Chapter 2
The System continued, "Eight, seven..."
The lake water rose, muffling my ears and blurring my vision.
For a split second, I could almost smell the sun-dried blanket again.
Before my consciousness faded, I heard frantic footsteps in the distance.
Someone was screaming my name from the shore, their voice raw with desperation. "Evelyn, stop!"
I didn't look back.
I thought it was too late.
But in the next instant, the water exploded as someone dove in after me.
By the time someone dragged me out of the lake, I was already slipping away.
Rain pounded my face, the taste of blood and the chill of the wind burning down my throat.
Someone seized my wrist in a death grip. "Evelyn, you're out of your mind."
It was Ryan Chase.
The System was silent for a long time before finally whispering, "You're not back yet."
My eyelids felt impossibly heavy.
The relief of almost sinking to the bottom was torn apart by those words.
Ryan pulled me closer.
His black trench coat was drenched, wet hair clinging to his brow, and two buttons on his shirt were mismatched.
Ryan was always a perfectionist, almost to the point of being obsessive.
His camera angles had to be precise, his collars had to be perfectly straight, and if a single beam of light on set was off by even half an inch, he'd make everyone start over.
But now, there was a long gash on the back of his hand, blood dripping down his knuckles.
The glass door on the top floor was shattered, shards scattered everywhere.
He must have crashed through it.
His blood dripped onto my white dress.
Was he only starting to feel scared now? Maybe it was already too late.
*****
When I woke up again, I was in Ryan's private hospital.
The room was bathed in a cold, clinical white.
Before I opened my eyes, I could smell the sharp scent of disinfectant.
It didn't smell like the sun-dried blanket or soap.
Almost without thinking, I murmured, "Ben, is the blanket dry yet?"
I opened my eyes.
The ceiling was a stark, sterile white; an IV drip hung nearby, and Ryan was slouched on the couch.
His black shirt was rumpled, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and the wound on the back of his hand was haphazardly wrapped in gauze. Blood already seeped through it.
When he saw me wake up, the tightness in his gaze loosened for a second, and then his expression hardened again.
"You're hard to kill," Ryan said.
The sun-drenched blanket from my dream gradually faded away in the cold, sterile hospital lights.
I turned my head and shut my eyes again. Tears slipped from the corners, disappearing into my hair.
Ryan stood up.
He walked over and stopped by the bed. "Why are you crying?"
His tone turned icy. "Because you didn't die, huh? Are you disappointed there weren't enough people watching?"
I opened my eyes and looked at him. "Why did you save me?"
Ryan stared at me. "You can't die on my turf."
Ryan was the youngest international director around, and the one truly in charge at Chase Studios.
People in the industry said he shot films like he didn't care about his own life, and acted like a living nightmare.
He could turn a nobody into a superstar with a snap of his fingers, or wipe someone off every cast list with just a word.
Ryan was the second person I was waiting for, and the only ex I ever really loved.
He leaned in, his fingers pinching my chin, making me meet his gaze.
The smell of fir and tobacco washed over me.
"White dress, night rain, lake water, red. Evelyn, you've acted in my films for five years. You know exactly what kind of scene tugs at the heartstrings," Ryan said.
He tossed his phone onto the bed in front of me.
On the screen was footage from the rooftop lake.
Ryan tapped the screen with his finger. "The camera covers this spot perfectly."
Back then, all I wanted was to move a little farther forward.
The moon's reflection shimmered in the middle of the lake.
Ryan went on, "The door set off the alarm, the ring went off, and there are security cameras on the top floor.
"You made sure everyone would see it. You planned every detail."
I suddenly laughed, my wrist throbbing with pain. "Ryan, there's no script this time."
His hand settled on my bandaged wrist.
He didn't press hard, but his touch brushed right over the wound.
My fingertips twitched. He froze for a moment.
A faint red stain seeped through the gauze.
The wound on the back of his hand split open again, blood dripping down through his fingers.
Ryan stared at that spot of red, his gaze darkening.
When he spoke, his voice was still cold. "Elsie starts filming tomorrow, and Alex is getting his marriage license tomorrow.
"If you die here tonight, every old scandal will be dragged back into the light.
"Evelyn, you aren't new to how public opinion works."
So I even have to pick a time to die that won't mess up Elsie's launch?" I shot back.
Ryan pressed his lips together.
I stared at the gauze on the back of his hand, and suddenly, memories from years ago came rushing back.
Back then, Ryan wasn't the polished, untouchable figure he was now.
He was cornered by an investor in an abandoned studio, forced to delete the final reel of his debut film.
I pretended to be drunk, grabbed the hard drive, and barged into the prop room. In front of everyone, I shoved it into the oven and burned it to a crisp.
Everyone thought the film was gone for good.
Only Ryan knew the real hard drive was already hidden in the prop cabinet.
That night, we holed up in a drafty little motel, and there was no heat.
He put his one and only coat around my shoulders, and then leaned against the wall, smoking quietly.
I asked, "Ryan, will you put me in your films?"
He looked at me for a long moment. "I will."
"How long will you keep filming me?"
Ryan crushed out his cigarette, leaned in, and kissed me. "Until my camera can't frame you anymore."