The cat lets out a sleepy chirp.
I exhale, staring blankly at the screen.
“I think I’m already falling.”
CHAPTER 5
ELI
Islam my laptop shut and turn to glare at Will, who barges into my trailer like he owns the place.
“Ever heard of knocking?”
Will barely acknowledges the question, his gaze flicking from me to the closed laptop. Then he grins. “Why? Are you wanking?”
“Excuse me?”
He smirks, flopping onto the couch. “I can join if you want.”
I stare at him deadpan, but his blue eyes are slightly glassy. Drunk already… again.
I glance at the clock on the wall. 11:07 a.m.
“Will, it’s barely eleven.”
He shrugs, stretching out like he has all the time in the world. “I started late.”
His eyes dart over to me, and he squints. "Why are you dressed like Clark Kent? You know you’re playing a SEAL, not a superhero."
I sigh, rubbing a hand over my face.
Will is a train wreck, but he’s my train wreck. My best friend. The actor who helped me land my first role.
And no matter how cold and cutthroat this business can be, I refuse to alienate him when he’s fighting his demons, which seems to be happening more often these days.
"I was talking to the girl." I keep my voice casual, as if the conversation isn’t important… as if she isn’t important.
But Will raises an eyebrow, intrigue spreading across his sharp features. "The girl?"
I don’t elaborate.
Not because I don’t trust him—Will isn’t the type to go blabbing to the press or to anyone else who’d care enough to listen. But because I’m not ready to hear lewd jokes or careless comments thrown in Amy’s direction, words that would tarnish something that still feels untouched.
She’s not like that.
She’s something pure. Somethingreal.
Something so far removed from the glam and fakeness of Hollywood, from the hollow conversations, the fake smiles, and the perfectly curated personas. She doesn’t existin this world of red carpets and empty compliments, where everything is performance and branding.
She makes me feel less alone.
I’ve spent years balancing between two versions of myself—the one I show to the industry, polished and charming, and the one I show to my family, the version of me that feels more like a fading memory than a reality.
The truth is, I don’t even know which one is real anymore.
But Amy? Talking to her is the closest I’ve felt to being myself in years.
And for the first time in a long time, I want to keep something just for me.
