“I was surprised when the director said it was the last scene,” Fiona said, biting into a chocolate bar.
“I thought I still had another one.”
“Yeah. Mr. White has wrapped up his part of the directing,” Hazel replied casually.
“Mr. Kingsley will take over tomorrow. And you’re shooting that short ad with Jacob, I believe you met him today?”
Fiona peeled the wrapper down, letting the chocolate slide free before taking another bite.
“Yeah,” she said, chewing thoughtfully.
“That curly-haired, handsome guy.”
“Mm—tsk,” Hazel teased, clicking her tongue.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Fiona added quickly, lifting her hands in defense.
“I’m just complimenting him.”
At that moment, the car slowed and rolled to a smooth stop in front of a luxury hotel, its glass façade glowing under the evening lights.
Hazel turned toward her.
“We’re at our hotel.”
“What?” Fiona stammered but her words were cut short as Hazel’s door swung open, pulled wide by a uniformed staff member.
They stepped out of the car, the cool night air brushing against their skin, and without a word, the staff slid into the driver’s seat and drove the vehicle away, leaving Fiona standing beneath the towering lights of the hotel.
They walked into the hotel and headed straight for the elevators.
As the doors slid shut with a soft chime, Fiona finally broke the silence, turning to Hazel.
“Is StarTalents Media really this wealthy,” she asked, surprise etched clearly across her face, “to book this hotel for all the cast members?”
Hazel chuckled lightly.
“No. This hotel is reserved for top management only. The rest of the crew was booked at another hotel closer to the shooting location.”
The elevator doors parted with a muted ding, and they stepped out, walking down the hushed corridor until they reached their room.
Hazel swiped the electronic keycard, the lock blinking green before the door swung open.
Fiona froze.
Her eyes widened as she took in the executive suite the expansive space, the polished décor, the unmistakable air of luxury.
“Wow,” she breathed.
“This is mind-blowing.”
Without hesitation, she flopped onto the bed, sinking into the plush mattress.
“If I wasn’t your friend,” she added bluntly, “I’d definitely be stuck at the other hotel.”
“Not really,” Hazel replied, closing the door behind them.
“Meaney specifically instructed this.”
Fiona shot upright in an instant.
“What? Why would he do that?”
Hazel’s lips curved into a knowing smile, amusement dancing in her eyes.
“I guess he wanted his fiancée to be comfortable.”
“Whose fiancée?” Fiona snapped.
“Definitely not me.”
In the next moment, Hazel dropped onto the sofa, laughing softly.
“I honestly love the dynamic between you two. I can’t help it, I’m shipping you both. And I really hope my ship sails.”
“It’s sinking straight into the Pacific Ocean,” Fiona replied without missing a beat.
Hazel arched a brow, amusement flickering across her face.
“I won’t,” Fiona countered, laughter lacing her words.
“I’ll grab a boat first then sink Manson along with the ship. I’m not Rose, and he’s certainly not Jack.”
Hazel laughed outright.
“You’re unbelievably cruel.”
Still smiling, she reached for the intercom.
“I’ll call room service. We should eat first then we can go for a swim.”
A few hours later, after showers, a proper meal, and some much-needed rest, Hazel reached into her bag and pulled out a neatly folded, brand-new swimsuit.
She tossed it onto the bed.
Fiona caught it mid-air, eyebrows lifting.
“How did you even know my size?” she asked as she unfolded the fabric.
Hazel glanced over while changing into her own swimsuit.
“After all these years of friendship, you think I wouldn’t?” she said dryly.
“Please.”
Fiona exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking her head.
“You really did come prepared.”
Hazel only smiled calm, confident, and entirely unapologetic.
Shortly after the two of them finished changing, they headed toward the pool, their footsteps light against the tiled floor.
Just as they were nearly there, Hazel slowed to a stop.
“Ugh—Fiona, the pool’s that way,” she said, pointing ahead.
“I forgot our towels. Let me run back and grab them. I’ll meet you there.”
Before Fiona could respond, Hazel turned and disappeared down the corridor.
Fiona continued alone.
As she reached the poolside, her gaze instinctively lifted and then stopped.
In the water stood a man.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
His pale skin gleamed beneath the ambient lights, droplets tracing slow paths down his back.
The water reached only his waist, leaving everything above exposed every line of muscle, every quiet strength he carried without effort.
Her breath caught.
Etched along his spine was a striking tattoo: a sword entwined with a rose, sharp steel softened by delicate petals.
It was mesmerizing.
Dangerous.
Intimate, somehow as if it told a story meant for no one else.
“Who is this hottie?” Fiona murmured under her breath, swallowing hard as a strange spark rippled through her chest.
Instantly, Fiona’s face twisted, a flush of embarrassment and irritation spreading across her features.
“Oh yeah, I think I’d rather not swim anymore,” she murmured as she turned toward the hall.
Her retreat, however, was abruptly interrupted by Manson’s voice, cutting sharply through the quiet.
“Are you really going to stroll down the hall in those transparent swimsuits? By morning I don’t want to hear about justice for Fiona.”
“What justice?” she snapped, instinctively raising her hands to shield herself, her fingers trembling slightly as she tried to cover every inch.
Manson’s tone dripped with amusement and sarcasm.
“This is a hotel. Anything can happen. And it’s so quiet down there even if you scream, who knows?”
“F*ck you,” she hissed, glaring at him.
He smirked, the kind of slow, deliberate smirk that made her skin prickle. Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
“I told you before I don’t fuck little girls.”
“You crazy psycho. Who told you I’m a little girl?” she shot back immediately, her voice sharp
“Are you a big girl then why are you chicken to join me in the pool? Or perhaps have you already fallen for me?” His words carried a teasing, dangerously provocative edge.
“Fallen?” She scoffed, shaking her head.
“Keep dreaming.”
“Then why won’t you get in?” Manson gestured toward the water, his eyes locked on hers.
Something in her snapped a mix of stubbornness and challenge.
With a defiant glare, Fiona stepped into the pool, letting the cool water embrace her skin.
Without hesitation, she surged toward him.
“Who’s the chicken now?” she taunted, her lips curling into a victorious smirk.
Manson clapped slowly, deliberately, a grin spreading across his face.
“Not bad, you’re brave. But be careful.” He leaned forward, just an inch from her face, his voice dropping low.
“You never know what’s lurking in the dark.”
Fiona tilted her head, her smirk widening, fearless.
“If it’s that strong-headed, it should come into the light.”
Just then, Manson surged out of the pool, water cascading down his sculpted body.
His strikingly short blue Vilebrequin hugged his waist, leaving little to the imagination.
With effortless confidence, he strode toward the table by the pool, where a bottle of Moët rested in a bucket of ice, flanked by two glasses.
He uncapped the bottle, the pop of the cork slicing through the quiet night, and poured the sparkling wine with precise, fluid movements.
Fiona couldn’t tear her eyes away.
Every motion of his was magnetic, the subtle flex of muscles, the water glinting along his skin.
He turned toward her, glasses in both hands, catching her staring.
In an instant, she averted her gaze, heart racing, unaware that he had noticed.
A slow, knowing smirk curved his lips as he stepped into the pool, gliding toward her.
Without a word, he handed her one of the glasses.
“Here,” he murmured, his voice low, velvety.
“Thanks,” she whispered, taking it, her fingers brushing his.
“You don’t have to strain your eyes anymore,” he said, leaning just close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him.
“I’m right here, you get a much better view now.”
The water lapped gently around them, cool against her skin, but Fiona could barely notice her focus was entirely on him.
Manson’s eyes glimmered, dark and teasing, scanning her as if he could read every thought racing through her mind.
“Careful,” he said, a sly edge in his voice, “I might start thinking you’re enjoying the view a little too much.”
Fiona rolled her eyes but didn’t look away.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she shot back, though her pulse betrayed her.
“I’m just observing the scenery.”
He chuckled, low and smooth, the sound vibrating through the quiet night.
With a slow, deliberate movement, he stepped closer, so the water swirled around both their waists.
Fiona felt the heat of him, just enough to make her skin tingle, her breath catching.
“Really?” he asked, his voice low, deep, calm, and unreadable.