Page 71 of Fake Married to the Grumps

I take it gratefully, the warmth seeping into my hands. "You're a lifesaver, Marissa."

"Well, someone has to keep the brooding actor fueled and functional."

I can't help the laugh that escapes my lips, and Marissa joins in, looking more radiant than usual under the glow of the sun.

It's a wink of levity amid the serious business of filmmaking, and I'm glad I made the decision to have her as my assistant.

As I sip the coffee, I catch the eyes of one of my more annoying colleagues, Jake, shooting daggers my way. The guy has never been a fan, always looking for an opportunity to sabotage me.

When I found out we would be working together, I didn't want to go through with the movie, but Ellen insisted.

"Look who decided to show up today," Jake sneers, approaching with a smug grin.

I raise an eyebrow, uninterested in his attempts at provocation. Marissa looks between the both of us, no doubt wondering what's going on.

"What's your problem, Jake?"

He smirks. "No problem. Just wondering if Daddy's money is still funding your Hollywood dreams."

The jab cuts deeper than I care to admit. My relationship with my father has always been strained, and people like Jake never miss an opportunity to trash me for it.

The cameras might be off, but the set is still a stage, and I won't let him take center stage in my head.

Marissa, sensing the tension, steps forward with a calm determination. "Erm ... I think we should just keep things professional."

He laughs, a grating sound that makes my patience wear thin, and I fight the urge to bury my fist in his face.

"Professional? I don't know who you are, sweetheart, but you're too kind. But some people," he glances at me, "can't escape their true nature."

I clench my jaw, battling the impulse to engage in the verbal sparring match he so desperately craves. Marissa shoots me a subtle glance, a silent plea to rise above the taunts.

It's a familiar routine—other people painting me as troubled and rebellious, and Marissa serving as my silent anchor.

But today, something in me snaps. Maybe it's the vulnerability I channeled for the scene, or perhaps it's the pressure of the ongoing scrutiny. Either way, I can't let Jake's words slide.

"You know, Jake," I say, my tone deceptively calm, "I may not have had the perfect family or the silver spoon you seem to think I did. But at least I don't go around tearing people down to feel good about myself."

He scoffs. "Tough words from the troubled movie star."

I take a step forward, the pressure escalating as my blood pumps through my veins. Marissa places a hand on my arm, a quiet appeal for restraint. Her touch stirs something within me, an alien emotion I can't place my finger on.

"Bryce, don't let him get to you."

I go quiet, my gaze locking with Marissa's. I find a steadying force in those familiar eyes, and taking a deep breath, I step back, letting the anger subside.

Jake smirks triumphantly, thinking he's won this round. Her unspoken support reaches through the tumult, and I decide to disengage from the pointless confrontation.

Turning away, I walk off the set to distance myself from the unnecessary drama. Marissa follows, her presence a balm to the lingering frustration.

Marissa’s eyes search mine. "Hey, you know you can't take whatever he says to heart, right?"

I offer a tight-lipped smile. It's so sweet that she has always been worried about me like this, ever since we’ve known each other.

"I'm fine. Just need a moment."

She bobs her head in a nod and returns to the set, giving me the space I asked for.

She’s the only person who effortlessly diffuses the storms that brew within me. She knows the grumpy, rebellious persona is a defense mechanism, a shield to protect the vulnerability hidden beneath, and for that, I'm endlessly grateful.

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