Page 76 of King of My Heart

Darwynn curled her legs under her, still looking at me like she was seeing something I wasn’t. “I know why you left,” she said softly. “And I know how much you hate the industry. But that’s not the same thing as hating filmmaking.”

I exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over my face. “It doesn’t matter. The second I step back into that world, it’s all going to come rushing back. The press. The whispers. The people who pretended I didn’t exist after what happened.” My jaw clenched. “Nobody wants to see me again, Darwynn. And honestly? I don’t want to see them either.”

She didn’t flinch, didn’t try to tell me I was wrong. She already knew how deep the scars ran. She knew about the accident, about the friend I lost, about how the industry had turned its back on me.

She had never once told me to get over it. And that was part of why I loved her.

“I get it,” she murmured. “I really do.” Her fingers brushed against mine. “But what if you didn’t have to go back to all that?”

I frowned, glancing at her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…what if you didn’t go back to Hollywood? No studios. No investors breathing down your neck. No executive turning your story into something you don’t even recognize.” She tilted her head. “What if you did it your way?”

I let out a short, dry laugh. “You make it sound so easy.”

She smiled. “I didn’t say it would be easy. But it would be yours.”

I looked away, my mind turning over her words.

I hadn’t let myself think about making another film since Harris died. Hadn’t even entertained the idea. Because the moment I did, I would have to face everything I had been running from.

But Darwynn wasn’t asking me to go back to that world. She was asking me to create something new. To reclaim something I had lost.

I swallowed. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

She squeezed my hand, her smile soft. “You start with the story.”

I turned back to the screen, watching as my past self spoke words I had once written with so much enthusiasm.

For the first time since Harris’ death, I wondered if I still had something left to say.

And for the first, the idea of stepping behind a camera again didn’t feel impossible.

Maybe…just maybe…one last film wasn’t such a crazy idea after all. And if I did it, I’d dedicate it to Darwynn for all the love, belief, and quiet strength she had given me since the day she showed up at my door.

EPILOGUE

DARWYNN

four months later

The set was small—almost too small for a production, but that’s how Caspian wanted it.

No big studios.

No overwhelming crowds.

Just a handful of crew members, a few passionate actors, and an indie film that felt as raw and real as the story he was telling.

Exile, his script, had transformed into a humble production, far from the gloss of Hollywood.

But it was his, completely and utterly his, without anyone breathing down his neck.

The set was far from the polished, glamorous worlds I had imagined when I first thought about what it might be like to be involved in filmmaking. I knew it wouldn’t be too fancy, but this was different from what I imagined. Better. Much better.

There were no extravagant lights or sets, no high-budget crew. Just a handful of people scattered around a quiet ruraltown in Canada, each of them with multiple tasks. The sound engineer also did the lighting. The makeup artist doubled as the costume designer. And Caspian? He was doing it all. Acting, directing, producing. He even had his hands on the camera sometimes. It was chaotic and stripped down, but it felt real. More real than anything I had ever experienced.

And I was here, by his side, watching him in his element. Caspian had created this film. A story based on his life, his heartache, his loss. And somehow, watching it unfold around me, I felt like I was watching him reclaim something he had thought he had lost forever.

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