8. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Julian
I haven't been back to Earth since I told Ophelia she is my soulmate. I've been trying to avoid her, in fact. Not that I can. Her brain never stops. I know she's exhausted. She's not sleeping. Barely eating. Just thinking.
She can't keep going on like this. Being in Hell and away from her makes me lose track of time. I think it's time I go back.
Or I could just ask Owen what's happening up there.
Julian: Owen.
Owen: Yes, Julian?
Julian: What's going on up there?
Owen: Well, brother. Maybe you should come up and see for yourself.
Julian: I'm pulling rank. I'm the oldest. Just tell me.
Owen: By two and a half minutes! That doesn't even count!
Julian: Owen…
Owen: Just watch Uncensored.
Uncensored with Ashton Pierce. The celebrity late-night show. I hate those stupid things. Pointless. Just rich people talking about how amazing they are. Why people watch that, I'll never know.
Demons love the show, though. All the lounges play it, and we get it on our personal devices. So I turn on the picture frame above the fireplace. I never use this stupid thing. I'd rather read. But my mother insisted it was all the rage on Earth. Aunt Selene told her.
The show comes on, and there he is—Ashton Pierce, draped in confidence like it’s tailored to him.
Everything about him is polished, deliberate. Sharp suit, styled hair, an easy smirk that says he already knows how this will play out. He leans back in his chair, perfectly at ease, like he’s the only one in the room who matters.
The show starts, and the intro music begins.
"Good evening, everyone!" he exclaims. "Welcome to Uncensored. I'm Ashton Pierce. I don’t ask the questions you want. I ask the questions you need. So let's get going with tonight's show!"
"Wow. So invigorating," I mutter.
"Tonight we have Oscar-winning actor Dominic Arden-Forsythe and Melanie Arden-Forsythe with us! They’re here to tell us about their upcoming movie, The Sun Will Forget Us, releasing in just two weeks!” Ashton continues.
The screen flickers, the lights in the studio dim, and the murmurs in the audience settle into silence.
"Let’s take a look," Ashton says smoothly.
The screen flickers, the studio lights dimming as the audience leans in.
Dominic and Melanie fill the screen, bathed in cinematic lighting, their voices hushed, aching, meant to pull the audience into something raw and real. The score swells beneath their words, subtle but deliberate, designed to make people feel something.
I don’t care.
Something flickers. A brief shift in Melanie, in the way she moves, in the way she looks at Dominic. There’s something familiar there.
I recognize it instantly.
Ophelia.
It’s diluted, watered down, barely there—but I feel it. And yet, even with that stolen spark, she still manages to just be mediocre.
I exhale, slow, amused. To take Ophelia’s gift and still suck? That’s laughable.
The clip ends. The audience erupts into applause.
"Now let's welcome Dominic and Melanie to the stage!" Ashton announces, his voice smooth, practiced.
The applause swells as they step out.
Dominic walks first, moving easily, naturally—polished, but not obnoxious. The suit fits well, the posture is effortless, and if he’s tired of the cameras, he hides it well. He looks like what he’s supposed to be: an Oscar-winning actor at the peak of his career.
A vision in something over-the-top, every detail meticulously planned. The dress clings just right, sequins catching the light like she’s trying to blind everyone in the first row. Her makeup is too perfect, her smile too poised, her wave too rehearsed.
Dominic looks like himself. Melanie looks like a performance.
I lean back, unimpressed. She was already unbearable on-screen—this is just worse.
The screen flickers, the studio lights dimming as the audience leans in.
Ashton’s smirk widens, like he’s been waiting for this. “Now, I can’t have you both here without asking about the wedding.”
The audience erupts into applause, cheers rolling through the studio. Ridiculous.
On-screen, Melanie lights up instantly. She tilts her head just enough to catch the best angle, smile dazzling, effortless, so perfectly staged it’s almost impressive.
"Oh, it was perfect. Absolutely perfect."
I barely look at her. I’m watching Dominic.
The smile is there. Thin. Forced. Just enough.
"A private ceremony, but from the pictures we’ve seen, it looked like something out of a movie." Ashton says.
Melanie doesn’t hesitate. She never does. She lets out a soft laugh, reaching over and resting a hand on Dominic’s arm—a subtle claim, meant to be noticed. "It was everything I ever dreamed of. I mean, marrying your best friend? What could be better?"
She looks up at Dominic, waiting. Expecting.
I catch the pause before he speaks. It’s barely a second, but it’s there. A hesitation, a flicker of something before he smooths it over.
"We wanted something intimate, just for us," Dominic finally says, voice easy, practiced.
I watch them, watch the world eat up the lie. They’re so deep in it, they might actually believe it themselves.
Melanie squeezes Dominic’s arm before pulling away, her voice slipping into something softer, more intimate—the actress switching scenes. "It was the best day of my life."
Ashton leans back, still grinning. “Now, let’s talk about the movie.”
Here we go.
The next few minutes play out exactly as expected. Ashton hypes them up, talking about The Sun Will Forget Us like it’s a masterpiece. Melanie basks in it, playing the charming starlet, glowing, laughing, making everything seem effortless.
"The story is just so powerful," she says, pressing a hand to her chest. "It’s about love, but also about sacrifice. And the kind of pain that stays with you forever."
I almost roll my eyes.
Dominic is more measured, he nods when he should, answers smoothly, never stumbles. But I notice the details, the way his fingers twitch against his knee, the fraction-of-a-second slip in his smile before he corrects it. He’s playing the part, but something in him isn’t as comfortable as Melanie.
Ashton leans forward, smirking. “Of course, the chemistry between you two is undeniable.”
Melanie’s already nodding before he’s finished the sentence. "Oh, absolutely."
She reaches for Dominic’s arm again. She’s selling it. Hard.
"Did that connection come naturally?" Ashton asks, eyes gleaming with something sharp.
Melanie doesn’t hesitate. "When you work with someone as talented as Dom, it’s effortless."
Dominic nods, easy, agreeable, but I see it. The slight shift in his jaw. The faint tension in his shoulders. The audience doesn’t notice. But I do.
"It really does feel like magic on screen," Ashton continues, glancing between them. "Which, of course, makes me wonder... was any of that magic still lingering off-screen?"
The audience erupts with laughter and whistles.
Melanie lets out the perfect laugh—light, teasing, not confirming, not denying. "I mean, we do play soulmates."
And there it is. The word.
Dominic’s reaction is so quick most people wouldn’t catch it. The way his breath shortens, the way his eyes flicker, just for a second, toward the camera.
I exhale, slow.
Melanie keeps talking. "Obviously, we poured everything into these characters. The emotions, the intensity—it’s all real in the moment."
Ashton nods along, eating it up. "And people are already saying this could be one of the most romantic films of the decade."
Melanie beams. "That’s incredible. It’s truly an honor to be part of something so special."
Dominic doesn’t speak this time.
Ashton leans back, his smirk shifting just slightly. A change in rhythm. A new game to play.
"Of course, I can’t bring up soulmates without touching on a certain past connection," he says smoothly. "Dominic, this is your first big romance role since… well, since Ophelia."
The studio goes still.
For the first time, Melanie’s polished veneer falters. Her fingers twitch in her lap, her smile slipping just a little before she forces it back into place.
Dominic doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.
The audience shifts, murmurs rising. This wasn’t part of the script.
Ashton tilts his head, watching them both carefully. He’s not done. "Your team has done a great job keeping this under wraps," he continues casually, "but my team? We like digging up the good stuff."
A pause. A deliberate breath. "Not everyone knows that before Melanie, Dominic was actually with her sister."
The audience gasps. A few hushed whispers ripple through the studio. Melanie’s head snaps toward Dominic. That wasn’t supposed to come out. Dominic’s jaw clenches. A warning. Don’t.
But Melanie isn’t one to sit in silence. She exhales sharply, tilting her chin up, voice dripping with false sweetness. "Oh, Ashton, really? I thought we were here to talk about the movie."
"We are," Ashton replies, all innocence and charm. "But it’s such an interesting coincidence, don’t you think? A film about soulmates, and now you two are married. But before that—well, let’s just say the story had a different lead."
Melanie lets out a laugh that doesn’t quite land right. She shakes her head, glancing toward Dominic as if expecting him to clean up the mess. He doesn’t.
Ashton leans forward slightly, his smirk widening. "In fact, the last time Ophelia was seen in public was at your wedding, wasn’t it?"
Melanie stills.
The audience reacts instantly—gasps, murmurs, a new buzz of excitement.
"It’s funny," Ashton continues, "because when those wedding photos were released, people started asking, ‘Wait, who’s that in the background?’"
The screen behind them flashes to one of the widely shared images of Dominic and Melanie’s wedding.
I watch as the pristine, romantic shot is overtaken by one detail—Ophelia, caught in the frame, just behind Melanie’s shoulder.
She’s not smiling. She’s not front and center. She’s just there.
And it’s enough.
The murmurs grow louder. Melanie laughs, forced and bright. "Oh, come on, Ashton. You’re really reaching now."
"Am I?" Ashton tilts his head. "I just think it’s interesting that, for someone who stays so far out of the public eye, that was the last place she was seen. You and Ophelia must be close?"
Melanie stiffens. It’s slight, but I see it.
She exhales, rolling her shoulders back, her expression smoothing into something confident. Composed. Ready to burn. "No, Ashton, we are not close." She lets the words hang there for a second, making sure the audience feels it. "Look, I know the internet loves their little theories, but the truth is, Ophelia has always been… different. She’s never really been interested in what the rest of us do. She’s never tried. Never fit in."
I drag in a breath, steadying what little I can.
"She’s quiet. Awkward. Always lurking on the sidelines. And, honestly?" Melanie shrugs, like she’s being generous. "She’s just not that interesting."
A few chuckles from the audience. Some laughter.
Melanie smiles wider, emboldened.
"I mean, come on. Let’s be real. We all knew Ophelia wasn’t going anywhere. She never had the drive. Never had the talent. She barely lasted in Dominic’s world, and when it got too hard? She disappeared. That’s what she does."
I watch Dominic’s hands press against his knees, tension radiating off him like heat.
Melanie isn’t done. "I mean, we’re talking about someone who used to get anxious just ordering her own coffee. Someone who was never comfortable in her own skin. It was embarrassing watching her try to belong." The laughter grows. Melanie keeps going. "Honestly? I don’t know why people even remember her. She’s forgettable. She always has been."
The words settle like dead weight.
Dominic moves before he speaks. Just slightly. His jaw tightens, his fingers curling into fists. "Stop."
It’s not loud. But it cuts through the noise like a blade.
Melanie freezes, her lips parting slightly like she hadn’t considered that he might actually push back. Dominic turns toward her fully now. His face is neutral, but there’s something cold in his eyes. "Don’t."
Melanie scoffs, feigning amusement. "Oh, come on, Dominic, don’t act like—"
"I said stop." His voice is sharper this time. Unmistakable. Silence.
Melanie swallows, her face smoothing over as if nothing happened. But it did. Everyone felt it. Ashton leans back, watching them both like a man who just set fire to a room and is waiting to see how far the flames will spread.
Just as the argument is about to break open completely, the screen glitches and cuts to black. I don’t know who cut the feed. Maybe the network. Maybe Dominic’s team. Maybe someone decided this mess had gone on long enough.
It doesn’t matter. I’m already laughing.
I turn the TV off and I feel it. A pull. A call. My mind starts to hyper-focus on where it is coming from.
Once I pinpoint it, I know it's not where. It's who.
Ophelia: Julian! I—I can’t move—I can’t—
Nothing more needs to be said because I will myself to where she is.
She twists against the sheets, her breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. Her fingers clutch at the blankets, as if trying to hold onto something just out of reach.
"Ophelia, wake up!" I call.
No answer. She’s stuck wherever she is.
"Lia, baby, I'm here. You can relax," I say, putting my hand gently on her shoulder.
She exhales sharply, her body going still. The tension seeps out of her limbs, like the nightmare has been drained from her all at once.
Her lashes flutter. Slowly. Like she’s surfacing from somewhere deep, heavy.
When her eyes rise to meet mine, I freeze. They aren’t the same. At first, I think it’s a trick of the light, the dim glow casting strange shadows over her face. But no—it’s real. It’s happening.
The color shifts, deepens. Her once crystal-blue irises darken as deep red swirls bloom within them, curling at the edges like ink spreading through water. Like mine.
Something shifts. Something primal. Deep. Ancient. It slams into me like a force I can’t fight, it’s older than thought, stronger than reason.
I move before I can stop myself. My body, my instincts—they decide before my mind does.
I grab her, my grip is hard and desperate. My fingers dig into her waist like she’s the only thing anchoring me to reality.
I’m kissing her. Hard. Fast. Devouring. She tenses beneath me, stiff—but I don’t stop.
I can’t. She’s my soulmate. My mate. It’s all I can feel. All I can see.
She exhales sharply against my lips, her breath stuttering, caught between shock and something else. Finally, she moves, not a push or a resistance, but something between hesitation and response.
My grip tightens. A growl builds low in my throat, primal and possessive. I tilt my head, deepening it, tasting her, needing her in a way I can’t name.
The bond pulses between us, thick and undeniable. She’s here. She’s mine. She’s pulling away.
I jump back and hit the wall. What the fuck am I thinking?
She called me. She wanted me to come. Protect and save her. She wants me, I think to myself.
But she isn't ready for this. Not yet. But soon.
Julian: Owen! I need you! Now!
Owen: What?
I think to myself, screw it. I open the link to all the guys.
Julian: Please! I need help!
No one responds.
Seconds later, they’re all there.
I make a mistake, though. I look into Ophelia’s eyes again. I can’t stop myself from lurching toward her, my body moving before my mind can catch up. Every cell in me screams to go back. To touch her. To pull her into my arms.
But arms clamp around me, dragging me back.
I snarl, fight, push forward—but they don’t let go. My legs still move, but I’m barely making ground.
Her name rips from my throat, a sound I don’t recognize, something between a plea and a demand.
"Julian, stop." A voice—distant, steady, barely cutting through the chaos.
Hands grip tighter. A force stronger than me, stronger than the bond, pulling me away.
"I got you. Let’s go." Damian.
No. No, no, no. I twist, fight harder, but they’re too many. The bond pulls like a noose around my ribs, tightening, burning, clawing at my insides.
"Ophelia!" The name rips from me like it’s the only thing I have left.
Darkness crashes down, swallowing me whole.