but it had felt like a scream. Jacob had stayed silent. He probably slept fine, woke up early, and ate breakfast with his kids. Meanwhile Liam was over here trying not to unravel in front of everybody on set.
There were no intimate scenes on the call sheet today, just dialogue-heavy pages that kept them three feet apart. It should have felt safe.
Hours dragged by, each one heavier than the last, but he managed to keep it together through the morning—barely. Jacob looked steady as stone, his expression carved into that practiced calm, as if nothing had ever happened.
By the time lunch rolled around, Liam couldn’t take it anymore. He caught Jacob just outside the soundstage. “Can we talk?”
Jacob paused a fraction too long. “Now?”
“No,” Liam said, forcing his voice steady. “After wrap.”
Jacob studied him a moment, then gave the smallest nod. “Fine.”
When the day finally ended, Jacob led the way into his trailer and shut the door behind them with a soft click.
He didn’t sit. He stood by the small table near the window, one hand resting on the back of a chair like he needed the anchor.
The trailer was neat, stripped of anything personal, no trace of Jacob left lying around.
Liam stayed near the kitchenette, picking at the seam of his sleeve, nervous energy shifting through him. “I’m not here to make a scene,” he said, the words catching slightly. “I just… need to say something.”
Jacob didn’t interrupt.
Liam ran a hand through his hair until it stuck up in uneven angles. “I just—I’m not good at keeping things in. And this—whatever this is—it’s been stuck in my head since the chemistry read.”
Jacob stayed quiet.
Liam let out a laugh that didn’t sound like one.
“None of it feels like acting to me. It’s too…
real. It’s messing me up. And now the media frenzy, the comments, the edits—it’s too much.
” His gaze dropped to the floor before flicking back up.
“I can’t stop thinking about it. About you… I don’t know what to do with that.”
The words had tumbled out before he could decide if he should have said them at all. “I’m not asking you to fix it, okay? I just had to say it out loud, because pretending it’s not happening—yeah, I can’t do that. I’m not built like that.”
The quiet that followed was unrelenting. Liam braced for the worst—a nod, maybe a clipped dismissal, but instead Jacob’s voice cut the quiet. “You’re not the only one.”
Liam froze. “What?”
“I’m done denying it,” Jacob said, voice steady, though his eyes betrayed the fracture beneath. “The attraction. It’s real. I know that now.”
The breath Liam had been holding bled out of him all at once, his chest loosening in a way that almost hurt.
Jacob’s tone hardened. “But that doesn’t change anything.”
Liam flinched.
“We’re both married,” Jacob continued, quieter now, but no less firm. “There’s no room for this. If I could keep my distance, let it fade—I would. But we can’t. We’re under contract. No exit without blowing up the show and both our careers.”
He met Liam’s eyes without wavering. “So we adapt. Denial doesn’t work, so we keep it professional. No more blurred lines.”
Liam’s voice scraped raw. “Adapt how?”
“No more tongue,” Jacob said, as if it was a simple business decision. “We agreed to it because a real kiss reads better on camera, but it’s not safe anymore. We fake it. Cheat the angles. Keep it clean.”
Liam blinked. “You think that’ll fix this?”
“It’s not about fixing,” Jacob said. “It’s about managing.”
Just like that, the door slammed shut again. The truth acknowledged, only to be pulled back and locked away. Boundaries redrawn with cold precision.
“Okay. Fake it.” Liam forced the words out, the bitter taste thick in his throat.
Jacob gave a single nod and left, the door shutting softly behind him. The silence that followed was crushing. Liam stood frozen in the middle of Jacob’s trailer, abandoned once more in a space that wasn’t his.
He should feel steadier now, at least the lines were clear. He could go home, hold Emma, focus on the baby, and pretend this wasn’t tearing him in two. Relief was what he should be feeling. Instead, his chest ached with the cruelest truth of all.
Jacob felt it too—and he still walked away.