Read Chapter 16: The Opening Night

The theatre smelled of expensive perfume and nerves. Elise stood in the wings, the silk of her deep-green dress whispering against her thighs as she adjusted the clasp at her neck. Theo had chosen it himself—sent it to her hotel room with a note that read simply: *For the cameras. Wear it.*

She'd worn it. That was the deal.

From the shadows, she watched him on the red carpet, flashing that practiced smile at the photographers, his hand resting on the small of some studio executive's back. He moved like a man who'd been performing his whole life. Because he had.

"You're the girlfriend."

The voice came from behind her, low and amused. Elise turned to find a man leaning against the lighting rig, arms crossed, studying her with Theo's eyes. The same sharp jaw, the same dark hair—but where Theo's was carefully styled, this man's was unruly, and where Theo's smile was curated, this one was crooked and unguarded.

"James," she said, recognizing the name from the family history Theo never talked about. "I didn't know you were coming."

"Nobody does. That's rather the point." He pushed off the rig and extended his hand. "Theo's brother. The disappointing one."

Elise shook it. His grip was firm, warm. "I'm—"

"I know who you are. Trust me, the whole world knows who you are." He nodded toward the red carpet beyond the curtain. "He's good at that, isn't he? Making people believe whatever he wants them to."

There was no malice in it, just a tired honesty that made Elise's chest tighten. She glanced back at Theo, who was now laughing at something a journalist said—that manufactured sound she'd heard a thousand times on television before she ever met him.

"Will you tell him you're here?" she asked.

"No." James's smile faded. "I came to see you, actually."

The stage manager's voice crackled through a headset nearby, counting down the minutes to the screening. Elise pulled James further back into the shadows, away from prying eyes.

"Why?"

He studied her for a long moment, and Elise felt like he was reading something written on her face that she couldn't see herself. "Because I know what my brother is doing. Contract girlfriends, arranged scandals, carefully staged intimacies—I've watched him do it all before. But you're different."

"How do you know?"

"Because he chose your dress himself, and he never does that. He lets the stylists handle it—keeps the distance clean. But you?" James shook his head slowly. "He's trying."

A PA rushed past them, clipboard clutched to her chest, muttering about seating arrangements. Elise's heart was doing something uncomfortable in her ribs.

"We have an arrangement," she said carefully. "That's all."

"Is that what he's told you?"

The question hung between them like smoke. Elise thought of the screenplay hidden in her flat, the raw words about Camille that Theo had never intended anyone to read. She thought of his confession at the party—*I only agreed to the contract to fund my film*—the way his voice had cracked on the word *fund*, like it cost him something physical to admit.

She thought of how he'd looked at her on that balcony in London, vulnerability flickering behind his eyes like a dying match.

"I don't know what he's told me anymore," she admitted quietly.

James nodded, like that was the answer he'd been expecting. "Let me tell you something about my brother. He wasn't always the nation's favorite good boy. There was a scandal—when we were kids. He did something he wasn't supposed to, and it nearly destroyed our family. Our father—" He stopped, jaw tightening. "Our father made him choose. Pay for it and lose everything, or bury it and become the person everyone needed him to be."

"What did he do?"

"That's not my story to tell." James's eyes met hers, and they were suddenly hard. "But I'm telling you this, Elise, because Theo has spent twenty years building walls so high no one can see over them. And you—" He gestured vaguely at her. "You're standing in the one place he's let someone through in a long time. Maybe ever."

"I'm not through anything," Elise said, but her voice was thin.

"You read his script, didn't you?"

The air left her lungs. "How do you know about that?"

"Because I know my brother. And I know that script was his heart, poured out on paper. He's never shown it to anyone—not me, not our mother, not any of the producers who've begged him for years to write something personal." James leaned closer, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "He might have been furious you read it. But he left it somewhere you could find it."

The applause from the red carpet swelled. Theo was making his way toward the theatre entrance now, being guided by handlers toward the green room where the cast was gathering. Elise watched his broad shoulders cut through the crowd, watched him pause to sign a program for a young fan, watched the genuine warmth that flickered across his face before the camera flash turned it back to sculpture.

"He's not what he seems," James said. "But then again, neither are you, are you?"

Elise stiffened. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Just that I've read the trades too." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Everyone's got secrets, Elise. Just make sure yours don't destroy him. He's been through enough."

Then the house lights dimmed, and James vanished into the crowd of black suits and glittering gowns before she could respond. Elise stood alone in the wings, the silk of Theo's chosen dress suddenly heavy against her skin.

The screen flickered to life. Theo's name appeared in bold white letters—*A FILM BY THEO BLAKE*—and the audience applauded. Elise watched from the shadows, her heart pounding against the secret she carried in her bag: Nathan Cole's signed offer, promising her the role of a lifetime in exchange for Theo's public destruction.

She thought about what James had said. *He left it somewhere you could find it.*

Or maybe she was just looking for excuses.

Theo appeared beside her, materializing out of the dark like a ghost. "There you are. I've been looking everywhere—" He stopped when he saw her face. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She forced a smile, the same one she'd perfected for cameras. "Just nerves. Opening night jitters."

He didn't believe her—she could see it in the way his eyes narrowed slightly, the way his hand reached out as if to touch her arm before thinking better of it. "You don't have to do this, you know. Sit in the audience, smile for the cameras. I know the last few weeks have been—"

"I want to." The words came out before she could stop them, and she was surprised to find they were true. "I want to see your film. I want to know what you made."

Theo's expression shifted, something raw and unguarded passing through his features before he shuttered it. "It's not about Camille," he said quietly. "Not this one. This one's about what comes after."

The lights dimmed further. The opening credits began to roll. Theo's hand found hers in the darkness, his thumb tracing a slow circle on her palm, and Elise felt the offer burning in her bag like a brand.

She didn't pull away.