79 - Under the Spotlight With Him
She clicked it open.
There it was—an attachment filled with images from the photoshoot. Her designs.
They looked stunning. The lighting, the styling, the elegance—it all came through beautifully. Catherine had even written a compliment.
"Scarlett, your design looks beautiful in the photoshoot. Brilliant work."
But instead of joy, a wave of irritation washed over her. The very thing that should've brought pride now felt like a cruel reminder.
She snapped the laptop shut, exhaling sharply.
A moment later, Linda walked in, humming to herself, a mischievous grin already forming.
"Well, well, Scarlett darling. You look radiant today. Did something good happen over the weekend?" Her tone was thick with playful implication.
Scarlett didn't even flinch. "Linda, don't start. It was just a family dinner."
Linda plopped onto the edge of her desk. "Mmm, sure. And I suppose your oh-so-busy husband just happened to be there too?"
Scarlett arched her brow. "The meeting got postponed. He joined last-minute. That's all."
Linda leaned in, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "I'm not buying it. Something's shifted with him. I can feel it."
"You and your imagination," Scarlett said, laughing softly, trying to shake off the tight feeling in her chest.
Linda kept teasing her, and eventually, their laughter filled the room, light and easy.
Scarlett glanced at her watch. 7:50 a.m.
She stood abruptly. "Oh no... time's up."
Turning to Linda, she hesitated, then asked, "Would you do me a favor?"
Linda crossed her arms, mock-serious. "For you, anything, my darling."
Scarlett's voice dropped to a whisper. "Ethan wants me to help with the photoshoot. I didn't want to, but now I have no choice. Will you come with me?"
Linda's smile faded slightly, replaced by quiet understanding.
"You're afraid to see him with Catherine."
Scarlett didn't respond. She didn't need to.
Linda reached out and took her hand. "Then let's go. I'm not letting you face that alone."
Together, they walked out of the room—shoulders squared, hearts slightly heavier.
The studio buzzed with activity—stylists flitting about, lights being adjusted, assistants barking last-minute directions into headsets.
The air was thick with anticipation and the faint scent of hairspray.
Scarlett stepped inside with Linda at her side, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor.
The moment her eyes landed on Ethan, standing tall and composed near the backdrop with Catherine and the director, her stomach clenched.
Catherine was laughing at something Ethan said, far too comfortably close to him. Scarlett's jaw tightened.
Her voice was crisp as she approached. "I needed a bit of assistance, so I brought Linda along. Hope you don't mind, Ethan."
Ethan didn't even blink. His gaze briefly flicked to Linda before settling back on Scarlett with unreadable calm. "As you wish," he said, his tone smooth, almost lazy—but there was something steely beneath it.
Then, with deliberate precision, he turned to the director. "We're redoing the shoot," he said. "Scarlett and I will take the lead this time."
Scarlett's breath caught. She wasn't sure she'd heard right.
Linda's eyes widened in stunned delight.
Catherine, on the other hand, went rigid beside Ethan, the fake smile draining from her face.
Her complexion turned several shades redder, fury barely concealed behind the sharpness of her narrowed eyes.
The director looked between Ethan and Scarlett, interest piqued. He took a detailed glance and "Excellent choice, Mr. Blackwood," he said with a nod of approval. "Is she a model?"
Before Scarlett could answer—or protest—Ethan reached out, his hand firm as it slipped around her waist and drew her effortlessly to his side.
"She's my wife," he said, voice rich and final, leaving no room for doubt.
The director was surprised and said "Good choice Mr.Blackwood."
Scarlett's heart skipped, thudding against her ribs. She turned her head toward him, her voice low and urgent. "Ethan... what are you doing? I'm not doing this shoot."
He leaned in slowly, and his breath brushed against her skin as he murmured into her ear, "You are, Scarlett. That's your boss giving you an order."
His lips were maddeningly close, and the warmth of his voice stirred something volatile inside her—confusion, frustration... and something she didn't dare name. Her eyes flew open in disbelief, but before she could say another word, the director clapped his hands.
"Perfect. Then let's get started. Mr. and Mrs. Blackwood, please head to the changing rooms. I'll make the necessary adjustments on set."
Ethan gave a single nod, all calm authority, then turned and strode off without waiting for Scarlett's response.
Still stunned, Scarlett turned to Linda.
Her friend was grinning ear to ear, eyes sparkling with mischief.
Linda leaned in, voice purposefully loud.
"Scarlett, I knew this would happen," she said with an exaggerated wink.
"Last time, the chemistry between the leads just wasn't there.
No spark. Now I see why Ethan had to reshoot. No one can match you, Scarlett."
Her voice carried clearly across the studio, and Scarlett didn't miss the way Catherine's shoulders went rigid, or the icy glare she shot in their direction. Her eyes burned with humiliation.
Catherine's jaw clenched so tight her teeth could've cracked.
Scarlett glared at Linda, whispering, "Subtle much?"
Linda winked. "Subtlety's for boring people. Now get moving."
She handed Scarlett a garment bag and ushered her toward the changing room like a general leading a mission.
Inside, Linda helped her zip into the gown—a deep ivory with intricate beadwork that shimmered under the overhead light.
The fabric hugged Scarlett's frame perfectly, the skirt flowing with ethereal elegance.
Yet, Scarlett stood still, palms cold, heart racing.
"I can't do this," she murmured, eyes fixed on her reflection. "This isn't me."
Linda smoothed her hair gently, her tone warm. "It is you, Scarlett. And he—Ethan—knows it too. That's why he chose you."
Outside, Ethan tapped his watch and glanced toward the dressing room. Minutes had passed—too many. He stepped toward the door and knocked once, firm and unyielding.
Linda cracked it open. "She's almost—"
But Ethan pushed past gently, his eyes scanning until they landed on Scarlett.
And stopped.
His breath caught for just a second.
Scarlett stood before the mirror, the gown transforming her into something out of a dream. For a fleeting heartbeat, the air shifted. Gone were the cold negotiations of their wedding day, the hollow rituals. This moment—silent, intimate—felt real.
Scarlett turned, meeting his gaze. Her lips parted, but no words came. Her pulse thundered. In his eyes, she saw something unspoken—soft, almost reverent.
Memories flickered: their wedding, the lifeless smiles, the stiff photos. This felt different. Too different.
Linda smirked, breaking the spell. "Now that looks like a real bride and groom."
Scarlett snapped out of it, blinking rapidly. Ethan looked away first, clearing his throat.
"It's getting late," he said, his voice lower. "Shall we?"
Scarlett hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah."
They walked back into the studio together, side by side, not quite touching, yet somehow impossibly close.
The director looked up from his notes and beamed. "Perfect. You two already look like a real couple. This will be effortless."
He launched into the theme—an elegant, modern romance set against timeless architecture, dramatic lighting, emotional nuance. He spoke of poses, expressions, proximity.
As he spoke, Scarlett could feel Ethan's gaze on her—steady, unreadable. Something inside her stirred.
She wasn't sure if it was resentment, resistance... or something she didn't want to name yet.
But the camera would capture it all.
Scarlett stepped out onto the set, the silk of the gown whispering around her legs with every hesitant step.
The soft rustle was drowned beneath the buzz of crew members and the click of the camera being calibrated.
A backdrop of muted gold and charcoal stood ready, lights positioned to cast just the right angles—dramatic, intimate, exposing.
Ethan was holding her by hand.
He stood by the spotlight, tall and sharp in a tailored black suit that hugged every line of power and precision. His cufflinks gleamed, and his jaw was set in a way that told her he was completely in control—or at least, pretending to be.
Their eyes met.
For a brief second, the chaos around them faded. It was just the two of them locked in a charged silence.
Scarlett drew a breath. She could do this. She had to.
The director stepped forward, clapping his hands once. "Alright. We'll go for chemistry, connection. Think power couple—elegant, magnetic, in sync. Not stiff. Not staged. Just... real."
Ethan's eyes never left Scarlett. "We're ready," he said.
Scarlett swallowed the knot in her throat and walked to him, heels clicking louder now, syncing with the drumbeat of her pulse.
As she reached his side, Ethan's hand found her waist again—effortlessly, naturally, as if it belonged there.
His fingers rested lightly, but the message in that touch was clear: Stay with me.
The first few shots were formal. Posed. Distant.
But the director wasn't satisfied.
"Closer. Eyes on each other," he instructed. "Less mannequin, more emotion. We're telling a story here. I want to feel something."
Scarlett shifted slightly, only to feel Ethan's hand slide up her back, settling between her shoulder blades. A shiver ran down her spine. He leaned in, his voice low but deliberate.
"Relax," he said, barely audible. "I won't bite."
His breath tickled her skin. She glanced up, eyes meeting his—hazel, unreadable, intense. Too intense.
"You already did," she murmured, lips barely moving.
Ethan's mouth curved in the faintest smirk, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Then consider this round two."
Click.
The camera flashed, capturing the exact moment Scarlett's fingers instinctively curled into the fabric of his jacket.
They moved into the next pose—Ethan behind her now, his arm looping around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. Scarlett stiffened, and he felt it.
"Breathe," he said gently, close to her ear. "You're doing fine."
She hated how steady his voice was. How effortlessly he played this role.
Or was it a role?
The director watched intently from behind the lens. "Yes. That's it. Beautiful. Mrs.Blackwood, tilt your chin a little. Ethan, bring your hand up—yes, just like that. You're not just posing now, you're connected. Perfect."
Linda stood at the edge of the set, watching with a satisfied smirk, arms folded. She caught Catherine lingering just beyond the lights, arms crossed, seething. Her narrowed gaze was fixed on Scarlett like a knife. But no one paid her any mind.
Because on set, something electric was unfolding.
For the next shots, they were seated—Ethan with his arm slung over the back of the velvet chair, Scarlett beside him, angled toward him slightly.
His fingers toyed absently with the ends of her hair, and when their eyes met again, the air between them changed.
Slower. Hotter. Less about posing, more about something they weren't saying.
Scarlett felt it. The slow, undeniable pull.
This wasn't just for the camera anymore.
Click.
The director lowered his camera. "That's a wrap. Stunning work. You two—wow. Whatever this is... it sells."
Scarlett exhaled, as if waking from a spell. She stepped back, gently pulling away from Ethan's touch. Her skin still buzzed where his hands had been.
He didn't follow. He just watched her.
Linda rushed over with a towel and water bottle, grinning like she'd won a bet. "That was smoking, Scarlett. Are you sure you're not secretly a model? Because that was something else."
Scarlett gave a breathless laugh, shaking her head. "I think I just blacked out."
She turned slightly, eyes drifting back to Ethan. He hadn't moved. He was watching her like he was seeing something he hadn't before.
And for the first time... maybe she was, too.