Chapter 17
The car had barely rolled to a stop outside before Camille was out of her seat. She told her mother to show Aaron in while she dashed upstairs.
Rita, ever the social butterfly, eagerly agreed.
Camille hurried to her room, slipped into the bathroom, then paused in front of the mirror. She checked her makeup. Ran a hand through her hair. Breathed.
She had chosen a navy blue printed halter-neck pantsuit with a black tie belt. Her hair fell loose over her shoulders. She slipped on her black strappy sandals and added another light spritz of the scent she was wearing—the one Aaron loved. Every time she wore it he told her how good she smelled.
Maybe she should bring it with her on the trip.
She scanned the room, making sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. Satisfied, she dropped the perfume in her handbag and headed for the stairs.
As she made her way downstairs, her mother’s voice floated through the house.
“Yes, so Camille was extraordinary from the moment she was born. Strangers stopped to marvel at her. Cameras loved her. I entered her in every cute-kid contest I could find—and she won them all. Commercials followed. Then bit parts…”
“Mama, please. Don’t bore Aaron!” Camille said with an embarrassed laugh as she entered the living room.
“Oh he’s not bored at all, are you?” Rita laughed, turning to him.
But when Camille glanced at Aaron she noticed two things in quick succession.
Aaron was staring at the floor while her mother rattled on. Slowly nodding. As though absorbing something. As though piecing something together.
And when she walked into the room—he didn’t look up.
He didn’t rise to greet her. Didn’t smile. Didn’t cross the room in that eager way he always did.
He just sat there. Staring at the floor.
She walked toward him anyway. When she stopped in front of him, he finally lifted his eyes.
Not his head. Just his eyes.
The hurt in them. The anger.
It almost stole her breath.
She stopped short. Took an involuntary step back.
He said nothing.
Her mother, oblivious until now, seemed to feel the shift. Her gaze darted between them.
Camille had no idea how long the silence lasted.
She knew he knew.
She didn’t know how he knew but she knew he knew.
She didn’t want to ask. Didn’t want to give it shape. Didn’t want to give it sound.
But her stomach churned with the truth.
She couldn’t bear the silence.
It was suffocating.
She had to say something.
“Umm. Are you ready to go?” she squeaked.
He didn’t take his eyes off her.
But he spoke to her mother.
“Rita, I’d like to have a word in private with Camille, please.”
Her mother eagerly obliged. “Of course. I was actually leaving. I have a lunch date,” she added with a laugh.
She kissed Camille’s cheek. “See you later, sweetie. We’ll discuss the script later. Nice meeting you,” she said to Aaron.
“Likewise,” he replied still looking at Camille.
The door closed with a soft click.
Camille swallowed as she lowered herself beside him, unshouldering her handbag.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“What’s wrong?” He ran a hand through his hair and rose to his feet. “Everything’s wrong.”
She shook her head. “What’s going on?”
He moved away from her and leaned against the wall, as though he needed the support.
“You know, driving over here all I could think of was that I would confront you and demand answers.” He let out a short, humorless breath. “Now I’m here, there is only one answer I want. Did you ever tell me the truth about anything?”
Her throat convulsed. Fear sliced through her. The tears fell before she could stop them.
“Aaron, I swear—”
“Camille, don’t lie to me.” His voice cracked like a whip.
She started sobbing. “I was going to tell you. I swear I was going to tell you.”
“Tell me what, Camille?”
“That I shot the season finale for Shadow Peak.”
His jaw tightened. “Why? Why would you do that after everything you told me about that show? About Simon Halden? Why?”
“Because it was the only way!”
She looked up at him, pleading. Wanting to grab him. To beg. To plead. But afraid he would recoil.
“The only way? What are you even talking about?”
“Aaron, he was… he was threaten—threatening to prevent Esther. To halt Esther. The distribution of the f-film… the pro-promotion…” She was hiccupping now, barely able to breathe.
Tears streaked her face. “I didn’t want that to happen.
I didn’t want to destroy your career. I was trying to protect you. I pr-promise.”
She pushed herself to her feet and reached for him.
“No!” he warned. “Stay right where you are. Don’t come near me, Camille.”
The words hit her like a blow.
Once, in this very room, he had said something similar—but playfully. Teasing. Because the passion between them had felt almost too much to contain.
Now his voice held only revulsion.
The contrast shattered her.
She dropped to her knees and doubled over, weeping.
“Even if I were to believe what you just said,” he continued, his voice lower now but no less sharp, “even if I were to accept that you were trying—in your own misguided way—to help me… what I cannot accept, Camille, is the lies. The deception. Over the last several days.” His voice broke for the first time.
“Do you think I could ever trust you again after this?”
She had no answer.
“And to think I thought I lov—” He stopped himself. Let the unfinished word hang in the air.
Blazing.
Incriminating.
“It’s over between us, Camille. We’ll see what we can salvage in PR for the movie’s sake. But apart from that, I don’t want to see you again.”
She was still crying when she heard the door open.
Then close.
The engine started.
His car pulled away.
And suddenly she wasn’t crying anymore.
She curled into herself on the floor, small and broken, listening to the fading sound of his car disappearing down the street.
Soon the only sound left in the house was the occasional, helpless hiccup.
~*~*~*~
Aaron didn’t take the break he had promised himself.
Rest would have required stillness. Stillness would have required thinking. And thinking would have led him straight back to Camille.
So instead, he worked.
He buried himself in editing, in reviewing footage, in shaping the narrative with surgical precision.
He dove into the dailies—hours of raw footage—assessing performance, continuity, lighting, line delivery.
Searching for the best takes. The cleanest emotional beats.
The moments that would carry the weight of the film.
He had known he would have to brace himself for her scenes.
Before pressing play on the first one, he leaned back in his chair and made a decision.
She is an actress.
Not the woman you love.
Not the woman you’re trying to unlove.
Just an actress you directed.
It became a discipline. A quiet mantra.
He worked alongside the editor, MacKenzie Keller—Mack to everyone—to build the assembly cut, the first rough arrangement of scenes in script order. They refined it together, adjusting pacing, tightening transitions, restructuring emotional arcs. Shaping it into something that resembled a rough cut.
Once, while they were reviewing a pivotal confrontation scene, Mack leaned back and said casually, “She’s amazing as Esther. I still can’t believe she’s appearing in the season finale of Shadow Peak, though. Did you hear about that?”
Aaron grunted and changed the subject.
A week after he’d confronted Camille and ended things, Ray had called.
“We met with her,” Ray had said. “The studio heads and I.”
Aaron had forced his voice steady. “About the secret filming.”
“Yes.”
“What was her response?”
“She said she made a deal with Simon Halden. Two-hour final episode in exchange for him dropping the lawsuit. She claims it protected the studio. Said if Simon had gone forward with the injunction, distribution and marketing could’ve stalled. She said we should be thanking her.”
Aaron had gone silent. He remembered her face that afternoon. Shattered. Desperate. Trying to tell him she was protecting him. He pushed the memory down.
“Go on,” he’d said.
“We challenged her,” Ray continued, “that filming those episodes could damage the very film she claimed to be saving.”
“What did she say?”
“She asked how. Calmly. Said she’d be transparent. She’s still a believer. She completed her contract under terms she could live with. She put forward a compelling case.”
Aaron’s jaw tightened.
“She also said when she promotes the episodes, she’ll be upfront about who she is and what she believes. Every chance she gets.”
“And you agree with her?” Aaron had asked.
A pause.
“Yes, Aaron. I do. I know I was livid at first but after she explained things I understood. We all did. I believe that she has the ability to charm audiences and convince them that she did nothing wrong.”
Aaron wanted to say, “The way she convinced you?”
But he hadn’t.
It was obvious Camille had Ray eating out of the palm of her hand.
Now, in the editing suite, Aaron continued reviewing footage. There were only a couple of scenes that needed pick-ups, mercifully involving the actors playing Haman and Mordecai. He wouldn’t have to reshoot anything with Camille.
He wondered—uneasily—if he was being too lenient. If he was overlooking minor flaws in her scenes simply to avoid standing across from her again.
Not searching for reasons to reshoot.
Searching for reasons not to.
~*~*~*~
One night, after an emotionally draining day reviewing their most intense scene—himself, Camille, and Yves—Aaron’s phone buzzed.
Ray.
Camille is promoting Shadow Peak tonight at 11:35 p.m. on The Tonight Show. You might want to check it out.
He told himself he didn’t.
At 11:39, he turned it on.
There she was. And she was perfect. Dark hair swept back from her face, makeup soft but luminous. A pale pink satin dress that caught the studio lights every time she shifted. Composed. Radiant. At ease beside Jimmy.
The crowd cheered loudly when her name was announced.