Chapter 2: The Afterparty

Luna adjusted the focus on her camera, exhaling softly as she framed the next shot.

Deverell and Kensy laying across the velvet couch in the center of the set, their bodies draped in perfect elegance. The world around them caught its breath, as if even time itself didn’t dare disturb the illusion they had established.

She should be used to this.

Photographing beautiful people, actors like this, trained in seduction, in longing, in looking at someone as if they were the only thing that mattered in the whole world.

But watching Deverell this way? It was not the same.

She told herself it was just the lighting. The way his bare chest caught the glow of the overhead bulbs, the way his long fingers skimmed Kensy’s arm, his touch was just enough to suggest intimacy and not possession.

It was only a role he was playing. That’s what she needed to remember. And why should it matter ro her.

But still, her fingers tightened a little around the camera, a strange tension coiling in her chest as she snapped another shot.

Deverell could feel her watching.

Not just through the camera and not just as a photographer. Something beneath her gaze burned. It was in the way she shifted, the way she breathed. For his lifetime, he had observed movements so closely.

He moved slightly, fingers ghosting along Kensy’s wrist, but his attention was elsewhere. Every time the shutter clicked, every time Luna moved, his focus kept slipping towards her.

And he didn’t know why. He didn't want to know.

There were more than a dozen people on the set, stylists, crew members, assistants.

And among all, she was the only one he noticed. The only one who looked at him without the usual admiration, the hunger, the expectation. And yet there was something in her gaze, a hint of attraction accompanied by hate.

And that was more intriguing than any longing gaze he’d ever received.

“Deverell, lean back,” she instructed, keeping her tone sharp, professional. “Miss Kensy, trace your fingertips along his jawline. Make it slow.” This was how it worked.

Kensy obeyed, her red-painted nails dragging over Deverell's skin, her body pressing just slightly closer.

Luna kept clicking the shutter. 

“Deverell, bring your hand to her waist. Just barely touch.”

He complied, but something in the movement felt a bit off. His gaze travelling, ghosting on Luna's body in a strange way.

Luna swallowed, stepping back, blinking away the strange heat creeping along her spine. This was work. Just work.

Then Selene shifted, her knee brushing between Deverell’s thighs, her lips dangerously close to his throat.

Luna’s breath caught. The click of the shutter sounded too loud. She dropped the camera a little.

She was affected and Deverell could tell. No matter how well she hid it, too controlled, but he had seen too many people try to disguise attraction.

Luna was different, though. She wasn’t drawn to him like the others. She was angry about it. As if she detested the very thought.

That intrigued him more than he cared to admit. He wasn’t sure why he cared or why something inside him felt unsteady around her.

Still, he wanted to test her.

So he turned his face toward Kensy’s neck, let his breath ghost over her skin, just close enough to make it look intimate, just enough to see if Luna.....

There. The tiniest flicker in her eyes.

Fascinating. A smirk surfaced on his lips.

“Alright, that’s a wrap!” the director called. “Everyone, great work. Afterparty starts now! Drinks, food, y'all know the drill.”

Luna lowered her camera, relaxing her shoulders. She was done. Finally.

The set transformed within minutes, tables filling with alcohol and gourmet dishes, music humming through the space. Luna didn’t plan to stay. She didn't want to.

But then, as soon as she put her camera down, the memories crept in. The event from the previous night.

The sting of betrayal. Her ex-boyfriend’s hands on someone else. The feeling of losing something she thought was real. She didn’t want to drink as she had to drive home.

But then the heartache sank in. Just one. That’s what she told herself as she reached for the whiskey.

Just one.

Deverell wasn’t watching her. Not really. Not intentionally. And still, every time he turned, his gaze found her. Found the way she tossed back another drink, her fingers tense around the glass. Found the way she kept staring at something unseen, something dark and painful.

He told himself he didn’t care. He had no reason to.

And yet his eyes followed her when, in a drunken state, she walked towards the back of the set.

Luna wasn’t thinking straight. After she came out of the ladies room, she stradled towards the makup room, her eyes blurry from all the alcohol in her system.

The room was dim, lined with mirrors, draped in heavy curtains.

She just wanted a second alone. Away from the noise. And from the weight of a love that had turned to dust.

She pushed past the heavy fabric—

And suddenly stopped.

Deverell was there. Shirt half-unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, his pale skin catching the glow of the backstage lighting.

He turned at the sound of her movement, his dark gaze settling on her.

Luna froze. Her stomach twisted. Not just from surprise, but from something far worse.

Something like recognition. Like déjà vu.

For a second, neither of them moved.

She looked stunned, breathless. He should have reached for his shirt. Should have stepped back.

But instead, he waited. There was something in her expression that stopped him.

Something about the way she looked at him—like she had seen him before, somewhere beyond this moment. And suddenly, his own breath felt tight.

Something was wrong. Something about her was pulling at him.

But before he could say anything, before he could piece together the strange unraveling in his chest, she moved.