Chapter 5: An Unscripted Moment of Care

The Nobu dinner had been a masterclass in manufactured romance. They'd sat close enough for the paparazzi to capture intimate whispers, leaned into each other's space with practiced ease, and even managed a few genuine laughs when Liam had muttered increasingly ridiculous commentary about the other diners under his breath. The photos had been everything the studio could have hoped for—Elara gazing at him with apparent adoration while he fed her sushi, their hands intertwined on the table like lovers who couldn't bear to be separated.

Now, three weeks into filming and their fake relationship, they'd settled into an uneasy rhythm. Professional on set, performatively romantic for the cameras, and carefully distant whenever they were alone. It was working, mostly, except for the moments when Elara caught herself forgetting it was all an act.

Like now, watching Liam rehearse the wire work for today's complex action sequence. He was suspended fifteen feet above the green-screen stage, his body twisted in an impossible position as he "flew" through the magical forest, dodging invisible wraiths while trying to reach her character. The choreography was intricate and dangerous—a combination of martial arts, aerial acrobatics, and split-second timing that required absolute trust in the equipment and crew.

"Looking good up there, Blackwood," she called up to him during a break, unable to keep the genuine admiration out of her voice. He'd insisted on doing his own stunts despite the studio's concerns, and his dedication was evident in every precise movement.

"Just trying to keep up with you, princess," he replied, but there was no mockery in the nickname anymore. Somewhere over the past few weeks, it had evolved into something almost affectionate.

Elara had already completed her portion of the sequence—a grueling hour of being "thrown" by invisible forces while maintaining perfect hair and makeup. The wire work was challenging enough, but doing it while delivering emotional dialogue and hitting precise marks for the camera angles was another level entirely.

"Places, everyone!" Helena called from behind the monitors. "This is our hero shot—Kael diving to save Lyralei from the shadow wraiths. Liam, you'll start at mark seven, swing down to intercept the wraith attack at mark three, then carry Elara to safety at mark one. The timing has to be perfect."

The crew scattered to their positions with the efficiency of a NASCAR pit crew. Cameras rolled, lights adjusted, and the massive green-screen cyclorama hummed to life. Elara took her position on the raised platform, preparing to be "attacked" by the wraiths that would be added in post-production.

"Action!" Helena shouted.

Elara screamed as invisible forces seemed to grab her, throwing her backward with violent force. The wire rig jerked her through the air in a controlled fall that looked chaotic and desperate on camera. This was the moment when Kael was supposed to swoop in and catch her, their bodies colliding in a romantic rescue that would become one of the film's signature moments.

But something went wrong.

The sound came first—a sharp crack like breaking wood, followed by the whistle of something moving too fast through the air. Elara saw Liam's face change, his expression shifting from focused concentration to pure alarm as his primary wire snapped.

Instead of the controlled descent that would bring him to her rescue, he was falling—fifteen feet of uncontrolled drop toward the concrete floor below.

"Liam!" The scream tore from her throat without thought, raw and desperate and entirely real.

What happened next would be debated by the crew for weeks afterward. Some swore Liam managed to grab the secondary safety line and swing himself toward the padded crash mats. Others insisted it was pure luck that he landed where he did. But Elara knew what she saw—Liam twisting in midair, using his own body to change his trajectory, not toward safety, but toward her.

He slammed into the platform with bone-jarring force, his shoulder taking the brunt of the impact as he wrapped his arms around her, rolling them both away from the edge where she'd been standing. They hit the deck hard, Liam's body cushioning her fall even as she heard him grunt in pain.

For a moment, the soundstage was utterly silent except for the whir of cameras that were still rolling, capturing every second of the accident. Then chaos erupted as crew members rushed toward them, Helena shouting orders, and the stunt coordinator's voice cutting through the noise demanding to know what the hell had happened to the primary rig.

"Are you hurt?" Liam's voice was rough, strained, but his dark eyes were scanning her face with an intensity that had nothing to do with their characters. His arm was still wrapped around her, holding her against his chest, and she could feel his heart hammering against her ribs.

"I'm fine," she managed, though her voice was shaking. "Are you? Your shoulder—"

"It's nothing." But she could see the way he winced as he tried to move, the careful way he was holding his left arm.

"Don't be an idiot," she said, her hands moving to his shoulder without conscious thought. "Let me see."

The medic arrived before he could protest, a efficient woman named Carol who'd been treating film set injuries for twenty years. She knelt beside them, her experienced hands already assessing the damage.

"I need to see that shoulder," Carol said firmly. "And we should probably get you both checked for concussion."

"I'm fine," Liam insisted, but his voice lacked its usual edge. The adrenaline was wearing off, and Elara could see pain creeping into his expression.

"Shut up and let her do her job," Elara said, surprising herself with the fierce protectiveness in her own voice.

As Carol examined his shoulder, determining it was badly bruised but not dislocated, Elara found herself studying Liam's face. There was something vulnerable about seeing him hurt, something that made her chest tight with an emotion she didn't want to name.

"You could have been seriously injured," she said quietly while Carol prepared an ice pack. "That was incredibly stupid."

"You're welcome," he replied, but there was no heat in it.

"I didn't ask you to—" She stopped, because that wasn't true. The moment she'd seen him falling, every instinct in her body had screamed for him to somehow, impossibly, save himself. She just hadn't expected him to save her in the process.

"Yes, you did," he said, and his voice was so soft she had to lean closer to hear him. "You screamed my name."

The words hung between them like a confession. Elara became suddenly aware that they were still sitting on the platform floor, his good arm still around her waist, their faces inches apart. The crew was bustling around them, checking equipment and investigating the wire failure, but they felt isolated in their own bubble of... something.

"The cameras weren't rolling," she said, though she wasn't sure why that mattered.

"I know."

"So why did you—"

"Because I couldn't let you get hurt." The admission seemed to surprise him as much as it did her. "I saw you falling, and I just... reacted."

Elara stared at him, searching his face for some sign that this was part of their performance, some angle she wasn't seeing. But there was nothing calculating in his dark eyes, nothing practiced about the way he was looking at her like she was something precious and fragile.

"Liam," she started, but Carol interrupted, pressing the ice pack against his shoulder.

"Twenty minutes on, twenty off," the medic instructed. "And I want you to see a doctor if the pain gets worse. No more stunts today."

As Carol packed up her supplies and the crew began resetting for a different scene, Elara helped Liam to his feet. He moved carefully, favoring his injured shoulder, and she found herself hovering protectively beside him.

"I can walk, you know," he said, but there was amusement in his voice rather than irritation.

"I know. I just..." She trailed off, not sure how to explain the fierce protective instinct that had taken over her rational brain.

They made their way to a quiet corner of the soundstage, away from the bustle of the crew investigating the equipment failure. Liam lowered himself into a director's chair with a barely suppressed wince, and Elara perched on the edge of a nearby equipment case.

"Thank you," she said finally.

"For what?"

"For saving me. For getting hurt trying to keep me from getting hurt. For being..." She struggled to find the words. "For being decent."

Something shifted in his expression. "Were you expecting me not to be?"

"I don't know what I was expecting," she admitted. "Three weeks ago, I thought you were an arrogant, pretentious asshole who looked down on everything I'd ever worked for."

"And now?"

The question was casual, but she could hear the underlying tension in his voice, as if her answer mattered more than it should.

"Now I think you're an arrogant, pretentious asshole who risked his career to keep me from falling fifteen feet onto concrete," she said, and was rewarded with the first genuine smile she'd ever seen from him.

"That's progress, I suppose."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the crew work around them. Helena was deep in conversation with the stunt coordinator, probably deciding whether to reshoot the sequence or work around the accident in post-production.

"The internet is going to lose its mind when they see the footage," Elara said suddenly.

Liam followed her gaze to the cameras, which had captured every second of the accident and its aftermath. "Shit."

"Liam Blackwood heroically saves his co-star slash secret girlfriend," she continued in a mock entertainment reporter voice. "Sources say the romantic rescue wasn't in the script, sparking speculation about the real-life feelings between the Starfire couple."

"They're not wrong," he said quietly.

Elara's heart stopped. "What?"

"Nothing." He stood abruptly, wincing as the movement jarred his shoulder. "I should go get this looked at properly."

But as he walked away, Elara couldn't shake the feeling that she'd missed something important, some moment of truth that had slipped past her defenses while she wasn't paying attention.

Later that evening, her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number: Thank you for taking care of me today. Even when the cameras weren't rolling. - L

She stared at the message for a long time, remembering the way he'd looked at her in those moments after the accident—not like a co-star or a fake girlfriend, but like someone who mattered.

The most dangerous part of their arrangement, she was beginning to realize, wasn't the public scrutiny or the media attention. It was moments like these, when the line between performance and reality became impossible to see.