Page 80 of Royal Crush

By the time I was ready to crack, I hadn’t seen Camillo in six weeks. Every single time I typed out a text to ask him why, I panicked and deleted it. I left things as they were. If he wanted to see me, he would tell me.

Wouldn’t he?

“I need you for reshoots. We’re bringing Otis back in,” Christoph said, then took a long drink off his coffee. “Did you get the rewrites?”

I hadn’t. “In my trailer?”

“I’m going to need you to focus a little better, Aleric,” he said like I was five. His tone made the back of my neck prickle with an old, atrophied familiarity. My stomach roiled. “Be back on set in an hour.”

I hurried away from him, trying to control my breathing until I got to my trailer, but when I got there, an unfamiliar man was standing in front of the door.

You’re not in danger, I told myself.You’re safe. You’re fine.

“Mr. King?”

I stared at him.

After a second of my silence, he reached behind his back and produced a small, sealed package that I recognized. “I’m going to need a sample, please.”

Random testing had been in my contract. It had been a humiliating concession, but it was one I’d made because I wanted to prove that I was telling the truth. That I was always telling the truth. But over the long weeks, no one had ever bothered asking, so I just assumed I was fine.

Christoph was doing this as some sort of punishment.

I had nothing to hide, of course. I snatched it off him and elbowed him to the side before throwing my door open, and I didn’t try to stop him when he followed me in. I felt gross. Dirty that he was there in my space.

I wanted to scream and put my fist through the wall.

Instead, I shut the bathroom almost all the way, just like I’d learned to do in rehab, pulled my dick out, then pissed in the cup. I even gave it a cursory wipe down for the fucker who was right outside the door when I opened it up all the way.

He was wearing black rubber gloves and a smirk, holding a collection bag. “Thank you.”

I said nothing. His footsteps echoed like gunshots as he headed for the door, and when he was gone, I locked it behind him and collapsed against the flimsy metal. I would not let myself be sick over this.

I would not let anyone take this from me again.

This wasmylife.

Rolling my head to the side, I spied the envelope with the new script and forced myself to walk over. There were nine pages of new dialogue, and when I got to the end, horror stole over me. I realized what they were doing.

It was the one thing Camillo had been terrified of.

My fingers shook as I pulled out my phone, and part of me wanted him not to pick up.

But the universe had never been kind to me.

“I wasn’t expecting to hear from you today,” he said.

He sounded happy to hear from me, so why was he staying away? Why had he cut me out?Why…why why why…

“Why aren’t you here?” I blurted.

He was silent for a long time, and then he took a breath. “They let me go.”

I felt like I’d taken a bullwhip to the back. “They what? When? How is…how is that possible?”

“The position was a courtesy,” Camillo told me, his voice low and rough. There was something he wasn’t telling me.

“Camillo—”

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