Page 37 of The Viper
We sat in silence for a while, the stars prickling to life above the marsh. Fireflies blinked in the distance, their glow soft against the dark water. It was peaceful, something I hadn’t experienced in a long time.
Hannah broke the quiet, sitting up suddenly, her eyes snapping to me. “Wait. You’re the guy from last night, aren’t you?”
The question hit like a sniper’s round—clean, precise, no warning.
My gaze flicked to Lexi, instinct kicking in. I didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how much she’d shared or what Hannah had pieced together from the viral clips. Lexi’s eyes met mine, wide and unreadable, a mix of amusement and something else—worry, maybe.
I opened my mouth, but no words came. I was caught off guard, my training useless against the weight of those two women staring at me, waiting for an answer.
13
LEXI
Lucas stayed in the guest room.
That was the official version of events.
The reality was that I spent half the night lying awake, staring at the ceiling, listening for any sound from down the hall—the creak of a floorboard, the quiet shift of sheets, the low timbre of his voice if he was on a call. Nothing. He’d been a perfect gentleman. Which was almost worse.
I’d wanted recklessness.
Instead, I got discipline wrapped in temptation.
Once or twice, I nearly gave in—nearly padded barefoot down the hall, knocked softly on his door, whispered something that would have destroyed every boundary he’d been trying to hold. But every time I sat up, heart hammering, I pictured his face when Hannah had walked in. That mix of humor and control. The way he’d saidanother time.
So, I stayed put.
And dreamed of what I didn’t do.
By morning, he was already up, dressed, and making coffee like he’d lived there for years.
Hannah gave him a look that could’ve stripped paint, but she didn’t say much—probably too tired or too resigned to fight another battle. I just smiled into my mug, pretending I didn’t notice how his hand brushed mine when he passed me the cream. It was positively electric. Every single touch was.
He was all calm focus, perfectly professional—no lingering glances, no teasing remarks. Just Lucas in work mode. Which only made me want him more.
By the time we reached the set, James Island had already started to steam. The marsh glowed gold under the early light, gulls cutting across the sky, the crew moving like clockwork to catch the day before the heat settled in.
Franklin greeted me with his usual brand of controlled chaos—half genius, half meltdown waiting to happen.
“Morning, starlet,” he said, thrusting a call sheet into my hand. “Let’s try to avoid any viral moments today, yeah?”
“Define viral,” I said sweetly.
He smirked but didn’t answer, already barking at a grip about lighting angles.
I smiled like it was all a joke, but the truth was, I didn’t want to piss Franklin off. He had a temper that burned fast and forgave slow, and the last thing I needed was to give him a reason to use words likeunprofessionalorunstablein the next studio meeting.
I’d spent years building a reputation for being easy to work with—prepared, polite, on time. A director’s dream, a publicist’s relief. Whatever chaos swirled in my personal life, I kept it off set. I wasn’t about to let one shoot in Charleston rewrite that narrative.
Viral moments were currency for influencers, not actresses who wanted longevity. I’d worked too hard to be taken seriously—to be seen as more than a face with good lighting—to throw it away over a few gossip posts.
So, I took a breath and walked toward wardrobe with my head high. Professional. Composed. The picture of control.
Even if part of me still hummed with the memory of what had almost happened last night.
Lucas was stationed nearby, blending into the background as always, though everyone noticed him, anyway. There was something about his presence—contained but commanding—that settled the set. Even Franklin stopped snapping quite as much.
Benji was running late, which left me in wardrobe and makeup longer than usual. I didn’t mind. It gave me time to think—and to watch.
