Page 41 of The Devil's Canvas

Ashton leans back, his smirk shifting just slightly. A change in rhythm. A new game to play.

"Of course, I can’t bring up soulmates without touching on a certain past connection," he says smoothly. "Dominic, this is your first big romance role since… well, since Ophelia."

The studio goes still.

For the first time, Melanie’s polished veneer falters. Her fingers twitch in her lap, her smile slipping just a little before she forces it back into place.

Dominic doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.

The audience shifts, murmurs rising. This wasn’t part of the script.

Ashton tilts his head, watching them both carefully. He’s not done. "Your team has done a great job keeping this under wraps," he continues casually, "but my team? We like digging up the good stuff."

A pause. A deliberate breath. "Not everyone knows that before Melanie, Dominic was actually with her sister."

The audience gasps. A few hushed whispers ripple through the studio. Melanie’s head snaps toward Dominic. That wasn’t supposed to come out. Dominic’s jaw clenches. A warning. Don’t.

But Melanie isn’t one to sit in silence. She exhales sharply, tilting her chin up, voice dripping with false sweetness. "Oh, Ashton, really? I thought we were here to talk about the movie."

"We are," Ashton replies, all innocence and charm. "But it’s such an interesting coincidence, don’t you think? A film about soulmates, and now you two are married. But before that—well, let’s just say the story had a different lead."

Melanie lets out a laugh that doesn’t quite land right. She shakes her head, glancing toward Dominic as if expecting him to clean up the mess. He doesn’t.

Ashton leans forward slightly, his smirk widening. "In fact, the last time Ophelia was seen in public was at your wedding, wasn’t it?"

Melanie stills.

The audience reacts instantly—gasps, murmurs, a new buzz of excitement.

"It’s funny," Ashton continues, "because when those wedding photos were released, people started asking, ‘Wait, who’s that in the background?’"

The screen behind them flashes to one of the widely shared images of Dominic and Melanie’s wedding.

I watch as the pristine, romantic shot is overtaken by one detail—Ophelia, caught in the frame, just behind Melanie’s shoulder.

She’s not smiling. She’s not front and center. She’s just there.

And it’s enough.

The murmurs grow louder. Melanie laughs, forced and bright. "Oh, come on, Ashton. You’re really reaching now."

"Am I?" Ashton tilts his head. "I just think it’s interesting that, for someone who stays so far out of the public eye, that was the last place she was seen. You and Ophelia must be close?"

Melanie stiffens. It’s slight, but I see it.

She exhales, rolling her shoulders back, her expression smoothing into something confident. Composed. Ready to burn. "No, Ashton, we are not close." She lets the words hang there for a second, making sure the audience feels it. "Look, I know the internet loves their little theories, but the truth is, Ophelia has always been… different. She’s never really been interested in what the rest of us do. She’s never tried. Never fit in."

I drag in a breath, steadying what little I can.

"She’s quiet. Awkward. Always lurking on the sidelines. And, honestly?" Melanie shrugs, like she’s being generous. "She’s just not that interesting."

A few chuckles from the audience. Some laughter.

Melanie smiles wider, emboldened.

"I mean, come on. Let’s be real. We all knew Ophelia wasn’t going anywhere. She never had the drive. Never had the talent. She barely lasted in Dominic’s world, and when it got too hard? She disappeared. That’s what she does."

I watch Dominic’s hands press against his knees, tension radiating off him like heat.

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