Chapter 3: The Paparazzi's Perfect Shot

Three days after the table read from hell, Elara was discovering that avoiding Liam Blackwood on a movie set was like trying to avoid oxygen—theoretically possible, but ultimately futile and likely to result in suffocation.

She'd arrived at Groundwork Coffee on Melrose twenty minutes early, hoping to caffeinate herself into a functional human being before their mandatory "character development session" with Helena. The director had insisted that her leads needed to "find their emotional connection" outside the sterile environment of the studio, which Elara suspected was Hollywood-speak for "we need you two to stop looking like you want to murder each other."

The coffee shop was her choice—minimalist décor, excellent Wi-Fi, and most importantly, frequented by screenwriters and indie filmmakers rather than the gossip blog photographers who usually stalked celebrity hotspots. She'd dressed down in distressed jeans and an oversized sweater, her honey-blonde hair twisted into a messy bun, hoping to blend in with the laptop-wielding creatives.

She should have known better.

Liam arrived exactly on time, because of course he did, sliding into the seat across from her with the fluid grace of someone who'd never had an awkward moment in his life. He was wearing dark jeans and a navy henley that brought out his eyes, his hair perfectly tousled in that way that probably took forty-five minutes to achieve.

"Vance," he said by way of greeting, signaling the barista for his usual—black coffee, no sugar, because apparently even his caffeine habits were pretentious.

"Blackwood," she replied, wrapping her hands around her vanilla latte like a shield. "Punctual as always."

"Unlike some people, I take my professional commitments seriously."

The barb hit its mark, but before Elara could respond, his coffee arrived, and she watched him take a sip with the kind of focused intensity most people reserved for wine tastings.

"So," she said, pulling out her script, "Helena wants us to discuss our characters' backstories. Specifically, what draws Lyralei and Kael together despite their obvious differences."

"Obvious differences," Liam repeated, his dark eyes flicking up to meet hers. "You mean like how she's an immortal warrior princess and he's a mortal soldier?"

"I mean like how she values honor and sacrifice while he's cynical and self-serving."

"Interesting interpretation." Liam leaned back in his chair, studying her with an expression that made her feel like a specimen under a microscope. "I see Kael as pragmatic rather than cynical. He's seen enough war to know that pretty ideals don't stop people from dying."

"And I see Lyralei as hopeful rather than naive," Elara shot back. "She fights for something bigger than herself because someone has to believe in the possibility of peace."

"Even when that belief is demonstrably foolish?"

"Especially then."

They stared at each other across the small table, the air between them crackling with the same tension that had electrified the conference room three days earlier. Elara could feel her pulse quickening, though whether from anger or something else entirely, she refused to examine too closely.

"You know what your problem is, Vance?" Liam said, his voice low enough that she had to lean forward to hear him.

"I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"You think everything has to be sunshine and rainbows. You think if you smile pretty enough and believe hard enough, the world will magically transform into one of your romantic comedies."

Elara felt something hot and dangerous unfurl in her chest. "And you think everything has to be dark and complicated to be meaningful. You think if you brood hard enough and suffer artistically enough, people will mistake your pretension for depth."

"At least I don't mistake marketability for talent."

"At least I don't mistake daddy's connections for merit."

The words hung in the air like a slap. Liam went very still, his coffee cup frozen halfway to his lips, and for a moment Elara thought she'd finally pushed too far. His face went through several expressions—surprise, hurt, fury—before settling into something cold and dangerous.

"You want to know about merit?" he said, his voice quiet and lethal. "I've been acting since I was twelve years old. Community theater, student films, off-Broadway productions that paid me in subway tokens and leftover pizza. I spent four years doing Shakespeare in the park while you were making commercials for acne cream."

"How do you know about the acne cream commercials?" Elara demanded, momentarily derailed.

"I do my research." His smile was sharp enough to cut glass. "Just like I know you waitressed at three different restaurants while taking acting classes, that you've been supporting your parents since you landed your first sitcom guest spot, and that you've turned down twelve different reality show offers because you actually give a damn about your craft."

Elara stared at him, thrown completely off balance. She'd expected another cutting remark about her commercial appeal, not... this. Not evidence that he'd bothered to learn anything real about her.

"Why would you—"

"Because contrary to what you think, I don't base my opinions of people on gossip blog headlines," he said, and there was something almost vulnerable in his dark eyes. "You want to know what I think your real problem is?"

"I'm afraid to ask."

"You're scared that if you let people see who you really are—the smart, ambitious, fiercely determined woman behind the America's Sweetheart smile—they won't love you anymore."

The observation hit so close to home that Elara actually flinched. "And what's your real problem, then? Since we're apparently conducting therapy sessions over coffee?"

Liam was quiet for so long she thought he might not answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

"I'm scared that even if I spend my entire career trying to prove I'm more than just Marcus Blackwood's son, it still won't be enough."

The confession hung between them like a bridge neither of them was quite ready to cross. Elara found herself studying his face—the sharp cheekbones, the dark eyes that held more pain than she'd expected, the way his jaw tightened when he was trying not to show vulnerability.

"Liam," she started, and it was the first time she'd used his first name.

"Don't," he said quickly, his walls snapping back up. "We're not friends, Vance. We're two people who have to pretend to be in love for the next six months. Let's not confuse professional necessity with actual connection."

The words stung more than they should have, but before Elara could respond, she noticed something that made her blood run cold. Through the coffee shop's floor-to-ceiling windows, she could see a man with a telephoto lens crouched behind a parked car, his camera trained directly on their table.

"Shit," she breathed.

"What?" Liam followed her gaze and immediately went rigid. "How did they find us here?"

As if summoned by their panic, Elara's phone started buzzing with notifications. She glanced at the screen and felt her stomach drop.

"We're trending again," she said faintly. "Someone posted our location on Twitter twenty minutes ago."

Through the window, she could see more photographers materializing like vultures drawn to carrion. At least six cameras were now pointed in their direction, and she could already imagine the headlines: "Starfire's Secret Coffee Date!" or "Enemies to Lovers: The Proof!"

"We need to leave," Liam said, standing abruptly. "Now."

But as they gathered their things, Elara's phone rang. Miranda's name flashed on the screen with all the subtlety of a fire alarm.

"Don't answer it," Liam warned.

"I have to. She's my agent." Elara swiped to accept the call. "Miranda, I can explain—"

"Explain what, darling? That you and Liam Blackwood are having a cozy coffee date that's currently being live-tweeted by half of Los Angeles?"

"It's not a date. It's a work meeting."

"Tell that to the photos that are already circulating. You two look like you're having the most intense romantic conversation in the history of caffeine."

Elara glanced over at Liam, who was pulling on his jacket with sharp, angry movements. Even upset, he moved with a fluid grace that the cameras would undoubtedly capture beautifully.

"We were arguing," she said weakly.

"Sweetheart, I've seen the pictures. If that's what you two look like when you're fighting, I can't wait to see what happens when you actually like each other."

Through the window, Elara could see that the crowd of photographers had doubled. Someone had apparently tipped off the entertainment blogs, because she could see bloggers with their phones out, narrating the scene for their Instagram stories.

"This is a disaster," she muttered.

"On the contrary," Miranda said, and Elara could practically hear her smile through the phone. "This is an opportunity. Clear your schedule for this afternoon. You and Liam have a meeting with the studio executives in two hours."

"What kind of meeting?"

"The kind where they offer you more money than God to turn this media frenzy into a promotional goldmine."

The line went dead, leaving Elara staring at her phone in horror. Across the table, Liam was having what appeared to be an equally disturbing conversation with his own agent.

"They want us to what?" he was saying, his voice tight with disbelief.

As they finally made their way toward the exit, the crowd of photographers surged forward like a pack of hungry wolves. Camera flashes exploded around them, and Elara could hear the rapid-fire clicking of dozens of shutters capturing every moment.

"Elara! Liam! Are you two dating?"

"How long has this been going on?"

"Is Starfire real?"

Without thinking, Liam's hand found hers, his fingers interlacing with hers as they pushed through the crowd toward his car. The gesture was probably meant to be protective, practical—a way to keep them together in the chaos. But the moment their skin touched, Elara felt that same electric jolt she'd experienced during the table read, and from the way Liam's grip tightened, she suspected he felt it too.

The cameras caught it all. The way their fingers fit together perfectly. The protective way Liam angled his body to shield her from the most aggressive photographers. The moment when she looked up at him with something that could have been gratitude or could have been something much more dangerous.

As they finally escaped into his car and pulled away from the coffee shop, Elara's phone was buzzing nonstop with notifications. #Starfire wasn't just trending—it was exploding across every social media platform, complete with dozens of photos of their "secret romantic coffee date."

"Well," Liam said grimly as he navigated through Los Angeles traffic, "I think we can safely assume our lives just got significantly more complicated."

Elara stared at the photos flooding her Twitter feed—images of them leaning across the table toward each other, their faces intense and focused, looking for all the world like two people falling desperately in love instead of two people who could barely stand each other.

The internet had made up its mind. Starfire was real, whether they liked it or not.

And in two hours, she had a feeling the studio was going to make them an offer that would trap them in this narrative for much longer than just the duration of filming.

"Liam," she said quietly.

"Yeah?"

"I think we're about to be in a lot more trouble than we bargained for."

His laugh was hollow. "Princess, I think trouble doesn't even begin to cover it."