Chapter 36
Trust is a fragile thing.
Emma wandered the backstage corridors until she found herself outside the empty podcast room. She wanted to call Darren, thumb hovering over her phone, but her nerves were still too raw from the confrontation with Leah.
“Emma,” a voice called.
She spun around, jolting to high alert.
Sienna strode up to her. “Darren has your clothes,” she said. “He just went into one of the changing rooms. Second door on your right after the press room.”
Emma searched her expression, but Sienna’s face was a cool, unreadable mask. If Leah was right—if this had been planned—Sienna would’ve been in on it. Her, Max . . . Darren. She didn’t want to believe it.
He’s an actor, Emma.
“Thanks,” Emma muttered, sweeping past her.
Her boots echoed down the corridor, gaze locked on the floor. She couldn’t get out of the stupid stillsuit fast enough.
She reached the door and pulled it open before she could lose her nerve. If she started overthinking now, she’d never find the courage to face him. And she needed her damn clothes.
The room was small, fluorescents whirring faintly overhead. Racks of sequined jackets and latex armor crowded the space, mirrors rimmed with bare bulbs throwing fractured reflections across the floor.
Glitz and glamour under cold, hard lights. Fame in its essence.
Darren was there, already changed—black T-shirt, dark jeans. His hair was messily pushed back, the way it looked when he’d just run his hand through it. He turned at the sound of the door, relief crossing his face. “There you are.”
The bag they’d put their clothes in sat on a small table. Beside it, his stillsuit lay neatly folded, like a skin he’d shed.
And what skin was he wearing now?
He suddenly looked to her like Darren Cole, the movie star. Not like the man who had shown up at her hotel room because she had been falling apart. Taken her out to have fun when she needed it the most.
Kissed her in a corridor, breath soft against hers.
Those things felt like a daydream. Something she might have invented herself, the kind of vivid fantasy she’d escaped into as a kid.
Emma stayed near the door. “Sienna found me.”
“Good.” He picked up the canvas bag and held it out. “I imagine you’d like to get out of that costume. Even though I still like you in it.”
The words warmed her, but it only lasted a heartbeat. His eyes searched hers a little too carefully. Did he sense that something was off—or was there something else going on behind those eyes?
She took the bag. Familiar denim and cotton peeked from the open zipper. She longed to be back in her own clothes, but she couldn’t bring herself to change in front of him. Not now.
“Did Leah give you a hard time?” There was an undertone in his voice, as if he were testing the waters between them.
“No,” Emma said, too quickly. She swallowed, trying to steady her voice. “I’m sorry about before. Leah’s just . . . protective.”
Darren’s jaw ticked. “Protective? She practically skinned me alive.”
Emma watched him carefully. Tried to read him.
He’s an actor, Emma.
“She’s not wrong.” Her grip on the bag tightened until the canvas bit into her palm. She slowly set it down on the table. “We should’ve been more careful. That photo’s everywhere now, and the only thing we can do is—”
“Don’t.” His voice was low, but sharp enough to cut. “What happened back there—that was ours. Not theirs. I don’t care that the photo leaked. That doesn’t get to take the moment away from us.”
Emma pressed her lips together. “We can’t pretend it isn’t out there. We have to be smart about this.”
He gave a humorless laugh. “Is that you talking or Leah? Because right now, I honestly can’t tell.”
The words hit hard, finding a weak spot. “Does it matter?” she shot back. “It’s not wrong either way.”
“Oh, come on, Emma.” He stepped closer, frustration edging his movements. “I’ve tried smart. I played it up for the cameras with Alana. Hid in private with everyone else after that. And do you know what? Either damn way, you’re still living your life on someone else’s terms. I’m done doing that.”
The bitterness in his tone made her throat ache.
“I get that,” Emma said, voice thick. Each word seemed to drag them further apart. “But it still affects us. If we at least try to take control of the narrative—”
“It’s not a narrative!” Darren bit off. “This is my life. The constant risk of attention isn’t the best part, but it comes with the package. And I refuse to let it define me.”
She hesitated, the words burning against her lips before she let them out.
“Even when it plays to your advantage?”
The silence tightened between them, the buzz of the lights too loud.
Darren turned toward her, rising to his full height. His expression was closed, restrained.
“I’m sorry, Emma,” he said, each word slow and razor sharp. “What are you saying exactly?”
Her skin went cold under the dark anger in his eyes. Not gleaming, not teasing, not dangerous. Just dark.
“I know the panel moment wasn’t spontaneous. You planned it with Max.” She held her voice together by sheer will. “Last-minute or not, you weren’t honest with me.”
His expression shifted. Anger first, then something almost like hurt. “Planned?” He gave a short, disbelieving scoff. “You think I needed Max to tell me how to talk about your book?”
“He said it was the best PR stunt of his career. That you’ve got Lucen in your pocket and me wrapped around your finger.”
Darren stiffened. The tension rolling off him was palpable. “Max said that to you?”
“No. Leah overheard him on the phone.”
He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling hard.
“Christ. Of course he did. He lives for this kind of crap.” His eyes snapped back to hers, sharp.
“Yes, Max suggested it. Yes, I went along with it. But not because of the role. It wasn’t a damn tactical decision, Emma.
I said what I did because it was true. Because you wrote something brilliant, and I wanted you to know that.
Yeah, maybe it was wrong to do it on stage.
But in that moment, it felt bloody right. ”
Emma folded her arms in front of her, fingers digging into muscle. She wanted to believe him.
But in her mind, she saw Max smirk from the sidelines while Darren made her fluster on stage. The thought was revolting.
And then all that flirting, all that attention—for her.
Not some impossibly perfect model. Just plain old Emma Whitehart.
Careful, prudent Emma, who never, ever let anyone close enough to hurt her.
Who had thrown aside every layer of self-preservation for a man she’d admired for years, but known only for days.
One who spent his career convincing people to believe anything he wanted them to. And who she knew had cheated on someone in the past.
The words fought their way up, a final protective instinct taking over.
“But how am I supposed to tell what’s real?” she whispered.
She could barely breathe, but the words ripped out of her anyway.
“I mean, you’re an actor, Darren.”
He blinked, reeling back as if she’d hit him. Emma’s cheeks felt numb and pale. Like she had retreated into herself and wasn’t really there.
Then he stepped closer again, voice raw. “So what—you think because Leah heard Max running his mouth, everything between us is a hoax? The lunch, the elevator, opening up about Alana—was I acting then too?”
Her lips parted, but nothing came out. Everything tangled in her mind, and she couldn’t tell if it was him she didn’t trust—or herself.
He gave a single, sharp nod. “And the kiss?”
Emma’s breath hitched. A small voice inside her begged her to say something, anything, but fear drowned it out. Whispering cruelly that if she tore it apart herself, at least she was the one holding the pen.
Her silence seemed to shatter something within him. A cold edge crept into his voice. “Right. You know, I’ve shown you more of myself these past few days than I’ve shown anyone in years. I guess I should take it as a compliment that you think I’m that good of an actor.”
“I just—” Her voice broke, tears pressing behind her eyes. “I don’t know how to trust this.”
“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” His words came jagged and fierce. “You’d rather destroy it yourself than risk it being real.”
Her chest twisted hard. It was as if he’d plucked the thought straight out of her brain. And still, she couldn’t bring herself to answer.
Darren’s jaw clenched. He yanked her clothes out of his duffel and dropped them on the table with a thud that rang of finality.
“You know what, Emma? Figure it out. Or don’t. But I’m done.”
He slung the strap over his shoulder and strode past her. She flinched as the door slammed shut behind him.
The silence that followed roared in her ears. A crushing loneliness closed around her, stealing the breath from her lungs.
He was gone.
He was gone.
And she’d been the one to drive him away.
Emma stood there under the harsh lights, unmoving. Staring at the pile of clothes until the room dissolved into a cold, blinding blur.