Five years into his career, Ashton Miller was an untouchable A-lister, the undeniable king of the industry. Everyone knew he had a secret love, a woman locked away in his heart. Through his rise from nothing to the dazzling heights of Hollywood, he had never forgotten her. I was the one who walked with him through his darkest days. And I was the one who finally realized I was only ever cast as the Supporting Actress. In the perfectly scripted romance of life, the Supporting Actress exists only to make the main couple's love story shine brighter. But Ashton had once told me, "If the script says I can’t have you, then I’ll use every ounce of my power to tear up that script." I had believed him. 1 Ashton was trending on social media again. Normally, for a superstar like him, dominating the headlines wasn't news. But this time was different. He was trending alongside Seraphina Vance, a rising starlet from the same agency. Five years since his debut, he was like a once-in-a-generation comet. On the concert stage, he was pure blinding energy; on screen, he possessed an innate brilliance that had already won him an Academy Award at his young age. Despite the fame, he had never been touched by scandal. His most viral photo was one taken right after he stepped off a massive concert stage. His silhouette was tall and lean. The crowd was a roar of screams. The spotlights hit only half his face, catching the gleam of sweat sliding down his jawline. His eyes were vibrant with raw energy, possessing a charm that could steal a person's soul. Yet, the other half of his face was steeped in shadow—cold, distant, and enigmatic as a chaste god, suggesting nothing could tempt him from his pedestal. Half vivid splendor, half silent stoicism. He was the center of attention in any arena. They said Ashton was the brightest star in the northern sky: untouchable, uncatchable. You could only feel his presence from a distance—overwhelmingly beautiful, yet bone-chillingly cold. The hashtag #AshtonSeraphina had a bright red "VIRAL" tag next to it. It was a video from a press conference. Ashton had just abandoned his usual blockbuster rotation to sign onto an epic period romance script called The Queen’s Champion, playing opposite Seraphina, who was new to the acting world. In the video, a reporter asked, "What is your favorite line from the script, Ashton?" He chuckled softly. In the film, he plays the loyal general who commits his life to conquering territories for the Queen. He turned his head, casting his eyes down at Seraphina beside him. She only came up to his shoulder, but Ashton deliberately leaned down, assuming a posture of deep reverence, much like the young general half-kneeling before his sovereign in the script. His eyes were soft, and when he smiled slightly, they were breathtakingly affectionate. He said: "I am content to be the brightest gem in your crown. I desire only to conquer worlds so that your name echoes through history. I pledge to be your most loyal soldier, to circle you like the stars around the moon, remaining forever by your side. I offer everything I am, my young Sovereign." The entire hall fell silent. Seraphina raised her eyes to meet Ashton’s, her gaze soft and rippling with emotion. Screams erupted an instant later. Camera flashes strobed like lightning, and countless microphones were thrust forward by frenzied reporters. The video froze in that moment. The comments section was in overdrive. Even Ashton’s die-hard fans were beginning to celebrate. "If this isn't love, I don't know what is!" "The young Queen and her devoted General... who isn't shipping this?" "That look in Ashton’s eyes... that’s pure, sweet devotion." "After all these years, my boy finally found someone who makes him melt!" ... I mindlessly traced my finger over the screen. It was frozen right where Ashton looked down, his eyes holding a galaxy of stars—a expression I had never seen before. I let out a helpless sigh, but tears escaped. It had finally happened. I had "stepped into this story" long ago, when I was fifteen, a sophomore in high school. To me, it felt like being trapped in a cheesy romance novel. Ashton was the male lead—the undisputed, incredibly talented young superstar. He was typically lazy and detached, but he would pour a lifetime of warmth solely onto the female lead, Seraphina. It was a story of reconnecting. They knew each other from high school. Ashton was practically Hollywood royalty, a true blue blood. Seraphina was the transfer student, a delicate ballet dancer. According to the pattern I knew, in their senior year, Ashton’s family would suffer a massive tragedy. The young lord on his pedestal would be dragged down into the dirt. In his despair, he would be saved by Seraphina, preventing him from going dark. After various separations due to her career and studies, they would meet again years later, and Ashton would protect her as she blossomed in the entertainment industry. Their love story was destined to be celebrated by the whole world. But when I came into the picture, Seraphina’s family moved her away much earlier than the plot dictated. She missed the entire downfall of the Miller family, leaving before Ashton could even confess his budding feelings. I was the one who held that eighteen-year-old boy when he lost both his parents in a single night. I was the one who touched his thin spine and accompanied him slowly through that abyss of darkness. He had never been so helpless, weeping silently against my shoulder with red, swollen eyes, clinging to me like I was his last lifeline. I saw him return to the spotlight. He was born for greatness, after all, and Hollywood quickly rediscovered him. I went to the premiere of his first film. I watched on the big screen as he turned in the rain, covered in blood and mud, his gaze as sharp as a knife. The audience around me gasped in collective shock at the raw power of it. I called him while he was walking the red carpet at an awards show. I said, "Ash, I saw it." During his first major concert, I was right there in the front row. The entire arena was chanting his name, screaming for him. Countless LEDs lit up, declaring their love for "Ashton." I knew, right then, that he had never really been "my" boy. I was swallowed up by the crowd, smiling as I watched him blaze brilliantly center stage, while hot tears poured down my face before I could stop them. I walked with him through the hardest times, but I knew his brilliant future didn't belong to me. Ash. Ashton probably didn't know that the novel The Queen’s Champion was actually based on something I wrote. I wrote of generals, of sovereigns, of strategy, and of love. But I had to watch him recite those declarations of devotion to Seraphina. "I am your sharpest sword." "Your Majesty, my heart’s devotion lies across this vast empire. Look and see for yourself." There had been countless moments when I realized that no matter how long I stayed by Ashton’s side, that dazzling boy would never be mine. But I hadn't asked for much. I only wanted him to be happy and safe. Ding. Cinderella's time was up. It was time to strip away the glory that didn't belong to me. I slowly ate a bowl of porridge, staring blankly at the small pot of freesia on the windowsill for a long time. I returned to my room and packed everything I owned. It wasn't much; it fit perfectly into a single small suitcase. I called Ashton’s cell. I called several times. On the third try, someone finally picked up. It was his assistant. "Elara! Look, Ash is just changing into costume, he can't—" The call was abruptly cut off, then I heard Ashton’s voice as he walked away from the noise, the sounds of the set fading into the distance. "Hello?" I hadn't wanted to cry. But the moment his deep, smooth voice came through the line, a tear suddenly fell. I tilted my head back, thinking about the ten years we had walked together. Scenes receded only to rush back like a tide. I thought of that line about circled stars and a destined path that couldn't be changed. I composed myself and said, "Ash, I’m done. I'm leaving." He froze. After a long pause, he spoke in his usual casual, detached tone. "Need to get away for a bit? Domestic or international? Leaving in a few days? Let Nick know, he’ll book your flight. Can you wait two days? I’ll have my manager reschedule my shoots, I'll clear some time to go with you. I heard there's a place with great scenery—" The background noise around him started to swell again. Someone shouted, "Mr. Miller, we’re ready to shoot!" He ignored them. I interrupted his rambling. I said, "No, Ash. I mean I’m leaving you." I wiped the single tear from my cheek and whispered, "Goodbye, Ashton." Silence for a heartbeat. Then I hung up. I have always been a coward. I was afraid he would hear the sob I couldn't hold back, and even more afraid he would let out a sigh of relief and say, "Okay." 2 Ashton had bought this little apartment before he struck it rich. I had saved up a decent chunk of change from my writing royalties, and together with Ashton’s savings, we scraped together a down payment. Two bedrooms, one bath. We each had our own little space. Later, when he exploded in popularity, living here wasn't feasible anymore. The area was too busy, and it was too easy for paparazzi to follow him. His manager strictly forbade any talk of him "cohabitating" with anyone during his rising career. I helped him explain over and over that we were just family, but I knew there was no way around it. For a very brief moment, I had held a burning star in my hands. But I was painfully aware that he never belonged to me. He moved into a highly secure luxury complex. His schedule became fuller by the day. He still called me, telling me about new scripts, new choreography he was learning, but he was just too busy. Eventually, when I called him, he was always at an event, filming, or preparing for a show. He’d call back exhausted when it was all over. I couldn't stand seeing him so tired, so I stopped calling. I didn't have many friends here. After working at the publishing house, I'd come home and write. When I wrote The Queen’s Champion, I had written a specific line for the young general. He would ride back through a massive snowstorm, the great Royal City and thousands of soldiers behind him. He would leap from his horse, dropping to one knee in the deep snow before the young Queen: "I am your sharpest sword. For my Sovereign, I conquer worlds." I was thinking of Ashton when I wrote that. I, too, wanted to be his sword and his shield. But I could do nothing. All I could ever offer him was a hug. According to the patterns of these stories, Ashton and Seraphina were supposed to meet during an audition at his agency. Reconnection. The descriptions in my head were vivid: "They met, but he remained outwardly composed. Tall and straight, he brushed past the delicate Seraphina, appearing like strangers. But secretly, he secured the best contract terms for her and personally ensured this destined-to-be-blockbuster script was placed in her hands. The usually arrogant man was so cautious, letting Seraphina believe her achievements were solely due to her own hard work, letting her be happy and proud." The press conference was just the beginning of their slow-burn romance. I had stayed with him all those years, waiting for her to finally appear. I finished making all the necessary handovers for my work from the little apartment. Then I dragged my suitcase to the door. Just as I opened it, I realized it was raining. A heavy downpour, beating against my heart with a dull ache. As I was about to close the door to grab an umbrella, a force shoved against it. A pale, long-fingered hand gripped the doorframe, a knuckle adorned with a stylish silver ring. I opened the door fully, my heart pounding rapidly. Ashton was leaning against the doorframe. It was pouring outside, and he was soaked. Wet hair fell across his beautiful brow, dampening the brilliance that usually radiated from his eyes. There was a faint trace of red in them now. He was still wearing his ancient, elaborate costume from the set, the wide sleeves hurriedly tied up. Rain dripped down the high bridge of his nose, looking almost like tears. He must have rushed here; he was still slightly out of breath, his thin lips pressed tight and pale, wearing a look of sheer panic that was entirely different from his usual cold detachment. He looked like a child terrified of being abandoned. He looked down, his voice slightly raw. He said my name. "Elara. "Where could you possibly go?" Water rolled down his jawline and neck, disappearing into the half-wet collar of his costume. I paused before asking, "Did you run off from the set?" He interrupted me, leaning slightly closer to look me in the eye. "Where could you possibly go?" "I'm going back to Monterey. It’s too loud here; I’m not cut out for this life. I want to watch fireworks on the beach at night in Monterey, and eat the old-school cherry pie from the diner down the street." His knuckles whitened as he gripped the doorframe. He asked softly, "What about me?" I noticed people moving around in the hallway. Given how incredibly famous he was, I worried about him being recognized by paparazzi or neighbors. Letting out a sigh, I stepped aside and signaled him to come in. Even though he hadn't lived here in a long, long time, his room and closet were untouched. I urged him to go take a hot shower. He looked back at me several times, hesitating. I was both amused and annoyed. I said, "I'm not going to run away while you're in the shower." Only then did he let out a faint, "Oh." He had left his phone on silent, but missed calls and texts were blowing it up. Ashton clicked his tongue in annoyance, flipped the phone facedown on the coffee table, grabbed some dry clothes, and shut himself in the bathroom. I answered a call from his assistant. The poor guy was in a panic, asking if Ashton was with me. I gave a quiet "mm-hmm," and told him not to worry, that Ashton would be back later. The assistant breathed a sigh of relief. Then I called his manager, telling her to handle any potential leaks about him being seen on the road. Handling all this only took a moment. I found myself in a rare daze. Ashton was actually incredibly hardworking; stories of stars being divas on set never applied to him. He never did that. I inadvertently clicked on one of Ashton’s new songs. His voice from the phone was uncharacteristically gentle, like a confession from across the stars: "You're at the center of my world / Yet I never felt anything was different." "My full glory is for your coronation / Who could know this love that asks for nothing in return?" My heart burned as I listened. But the comment ticker rolled across the screen: "Seraphina is going to win awards with this kind of backing. Ashton definitely pulled strings." "This kind of hidden, patient love is the most heartbreaking!" I thought about my brief moment of self-importance and felt incredibly embarrassed. But according to the original narrative, this is how it was supposed to go. He wrote songs for her, paved the way for her, placing the best things in her hands without her ever knowing. If his high school love was as scorching as the midday sun, then now, having weathered tragedies, that love was heavier, hidden, like moonlight reflecting on a rippling ocean. But anyone falling for Ashton was just inevitable, because he was truly a wonderful person. The song was slow and gentle, like him singing right into my ear. I was lost in it. Hearing the bathroom door open, I snapped out of it and hurriedly paused the song, like I was trying to hide a guilty secret. Ashton had changed into a white T-shirt, his collarbone slightly visible. His hair was towel-dried. The hot shower had seemingly eased his tension; his innate nonchalance was back. Hearing the familiar melody, he paused, a smile playing at the corner of his eye. "Listening to my new song?" I nodded. "It’s very good." He didn't reply, but a trace of red climbed onto his ears as he gave an indifferent "mm-hmm." The atmosphere suddenly plunged into a heavy silence. Neither of us knew what to say. There were only a few hours left before I had to catch the cross-country train. I had to say goodbye. "Next time, don't just run off without a word. You had them all worried." Ashton hated being lectured, but now he just sat there quietly, listening. "My ticket is bought. It's raining, so you can't walk me out. If... if you ever think of me, come find me for a beer when you're near Monterey." As it turned out, parting wasn't about drama and crying. It was about very restrainedly maintaining the politeness of friends. He was silent for a long time. I sighed, getting up to head for the door. But as I passed him, he grabbed my wrist. "I won't come find you for a beer. I won't just happen to be near Monterey." He raised his eyes, looking at me with absolute stubbornness, the corners faintly red. For an instant, I truly thought he was going to cry. Through all these years, through so much suffering, he had only ever cried like that once, the afternoon his parents died, holding me without a sound. I patiently leaned down slightly. "Ashton, have you ever considered that you're just used to having me around? "Back then, anyone who held you, you would have accepted them." He froze, his face going pale as if he had been insulted. He looked straight at me, practically spitting the words through clenched teeth. "Elara, do you have a heart? It could only be you. It was only ever you." Just as things were at a standoff, my phone rang. Somehow, the ringtone had changed to Ashton’s new song, hitting right at the climax: "My full glory is for your coronation / Who could know this love that asks for nothing in return." It was incredibly awkward. Ashton was still gripping my wrist, so I used my other hand to answer. It was the production team for The Queen’s Champion. They had recently finalized the casting and held the press conference, and were now about a portion of the way into filming. They wanted me to join the crew on set to oversee the script, working with the screenwriters to refine the story and dialogue. I hesitated. If I joined the crew, I’d be seeing a lot of Ashton and Seraphina. I was literally just about to leave. The person on the phone was very polite. "We truly hope to present your work to the audience in its best possible form, so we would be honored if you could join us." Ultimately, I nodded. Suddenly, I remembered that Ashton didn't know I wrote the novel. I looked down, only to see the thin lips that had been pressed tight a moment ago now quirked up in a smile. He leaned back slightly, relaxing completely, his beautiful eyes sparkling. He showed no surprise whatsoever. I raised my voice. "You knew I wrote The Queen’s Champion?" He was outwardly calm, lounging on the sofa, his long legs propped up on the coffee table. He said lazily, "Elara, I look forward to working with you." Just like that summer years ago, when he sat by the window, the trees full of cicadas, his classic bad-boy profile turning towards me. He had quirked his lips then, too, saying, "You're Elara, right? Nice to meet you." He was always like this, pretending he didn't need my help when he clearly did. 3 I told Ashton to keep his distance on set, that we should act like strangers. He raised his eyes and gave a knowing, slightly mocking "Oh." The Queen’s Champion follows the journey of a young royal from a lowly princess to an Empress. Seraphina played the lead, Aurora. The male lead was her childhood friend, the scholarly Prime Minister. The second lead was a prince from an enemy nation held as a hostage. The third lead was the loyal general, played by Ashton. He didn't have many scenes; it seemed like a role he had taken just to support Seraphina. The production crew had arranged a room for me at the hotel. Just as I finished unpacking and stepped out of my room, I ran into Caleb Sterling, who was playing the male lead. He had entered the industry in college, and after graduation, he had become quite a respected method actor, now a popular leading man. Coincidentally, he was also from the same department as me in college. Our names, when put together, were a well-known quote about courtship from classic literature, which had caused quite a stir back in our university days. Caleb was wearing a mask, revealing only black, expressive eyes. He was tall, and possessed a calm, refined aura. He stopped when he saw me, seemingly stunned. His manager must have mentioned something to him, because he quickly recovered and smiled with his eyes over the mask. "It really is you. Long time no see, Elara." I said, "Yeah, it has been." It just so happened to be afternoon, and the crew was holding a table read. Before filming began, the leads would read through the script together to test the emotional beats. He looked down at me. "Since we bumped into each other, let’s go together." I had no reason to refuse, so I nodded. Caleb and I had been polite acquaintances in college, not close but friendly. His conversation was perfectly pleasant, so reconnecting now wasn't too awkward. When we arrived at the room, most people were already there. But my eyes went straight to Ashton, lounging in a corner. He was wearing a black hoodie, his hand resting on his script. He raised his gaze, landing on me first, then glancing at Caleb beside me. The corner of his mouth drooped in visible annoyance, looking coldly displeased. Once everyone arrived, introductions were made. I hadn't seen Seraphina in a long time. She was even more ethereal in person than in her photos. When our eyes met, she offered a polite, unsurprising smile, revealng shallow dimples. We started running through lines. This scene was the first meeting between Ashton’s character, General Ares, and the heroine, Aurora. Ares wasn't born into nobility. He had a tragic childhood, surviving as a street urchin, fighting with beggars for scraps. Until the heroine appeared, a sliver of light illuminating his hopeless life. Feeling inferior due to their status difference, he joined the army, fought with everything he had, and eventually became her most trusted champion. This scene was Ares as a teenager, beaten severely, lying in the rain-slicked mud, watching the golden-belled carriage of the wealthy heroine pass by. Ashton stepped into character instantly. He was still in his black hoodie, sitting up straight with his script, but his expression was unmistakably that of a hopeless urchin dying in the rain. He was shivering with cold, yet forcing his eyes open with stubborn refusal, terrified that if he closed them, he would become just another forgotten corpse by the roadside. Seraphina read her lines, calling out to her maid. She was leaning lazily back in her chair, perfectly portraying the pampered, high-born princess. "Maya, why has the carriage stopped?" The young Ares, lying in the road, had blocked the noble carriage. The driver’s whip was about to fall on Ares. Aurora lifted the royal purple curtain, looking down from on high, and casually stopped the driver. Seraphina read with the princess’s condescending tone: "Forget it. He’s just a beggar. Find someone to take him to a healer and leave some money." The Ares in the scene was blinded by rain, barely able to open his eyes. All he could see was a corner of the grand, opulent carriage curtain being lifted. Inside was luxurious and warm, the pouring rain unable to touch it. A beautiful noble girl poked her head out slightly, effortlessly giving him a chance to live. Ashton spoke, softly. The Ares in the script, lying broken in the mud, barely able to see through the rain, yet asked with immense audacity, as if terrified his dream would shatter in the storm: "Who... are you?" The girl chuckled softly, a sound that could have been disdain or disbelief. She said nothing, and the purple curtain fell back into place. That was their first encounter. It became a dream Ares would never forget. Ashton leaned back, instantly transforming back into the cold, detached young man. "I have a problem with this scene," Ashton spoke up. "Even if Aurora showed mercy in his direst moment and gave him a few coins, Ares might be grateful, he might repay her with his life, but he would never fall for her so completely and desperately." I looked at him. Our eyes met for a second. Ashton leaned forward, his voice calm. "Not unless she gave him a hug in the middle of that pouring rain. A warm hug that could protect him from all the cold." Ashton was absolutely certain, as if in that moment he was Ares, and he knew it to be true. I was stunned. Memories started to flood back. I composed myself and spoke. "But that is logically impossible. At this point, Aurora is a noble princess. She might have pity for the common people, but she would never, ever hug a mud-covered, dying stranger on the street." Ashton’s eyes were dark, a hidden light shimmering in them, like a starry sky. Seraphina suddenly spoke up. "But if it was a maid, it wouldn't matter, right? If Aurora’s maid gave him the hug instead, that would make sense." "But why would a maid hug a dying beggar?" Ashton leaned back, his expression unreadable as he quirked his lips in a smirk. "Who knows. Maybe it's just pity." I stared at him. I suddenly remembered the year the Miller family fell. The high lord had suddenly been dragged down into the dirt. He had lost his family overnight. His orange blossoms were thrown to the wind. I had slowly approached him and gently hugged that despairing, suffering boy. Did he think it was pity? I had never gotten an answer. But this scene was slightly modified. In this rain-drenched first encounter, Ashton’s character, Ares, was given a substitute hug. After the reading, I returned to the hotel. Passing by the fire exit, I was grabbed by the wrist and dragged into the darkness. The door was half-ajar, letting in a sliver of light. I was about to scream, my palms sweating. I was pinned against the wall. Ashton was tall, making the space feel incredibly cramped. I could feel the scent of cold snow coming from him. I raised my eyes, unable to believe his audacity, and whispered a curse. "What are you doing?" He leaned down slightly, a ghost of a smile in his eyes. "You said to act like strangers in front of people. I can only talk to you here, right?" I shifted uncomfortably against the wall, tilting my head back to appear confident, but my forehead brushed against his jaw, the warm contact lasting only an instant. Silence fell. I asked, "What is it?" Someone walked down the hallway. It sounded like his assistant looking for him, muttering, "Ashton was just here. Where did he go?" I turned back, meeting his black eyes. Every trace of a smile had been tucked away. The sliver of light from the fire door landed faintly on his face, making this man, who was considered the pinnacle of the industry, look even deeper and more mesmerizing. He licked his lips. He propped one hand against the wall, leaning down to eye level with me. He pursed his lips several times before he could speak. I truly felt he was as nervous as I was. No matter how big the arena, no matter how grand the stage, Ashton never had stage fright. Yet in this silent, tiny space, in this small fire exit without an audience, he had to rethink his words many times before he dared to speak. He softly asked, "Who would be willing to hug someone falling into the abyss?" I looked at his lowered eyes, unable to tell if he was asking about Ares in the script or himself in reality. The year Ashton was eighteen, what awaited him wasn't a lavish, high-profile birthday party. First, Seraphina had left the country without a word, leaving the flowers he intended to use for his confession utterly useless. Then, the Miller family went bankrupt. His father committed suicide in prison, and his mother couldn't take the shock and passed away from illness. Overnight, the adored young lord had been reduced to an orphaned, homeless beggar. I had searched all of Seattle then. I found him in a gritty alleyway, leaning against a crumbling concrete wall. The setting sun was casting long shadows, and those freshly picked flowers were rolling in the dirt. Even though I found him, I didn't dare approach. I wasn't Seraphina. In his eyes, I was probably just an acquaintance who knew his name. Who would want their most vulnerable, broken self exposed to someone insignificant? What was I thinking back then? I was just so heartbroken watching him. I thought, he probably... maybe... needs a hug. I had nothing, but I had a hug to give. I slowly walked over. He was leaning against the wall, his narrow eyes looking at me fiercely, yet they were clearly red. I was in so much pain. I thought he would tell me to get lost, but he just clenched his teeth, his jawline hard. He turned his face away, covering his eyes with his palm. I saw tears leak from between his fingers. The always proud boy was as fragile as snow in the setting sun. In that moment, the setting sun fell into my heart. I have never been that brave, but I took a step forward and gently hugged him. "Don't be sad. I will always be with you. "I will be with you forever and ever." Now, the twenty-five-year-old Ashton was asking me who would hug someone falling into the abyss. My sweat dampened my palms. I lowered my eyes and said, "I don't know." Ashton took another step closer, a cold, self-deprecating smile on his lips. "You don't know? Then let me ask you: Do you know what pity is, Elara? "Seeing Ares covered in mud, unable to survive, some people would offer money to show their pity. Someone else offered a hug. What were you thinking back then?" I was stunned. He gently approached me, like a sigh, like a plea, light and shadow dancing in his eyes. "Tomorrow, that first encounter scene in the rain. The revised script. We haven't found a suitable extra to hug Ares yet. It’s just a few seconds of footage. Come act it with me. Don't be afraid, I'll guide you. It can't be anyone but you." I seriously studied his features. There was a trace of madness in his beauty. He pleaded, "Just count it as doing it with me one last time." Then this stretch of the road, I would walk with him one last time. The final time. I softly said, "Okay." He was too close. His scent was everywhere. My heart was like something buried in snow; though it was freezing cold, it couldn't help but pound for him. I tried to push past him, and he didn't stop me. Just as I touched the door handle, he suddenly called my name. I turned back. Ashton had one hand in his pocket, his face steeped in shadow. He looked at me with a calm, steady gaze and said: "Goodnight." When I slipped out of the fire exit, I was tiptoeing and looking around, as if I had actually done something scandalous. I heard Ashton let out a soft laugh from behind the door. The next day, for the scene where Ares meets Aurora, because I had this unexpected substitute role, the director had Seraphina’s makeup artist do my makeup as well, while she was getting hers done. Seraphina had a private dressing room. I was just about to knock on the door when I faintly heard my name through it. My raised finger froze. Inside the dressing room, Seraphina’s assistant asked, "Seraphina, why did you agree to let her take some of your screentime? This character’s appearance is totally random." Seraphina gave an unreadable chuckle. "Do you really think I was the one who suggested it? It was him—" She suddenly cut herself off, then spoke again. "Whatever. She’s just a small role, not even a supporting actress. It doesn't matter. It won't change anything. It just lets her experience more clearly what it means to be a supporting role." I withdrew my hand, my expression unchanged. As I turned, I saw Caleb Sterling standing right behind me. He must have heard the whole thing. It was awkward. I pointed to the door and mouthed, "I’ll come back later." Caleb couldn't help but smile with his eyes. He softly said, "You’re remarkably calm after being talked about like that, Elara." I looked up at him and said quietly, "I'm not." Not calm at all. Everything she said was true. In this story, whether on screen or off, I was a character who wasn't even important enough to be called a supporting actress.
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