Chapter 89

When Sebastian arrived, he found himself alone with Seraphina. The moment Seraphina’s eyes landed on him, her breath hitched, and she immediately looked away, her fingers tightening around the script in her hands. She took a step back, clearly uncomfortable sharing the same space with him.

Sebastian’s jaw clenched. Before she could slip past him, he caught her wrist, his voice icy. "Running away again? I thought you were here to rehearse."

Seraphina’s lashes fluttered as she avoided his gaze. "This—this isn’t appropriate. I have a boyfriend, and you… you have a fiancée." Her voice trembled, and though she tried to steel herself, the redness rimming her eyes betrayed her.

She was holding back tears.

A sharp pang twisted in Sebastian’s chest, making it hard to breathe.

"You’re right," he bit out, tightening his grip. "I do have a fiancée. A woman I love deeply, who’s stood by me for years. Loyal. Devoted. After this show, we’re getting married. So don’t flatter yourself—nothing could ever happen between us."

Seraphina flinched as if struck, her lips parting soundlessly.

"The only reason you got this supporting role is because I demanded you as my co-star. You’re here to elevate my performance, not the other way around. Or is it too much for you? Can’t stand the thought of helping the man you abandoned all those years ago?"

Tears spilled down Seraphina’s cheeks.

Sebastian’s gaze darkened, but he ignored her silent weeping. "Stay," he ordered. "We’re rehearsing."

He dragged her back, forcing her into position.

Evelyn watched from the sidelines, sipping her coffee with an amused smirk.

Smooth, Sebastian. Real smooth. Out of all the scenes, you just happened to pick the one with a confession and a kiss? And she has to initiate it? Please. You’re not fooling anyone.

Julian and Genevieve exchanged knowing glances. "Ah," Julian murmured, "so the real goal isn’t the performance, is it?"

Genevieve smirked. "Next time, just admit you wanted an excuse to kiss her. No need for this whole ‘professional rehearsal’ charade."

Julian shook his head. "Pathetic. Absolutely shameless."

Evelyn stifled a laugh. This was straight out of one of those ridiculous dramas where the male lead, drowning in denial, would maul the heroine while insisting it was hate, not love. Meanwhile, the actual fiancée and boyfriend were left standing there like background props.

Inside, Isabelle was seething.

Even for live performances, stand-ins handled intimate scenes. No professional production rehearsed like this.

"Rehearsal?" Isabelle’s voice cut through the tension, sharp as a blade. "Sebastian, do you even know where we are?"

The room buzzed with chatter, a public space filled with crew and cast. But Sebastian, lost in his own little world, hadn’t spared a single thought for the consequences.

Predictably, he scowled. "I said it was a rehearsal. Drop it."

Isabelle’s laugh was brittle. "And when the media gets hold of this? The headlines will scream, ‘Sebastian Hart Caught Kissing Another Man’s Girlfriend Under the Guise of Acting.’"

Sebastian’s face flushed with anger. "Enough! Stop being so damn jealous. You’re making a scene."

Isabelle froze. The onlookers gaped.

Jealous? Evelyn nearly choked. Oh, this is rich. The man’s delusional.

Isabelle’s fingers curled into fists. "Jealous?" she repeated, voice dangerously low. "Say that again, Sebastian. I dare you."

The air crackled with tension.

Isabelle had planned everything meticulously—choosing a patriotic theme to rebuild Sebastian’s image, casting Adrian as the villain, Seraphina as the victim. No romance. No unnecessary drama.

And yet here they were.

"Adding a scene?" Julian murmured, brows raised.

Genevieve snorted. "This kind of scene?"

Marcus crossed his arms. "More like making up excuses."

Evelyn clicked her tongue. Not added. The whole script’s been rewritten.

Julian and Genevieve exchanged startled glances. How had Isabelle not noticed?

Isabelle’s expression darkened as realization dawned. The script in Sebastian’s hands wasn’t the one she’d approved.

She was this close to exploding.

"You changed the narrative," she hissed. "You decided to scrap my script?"

Sebastian finally had the decency to look guilty. He avoided her gaze. "It’s better this way."

Isabelle laughed, the sound sharp and humorless. "Behind my back, you threw out the script I handpicked for your career and replaced it with some cheap love triangle? So much for your ‘image change.’"

The room held its breath.

Sebastian had crossed a line—and Isabelle wasn’t letting it slide.