Chapter 33
GRACE
Isat on the small sofa, phone in hand, watching my career implode in real time. The headlines were brutal.
brEATHLESS DIRECTOR MICAH BLACKWELL IN SECRET ROMANCE WITH LEADING LADY
GRACE STONE: FROM HOMEWRECKER TO DIRECTOR’S GIRLFRIEND
DID GRACE STONE SLEEP HER WAY TO THE TOP?
That last one made me physically nauseated.
I scrolled through Twitter, knowing I shouldn’t, unable to stop myself.
The comments were a cesspool of speculation and cruelty.
People who’d never met me or seen a single frame of my work were confidently declaring that I had no talent.
They were one million percent certain I’d only gotten this role because I was sleeping with the director.
I was a gold digger, a manipulator, a whore.
So far, no one had figured out who I really was, but it was only a matter of time. I’d be exposed and then the headlines would shift to the nepo baby bullshit.
I knew Chantilly wouldn’t keep her mouth shut. The various sources were providing just enough factual information to prove there were people on the set talking shit. I didn’t know who to trust. Patty? The makeup crew?
I closed the app and threw my phone onto the cushion beside me.
This was worse than the Jack thing. So much worse.
Because the Jack thing had been a lie, a misunderstanding that could eventually be cleared up.
This was real. Micah and I were really together.
And now everyone was going to assume the worst.
Every performance I’d given on this movie would be questioned. I’d poured my heart into becoming Elena and none of it would matter. People would look at my work and see only the scandal. The director’s girlfriend. The actress who slept her way into the role.
I’d worked so hard to escape my father’s shadow. Changed my name. Fought for every audition. Earned this opportunity through years of rejection and persistence.
And now it was all going to be reduced to gossip.
My phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen, expecting Loretta. I had no idea how she was spinning this. But it wasn’t her, it was my father.
My stomach dropped. Ignoring him wouldn’t make him go away.
“Dad.”
“What the hell is going on over there?” He wasn’t yelling, but it was that voice. I knew it. The way it got when he was barely containing his fury. “I’m getting calls from colleagues who know who you are. Do you have any idea how this looks?”
“Dad, I can explain.”
“Explain what? That you’re sleeping with a Blackwell? You’ve turned my daughter into tabloid fodder?” He let out a harsh laugh. “I raised you better than this, Grace. Did you go there to act or to humiliate me?”
The words hit like a slap. “I didn’t plan this. It just happened.”
“Things like this don’t just happen. You made a choice. A stupid, reckless choice.”
“We have a connection, Dad. Micah is a great guy.”
“Micah is a Blackwell.” He snapped. “And like all Blackwells, he’ll use you for his own gain. He’ll take what he needs, turn on you when you’re no longer useful, and forget you ever existed. That’s what they do. That’s who they are.”
“You don’t know him.”
“I know his family. I know what they’re capable of.” There was venom in his voice. Decades of bitterness filled every syllable. “His mother nearly destroyed my career. His father has spent thirty years spreading lies about me. And now you’re in bed with his son? Literally?”
I flinched. “That’s not fair.”
That was the worst part—having my father privy to my sex life.
“Life isn’t fair, Grace. I thought you understood that.” He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was quieter but no less cutting. “You’ve worked so hard and now you’re throwing it all away for what? A man who’s going to toss you aside the moment the movie wraps?”
“He’s not like that.”
“They’re all like that. You know better. You couldn’t just wait to get to the top the honest way? You had to go sleep with the director.”
“Don’t you dare,” I snapped. “That is not the case. Shame on you. You don’t get to judge me.”
“You wouldn’t use my name but you’ll crawl in his bed.”
“Stop it,” I heard my mother say. “Gordon, give me the phone. You’re not helping.”
There was a shuffle and my father muttering something.
“Grace? Honey, are you okay?” Mom’s voice swept over me.
I couldn’t speak. My throat had closed up, tears streaming down my face.
“Grace?”
“I have to go,” I whispered.
I hung up before she could respond.
I sat there, tears falling freely now, my father’s words echoing in my head. They cut much deeper than I wanted to admit. I knew Micah—right?
Was I just another conquest for Micah? Another actress seduced by a powerful director, too naive to see the truth until it was too late?
No. I didn’t believe that. I couldn’t believe that. What Micah and I had was real. I felt it in every kiss and every quiet moment we’d stolen together. He cared about me. I knew he did. But knowing something in your heart and proving it to the world were two very different things.
A knock on the trailer door made me jump.
“Grace?” Patty’s voice, hesitant. “They need you on set in ten minutes.”
Ten minutes. I had ten minutes to pull myself together, to transform from a sobbing mess into Elena, a woman fighting for her life against impossible odds.
“Ditto, girl,” I murmured.
I looked at myself in the small mirror above the vanity. My eyes were red and puffy, my nose running, my face blotchy from crying. I looked like I’d been through a war.
“I’ll be right there,” I called back.
I splashed cold water on my face. Took deep breaths. Reminded myself that I was a professional. I’d gotten through worse than this. The best thing I could do for myself, Micah, and everyone who’d worked so hard on this movie, was to deliver the performance of my life.
The scandal would fade eventually. They always did. I just had to ride it out.
When I finally emerged from the trailer and headed for makeup, the artist took one look at my face and immediately understood.
“Sit,” she said, guiding me to her chair. “I’ve got you.”
She worked quickly and efficiently, dabbing concealer under my eyes, adding drops that made the redness disappear, brushing powder across my cheeks to even out my skin tone. Her hands were gentle, her voice low and soothing.
“This happens more than you’d think,” she murmured as she worked. “Lot of drama on these sets. I’ve seen leading ladies have full breakdowns between takes and still nail the scene. You’re going to be fine.”
“Thank you,” I managed.
“Just focus on the work. Everything is just noise.”
When she finished, I looked almost normal. A little tired, maybe, but nothing that couldn’t be explained away by the grueling schedule. The magic of movie makeup.
I walked to set with my head held high, ignoring the glances and whispers that followed me. I could feel everyone watching, waiting to see how I’d handle this. Whether I’d crumble or rise to the occasion.
I chose to rise.
Micah was near the monitors when I arrived, reviewing something on the screen with the DP. He looked up as I approached. I saw the concern flash across his face. The urge to come to me and ask if I was okay. I knew his instinct was to fix whatever was wrong.
But he didn’t. He stayed where he was, maintaining the professional distance we both knew was necessary.
The distance that might have saved us if we’d maintained it from the beginning.
Our eyes met for just a moment. I gave him the smallest nod, trying to communicate everything I couldn’t say out loud.
I’m okay. I’ll get through this. We’ll figure it out.
He nodded back and turned back to the monitor.
I walked to my mark and waited for the scene to begin. It was one of the downsides of trying to make it as an actress. Everyone had an opinion about everything you did. No matter how personal. No matter how private. Your life became public property the moment you stepped in front of a camera.
But I hadn’t come this far to let gossip break me. I hadn’t fought this hard to give up now.
“Quiet on set!” the AD called out.
I closed my eyes and found Elena.
The final scene of the Hawaii shoot was deceptively simple. Elena on the beach at sunset, her ex-boyfriend making his last desperate plea for reconciliation. Jack’s character would pour his heart out, beg for another chance, try to convince her that what they had was worth fighting for.
My job was to stand there and react. To let the audience see Elena’s internal struggle play out across my face. The words she couldn’t say. The feelings she couldn’t admit.
It should have been easy. I’d done reaction work a thousand times. But standing there with the sun sinking toward the horizon, knowing Micah was watching from behind the monitors and our relationship had just become international news made it so much harder.
“First positions,” the AD called.
I walked to my mark, the sand still warm beneath my bare feet. Jack positioned himself a few feet away, running through his lines under his breath. For once, he actually looked focused. Maybe even nervous.
Good. At least one of us should be acting.
“Jack, you’re laying it all on the line,” Micah said. “Grace, you’re hearing things you never expected to hear. Let it land.”
I didn’t look at him. I couldn’t. If I looked at him right now, I’d fall apart completely.
Jack leaned into the character. His eyes were wet. Actually wet. I didn’t know Jack Montana was capable of tears that weren’t glycerin based. I thought about Micah while Jack delivered his performance.
And I let all of it show on my face.
Elena’s confusion became my confusion. Her pain became my pain. The tears that welled up weren’t acting—they were real, spilling over before I could stop them.
“Cut!”
I blinked, suddenly aware of the crew around us. Jack was staring at me with something like respect in his eyes.
“That was incredible,” he said quietly. “Damn, Grace.”
I couldn’t respond. I just nodded and turned away, wiping at my cheeks.
“Let’s go again,” Micah called out. “Same energy. Grace, that was perfect. Jack, match her intensity.”
We reset and ran it again and again. Each time, I found new layers to Elena’s response. New shades of heartbreak and hope and fear. I drew from the well of everything I was feeling. By the fifth take, my face was a mess of tears and snot and I didn’t care.
“That’s the one,” Micah finally said. “Moving on to coverage.”
The crew shifted into motion. Someone handed me tissues and a bottle of water.
We shot Jack’s coverage next. I stood off camera, delivering my lines for his reactions, watching him work through his monologue over and over.
He was actually good. Better than I’d given him credit for.
When he wasn’t being a preening narcissist, there was real talent buried under all that ego.
“Cut.”
Silence stretched across the beach.
Then someone started clapping. It spread through the crew. When the film came out, I wanted the critics to look at my performance and then decide if I actually earned the role.
I knew I did. Fuck the haters.