She didn’t want a story anymore.
“Roma,” Jax said quietly, rain dripping from his lashes. “What if we stopped pretending?”
They didn’t move.
“Cut!” the director yelled.
“Forget the contract.” He took her hand—not for the cameras this time. “I don’t want fake with you. I want the messy, real, unscripted version.”
But they got it wrong.
It wasn’t a confirmation.
He laughed—a real, surprised laugh—and the cameras exploded.