TITLE
They Say It’s All About Love,
But It
Better Not Be Love
Parvdhi
DEDICATION
Dedicated to all the girlies who are loyal to their book boyfriends.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
To my family—thank you for loving me through every chapter of my life, even the ones I didn’t know how to write yet. Your constant support has been the quiet strength behind every word on these pages.
To my friends, who believed in this story even when I doubted myself—thank you for cheering me on, listening to endless plot rambles, and reminding me why I started in the first place.
And to my sister—my creative partner and biggest cheerleader. Thank you for bringing my vision to life with your beautiful cover design. This book wouldn’t feel complete without your touch.
This story is a piece of my heart. Thank you all for holding it so gently.
PROLOGUE
NOTE:
I didn’t think I’d ever give you this journal.
If I had known, maybe I would’ve written it more clearly.
By the time you read this, you’ll be far away. Just like we agreed.
But I want you to keep this. Not to feel burdened or sad, but to remember how much you mean to me. You deserve everything good in this world.
I know it’s pretty late but I want you to know that I love you so much. I always have.
I’m sorry for all the ways I hurt you. You were and will always be the one for me.
You gave me memories I’ll hold onto for the rest of my life. I’ll carry them with me until I die… or lose my mind. Whichever comes first.
Please don’t stop smiling. Not because of me.
From now on, live your life the way you want.
No more guilt. No more pain.
You’ve been through so much. You deserve peace.
Even if you never see me again, I’ll be watching over you. I’ll always be proud of you.
And I’ll always miss you.
Forever yours.
Tanawat
CHAPTER 1
"You are one conceited b*tch, aren't you? I wish you a lonely death."
I raised my champagne flute in a mock toast, watching him storm out of the grand hall, his words barely audible over the rising noise. Some men have a natural charm for winning over women, don’t they? My eyes followed him, racing for the exit, shouting profanities like a petulant child. And to think he had just won the "Best Character" award. I wonder how his fans would feel if they saw him now, behaving like a true chauvinist bastard.
My lips curled into a smirk as a wad of twenties caught my peripheral vision. I rested my head on the plush cushions of the couch, casually twirling the cash between my thumb and index finger.
"Why place such bets when you know I’ll win?" I mused, a chuckle escaping me.
From behind, Lorraine’s voice, dripping with mock sympathy, cut through my thoughts. "With his looks and all, I really thought he’d make it."
My secretary, Lorraine, leaned in with a wine glass in hand, her tone almost whiny, and I chuckled again sarcastically.
"You know, I don't care about appearances." I shrugged nonchalantly, casting a bored glance over the sea of celebrities around me. As always, the afterparty was dull—just actors and stars drowning themselves in alcohol, flaunting their achievements like it would make any difference in the end.
If it weren't for the "Writer of the Year" award I’d just received, I would’ve skipped this mess entirely. Awards meant nothing anymore. The fame, the applause—it all felt so empty. Honestly, I’d rather be at home, binge-watching a BL drama, than surrounded by a sea of drunk idiots.
"What matters, then? I’ve seen a range of men and women approach you—smart, attractive, witty, daring. Are you, by any chance, auto sexual?"
Lorraine, despite being five years younger and my assistant, had always been more like a friend. I didn’t mind her boldness. She was one of the few who didn't try to please me just for the sake of it.
"What matters to me, love, is adrenaline. None of these guys or girls excite me." I leaned back, my gaze wandering over the crowd, dismissing them with a flick of my fingers.
Lorraine sat next to me, her wine glass swaying slightly. She rolled her eyes, clearly tired of hearing this same speech.
"I truly hope you don’t die alone, as he said."
Her tone was soft, tinged with concern. The corners of her mouth twitched into a sad smile. Lorraine had been my assistant for two years, longer than anyone else had tolerated me. She used to be a die-hard fan of my writing, worshipping the ground I walked on. Now, she knew me better—at least, as much as I allowed her to.
"Of course not. I have you, my family, and Perry."
I grinned, hoping to steer the conversation away. But Lorraine wasn’t easily deterred.
"I have a boyfriend. You barely see your family. And Perry’s a dog, for Christ’s sake, and not even living with you."
I shrugged. She was right, but I could feel her getting tipsy. Arguing at this point would only make things worse.
"River..."
Lorraine was preparing to deliver another lecture when her phone rang. The song 'Love me like you do' from Fifty Shades of Grey blared in the background. It was the caller's tone for her boyfriend, and I sighed loudly.
“Matt’s here.”
She stated, while sliding the red button, and I encouraged her to leave. Matt was her high school sweetheart, and they have been together for a long time. I am positive they cannot function without one another.
Lorraine gathered her things and kissed me on the cheek. "Don't think we’re done talking," she warned.
I watched her go, her model-like presence turning heads as she made her way to the exit. Her beauty was undeniable, but she didn’t care for the fame, the endless film offers, or the superficiality of the industry. That’s probably what had made me hire her in the first place.
The girl had her eyes focused on me, and she even resembled someone who had seen her God in person. She did everything to get my approval and followed me around like a puppy. She cried when I reprimanded her, and every time I was certain she would leave, the next day she would be there with a smile. Lorraine saw me as her role model, and I saw her as a breath of fresh air among the fame-obsessed loonies.
I kept my gaze fixated on her until she was no longer in view. I am embarrassed for acting like a mother hen right now, but I can't stop myself. These human vultures would have already gotten their hands on her if it hadn't been for my involvement, and I would never allow that to happen. She was too innocent to realize what was going on behind the camera, but I assume she is learning a lot at the moment.
"Congratulations on your award."
The voice cut through my thoughts. I didn't need to turn around to know who it was as that obnoxious tone, the familiar stench of alcohol and cigarettes was more than enough. My skin crawled as his suit brushed mine, but I stayed put, unwilling to move.
"Thank you, Anthony." I raised my glass, sipping my champagne.
"Is that it? No hugs for your former teacher?"
I clenched my fist, trying to maintain my composure.
"How's your forehead, Anthony?"
That seemed to make him a little sober, as I noticed him tense up slightly. Good; he still recalls the pain. I didn't look at him as he muttered 'slut' and walked away.
Anthony was the first director I worked with three years ago, and let's just say things didn't end well between us. I was a young author who unexpectedly climbed to prominence, and I was called by a production company asking if I wanted to convert my work into a movie. They wanted me to write the screenplay so that the emotions would be accurately depicted. I accepted the offer with little consideration, my exhilaration propelling me forward. It wasn't easy, but I eventually got the hang of it. Anthony was my mentor, and I liked him at first. He was older than my father and a well-known filmmaker. I had so much respect for him until he revealed his real colors.
Anthony contacted me one night to discuss a scenario, and I walked in with little thought. He was on the subject for the first half hour, then his tone began to shift. I felt like he was touching me too much, and an alarm went off within my brain. I excused myself, but he wasn't having it. After about five minutes, he was strangling me on the couch while attempting to remove my clothes.
I had always been temperamental and easily irritated. It constantly caused me problems, but it was also a blessing at times. Instead of being afraid, I grabbed the nearest thing, which happened to be a massive ashtray, and slammed it into his forehead with all my might. A scream broke out, and thick, crimson liquid began to stream down to my face. It made me sick at first, but I was too angry to give it much attention.
Anthony was going to call the cops when I snatched the phone from him and pinned him to the couch. I had a black belt in karate, which I never revealed to anyone.
"Utter my name, and I will charge you with rape. Be a nice lad and say you slipped. Or I will make sure you don't have that dangling object between your legs."
I pressed my knee into his groin, and he screamed in agony, clutching at his wound.
Since that time, he has avoided me like the plague. Not only him, but the majority of them. I exited his room that day with blood on my clothing, and the servant who assisted him with it watched me leave. Even though neither Anthony nor I said anything, the rumors spread like wildfire. And everyone could see Anthony starting to distance himself from me and the terror in his eyes whenever I approached him. After that, I turned into a b*tch and, much to my delight, was ignored by everyone.
The movie was a box office hit, and I received many awards. Ever since then, my life has changed drastically. And here I am, sipping on expensive champagne, wondering when this shitty party will be over.
CHAPTER 2
I set down my pen with a satisfied click, then handed over the contract papers to my lawyer. He didn’t immediately look up, focusing on every word. I smiled at the men across the table, all sharply dressed in suits, their expressions a mix of professionalism and quiet anticipation.
I had signed up for another film, one I was genuinely excited about. The concept was new for me, something darker than the romantic stories I had been known for. Crime thrillers had never been my forte, but this opportunity was too good to pass up.
Despite my lack of dating skills in real life, my writing always veered toward love stories. My colleagues liked to joke that I would never find a partner because my standards were too high, which was probably true. My male leads were strong and kind, occasionally a little toxic but always redeemable. As for my female characters, they had to be strong and independent, never the helpless, damsel-in-distress types.
But this time, I was venturing into uncharted territory. An actual crime thriller. Ideas for the plot flooded my mind in rapid succession, and though I knew I had a lot of research ahead of me, the thought of diving into something new was too exciting to ignore.
"We look forward to working with you, Miss Landon. We'll see you next month," said the older gentleman across from me, his voice warm yet businesslike.
I returned his smile and shook hands with the others before excusing myself. I couldn’t wait to get back to my office and all I could think was a steaming cup of coffee.
I ended up making two cups and as I entered, I saw Lorraine, already dozing off in her chair. Her right hand was still resting on the mouse, and I knew she had been overworking again. It was her habit. Whenever we signed a new contract, Lorraine poured herself into her work, despite the fact that we had a competent lawyer handling the legal side of things. But that’s just Lorraine. She wasn’t one to leave anything to chance, always dotting every “i” and crossing every “t.”
I set the coffee cup down next to her and knocked softly on the desk. She sprang up from her crouching position, her fingers clicking at the mouse in a panic.
"Shit!" she exclaimed as her eyes darted nervously to the screen. She exhaled a slow breath of relief when she realized her frantic clicking hadn’t caused any harm to the document she was working on.
"Planning to give me a heart attack, woman?"
Lorraine shot me a glare, but I could see the exhaustion etched into her face.
"Go home, Lor," I said softly, sitting beside her. "I’m not babysitting you tonight."
She shrugged and took the coffee, blowing on it to cool it down. "Has the contract been finalized?"
I nodded. "It’s all set."
Lorraine didn’t speak right away, tapping the rim of her coffee cup with a pen. "When do you need to turn in the first draft?"
"In two and a half months," I replied, feeling the weight of the deadline settle in my chest. It was a tight window, especially considering the amount of research I would need to do. But this was an opportunity I couldn’t afford to miss, even if it meant pushing myself harder than usual.
She sighed. "That’s cutting it close. You might have a decent plot, but getting it down on paper will take time. You can’t rush something like this."
"I know," I muttered, looking out the window for a moment. "But the production company’s adamant. They’re not giving me more time. If I don’t take it, someone else will."
Lorraine didn’t say anything for a while. We both sat in silence, sipping our coffee, as the weight of the situation hung heavy between us. The pressure was on, and there was no easy way out.
Finally, Lorraine spoke again. "Are you going somewhere? You usually disappear when things get overwhelming."
I hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. I wasn’t planning to, but it looks like I need a change of scenery. If I’m going to finish this in time, I need to get away from everything. I write best when I’m alone, away from distractions."
She raised an eyebrow. "You’re not going to disappear again, are you?"
I smirked. "It’s the only way I can focus. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. It’s just what I need right now."
The first time I went missing, Lorraine called the police, believing I had been abducted or something bad happened to me. However, when the police contacted my family, they explained that I disappeared from time to time to compose myself and that there was nothing to be concerned about.
My sister is the only one who has my personal phone number, and she uses it to reach me during an emergency. She is the sole individual who knows my whereabouts, and I prefer it that way.
Lorraine watched me for a moment, then sighed. "Just don’t push yourself too hard. You can’t do this all alone, you know."
I nodded, appreciating her concern, but deep down, I knew I needed the solitude. The following months were critical, and I had to clear my head if I wanted to keep the ideas flowing.
I spent the next four days researching and seldom left my office. Sleep was not a concern, as I had a makeshift bed in the room. While working, I enjoyed gazing out over the beach, and the enormous glass panels provided an endless view of the sky and the countryside. I picked this area specifically and did not hesitate to transfer most of my life's savings for this gem two years ago. If I was going to work in this industry, I might as well do it properly.
The story started to come together in my mind, piece by piece. It was a crime thriller, yes, but it had a deep, underlying romance that would keep the audience on edge. The kind of love that blooms amidst chaos, in the darkest of times. That was the heart of the story.
On the fourth day, I closed my office door, hiding the key under Lorraine’s keyboard. Time to go incognito.
………………………………………
"It’s amazing. I couldn’t put the book down. I’m sure this will be a hit."
My Director, Nathaniel said, clearly impressed.
I smiled, graciously accepting his praise. Working with Nathaniel Brown, the guru of crime novels, has long been a dream of mine. He was a wonderful family guy in his mid-fifties, and his wife often stated in interviews that the only person he would cheat on her with would be his psycho protagonists. And that was true. Nathaniel was considered the maestro of thrillers because of his dedication to his work.
"I feel honored, Mr. Brown," I said, feeling a mixture of gratitude and awe.
He shook his head, dismissing my formalities. "Call me Nathaniel. Your writing, it’s incredible. The characters are so complex, I wasn’t sure we could bring them to life on screen without losing some of the magic. But then I thought..." He glanced at Elizabeth, a production partner, who gave him an encouraging nod.
"And?" I prompted, curious.
Nathaniel leaned forward, his eyes glinting with excitement. "I was thinking of having you as my co-director."
I froze, my mind trying to process what he was saying. Co-director? With Nathaniel Brown? The idea seemed too surreal to comprehend. I had worked as an assistant on sets, but this... this was on a whole different level.
Lorraine beside me muttered something under her breath, a curse mixed with excitement.
"I—" I started, but Nathaniel interrupted gently.
"You’re young, full of ideas, and I have spoken with some of the directors you’ve worked with. They all say you have the potential. Why not take the leap now? You won’t get another chance like this."
I bit my lip, my mind racing. But in the end, I agreed to come on board, not as co-director, but as his assistant director. The title wasn’t as important as the opportunity. I am twenty-seven years old and have my entire life ahead of me. If I fail now, I will have enough time to bounce back on track.
"We actually did it! Matt’s going to flip out when I tell him," Lorraine said, once we were out, practically bouncing with joy.
I smiled at her enthusiasm. "Yeah, I’m sure he will."
"I need to call my family," I said, stepping out of the room and onto the balcony. I needed some fresh air.
……………………………
The following months were a whirlwind of casting, location scouting, and endless paperwork. Nathaniel was everything I had imagined—focused, dedicated, and incredibly passionate about his craft. The project was huge, with a massive budget and some of the best actors in the industry. My first paycheck had already arrived, and it was by far the largest sum I had ever seen.
Despite a few attempts from crew members and actors to flirt with me, everyone quickly learned that I wasn’t interested. I set my boundaries early, and I wasn’t afraid to enforce them. The project came first.
Our film would be shot across multiple countries. The press was buzzing with excitement, and my social media feed was flooded with updates. But I hated it. The press always twisted everything, manipulating the truth for clicks.
"When will we reach?"
Lorraine lifted her head from my shoulder and glanced at me with sleepy eyes. We were on our way to Thailand, our first shooting destination. The private plane was packed with staff and cast members, most of whom were sound asleep after a long night of partying.
"Three more hours."
I said, checking the time on the screen, and she went back to sleep.
"Bangkok, here we come."
……………………………………………
CHAPTER 3
"BL World, I am finally here..."
I exclaimed the minute my feet touched the pavement outside Bangkok International Airport. The only positive thing that has lately occurred to me is boy-love dramas. I am so into it that I often have concerns about my sexuality, despite the fact that I haven’t really had the chance to explore it.
"Not all males like each other, River."
Lorraine laughed at my unusual flash of enthusiasm. It was ten o'clock at night, and everyone looked ready to hit the bed, except for me. I have traveled to Thailand before for official purposes, but never after having my soul surrendered to hot men. I don’t believe I will be able to go around the country without my vulture eyes following every guy’s movement. Perhaps I have finally gone insane.
It was close to 03:00 a.m. when we arrived at the village a few miles outside of Bangkok, and there wasn’t much to see owing to the darkness. Our production team rented several houses in the area and built an entire set in the last month, which was no easy task, but they pulled it off pretty well.
Lorraine and I were given our own house, equipped with two bedrooms, a bathroom, a foyer, and an open kitchen. It was basic but soothing, and I enjoyed the fresh air and the constant sound of crickets, assuring me that I had escaped from the skyscrapers and the clutches of city life.
"We have a meeting at 11 a.m. tomorrow."
Lorraine, who was in the middle of a conversation with Matt, yelled from the hall. I gave her a thumbs up as I walked into my bedroom after taking a hot bath.
I texted my family to let them know I had arrived and set the alarm before slipping into a deep sleep.
...........................
I opened my eyes with a slight smile on my lips. I haven’t felt this rested in a long time. My nose savored the scent of freshly fallen leaves, while my ears rejoiced in the sound of chirping birds. I expected that the abrupt change in location wouldn’t allow for much sleep, yet despite feeling a little cold at twilight, I had a great night’s sleep.
Lorraine’s door remained closed while I got dressed, confirming that she was still sleeping, and I decided not to disturb her. It was only an introductory meeting, and even if she came, she wouldn’t have much work. We were simply going to organize the shoot for the following week, and I was certain I could manage this briefing on my own.
Our cabin was a bit farther away from the others, something I requested from the management staff. The greater the distance, the less I’ll have to interact with people. I was dressed casually in a loose, plain white shirt and faded denim, with my shoulder-length black hair pulled back in a messy bun. Anyone could conclude from my appearance that I just got out of bed, but I doubt they’d give a damn. It was too much trouble to put on cosmetics and get dolled up this early in the morning, so I only had moisturizer and lip balm on my face. I use makeup when necessary, but I don’t think I will have to wear it 24/7.
"Good Morning, writer. You look like a zombie."
Carla, the female protagonist in this film, came out of her house and waved at me warmly. She looked ready to attend a gala, and I was in awe of her beauty. Compared to me, she seemed like she had stepped out of a magazine cover.
"What time did you get up to look that perfect?"
I playfully remarked as I waved her back. She was a fine woman, probably in her late 20s or early 30s, not much older than me. We frequently ran into one another at award ceremonies and various venues, and shared a mutual liking for each other.
"Six in the morning."
She rolled her eyes and crouched down to strap on her heels. I was ready to comment on the uneven path and the disadvantages of wearing high heels in such surroundings, but I bit my tongue after watching how effortlessly she handled it.
"I’d rather look like a zombie."
I stated, while her manager followed closely behind us as we walked.
"Me too."
Carla acknowledged it frankly, and I smirked at her genuineness.
We discussed the shoot until we arrived at the enormous tent that served as our makeshift meeting space, and I saw that half the seats were already occupied. Fortunately, we arrived on time.
I was assigned a spot next to Nathaniel, and the producer seated himself beside me. The huge rectangular table was set with script printouts, water bottles, and steaming mugs of tea. I contacted one of the helpers and asked for a cup of coffee instead.
The following two hours sped by with script reading and setting up a rough timetable for the next week, and by the end, I was starving.
"Thank you for your effort, everyone. The meeting is dispersed."
Nathaniel started to gather his papers and rose to his feet, joined by the rest of us. When the tent began to clear, I pulled out my phone and saw three missed calls from Lorraine, along with two messages.
‘I am sorry I didn’t wake up. (Perplexed emoji)’
‘There’s food on the table. Brenda and I are out shopping. I need some sunscreen!’
Brenda was Carla’s stylist, and from what I have heard, she was not bad company. I headed back to our house after responding to her texts and giving her permission to take the day off.
On the way, I ran across a few crew members and actors and spared a moment to exchange pleasantries. I was about halfway through when I noticed a small crowd gathered near a tree. They were primarily locals, and I approached them out of curiosity.
I stood on my heels to get a clear view, and after I saw the sight, my heart tightened in pain. There was a half-dozen puppies close to the tree, all of which were dead.
"It’s a shame none of them survived."
I heard a random person say, but the voice seemed more distant than it should have. My thoughts were preoccupied with Happy, my very first puppy. He died when I was ten, and it was my first encounter with death. The unexpected surge of recollections was intense, and I hardly noticed one of the puppies' small movements at first.
My thoughts jolted back into focus as I once again glanced at the pile hesitantly. I was right. Hastily bending down, I separated a dead puppy's head from the live one cautiously. It was barely breathing, and I glanced frantically at the group.
"We need to take it to the hospital."
"I will take the car."
I’m not sure who said it, but I wasn’t in the mood to find out. My heart was racing as I trailed behind the individual. It was just a dog. Why was I getting so worked up?
For the next fifteen minutes, I cradled the pup close to my chest in the passenger seat of a stranger's car, hoping to keep it warm.
"Don’t die just yet. Not when you’ve been given a second chance."
I could hear myself talking to the scarcely breathing creature, and most of the time, I made little sense. Thankfully, the driver was calm and said nothing. The female voice of Google Maps was the only speaker other than me, and soon we were at the clinic. I hurried inside, not caring if I should have made an appointment.
"He is dying."
The receptionist was a native, and I was convinced that she didn’t grasp what I was saying, but the dog in my arms and the concern in my eyes were enough for her to comprehend what was happening. She snatched the little bundle from my hands and dashed inside. I didn’t follow her and instead sat outside, praying for the best.
It took nearly thirty minutes for the receptionist to emerge from the other room, and as she approached me, a young male doctor who was removing his gloves followed her. He spoke to me, but I didn’t understand a word.
"I don’t get it."
I said, gesturing with my hands to let him know that I didn’t speak his language.
A figure walked in beside me, and I turned around to see the guy who drove me here. Was he with me this whole time?
While I was desperate to know if the animal had survived, I refrained from interfering as he started speaking to the doctor in flawless Thai. He must have sensed my worry, because he shifted his gaze to me for a second and nodded enthusiastically before returning to his conversation with the doctor.
I released a shaky breath and asked if I could go inside and see the animal. The guy translated, and the doctor gave me the green light. I thanked him briefly and rushed inside.
The puppy was sleeping quietly on a table covered with a paper towel. He had a tube linked to his leg and looked much better than he had previously.
"You made it."
I sat down next to the table and closely inspected the living thing.
"Ha, what shall we call you? Brave? Considering how courageous you were and how hard you battled for your life?"
His paw made a little movement as if to agree with my suggestion, and I watched him in amusement.
"Brave it is."
......................
We were ready to leave two hours later, and the doctor handed me a slip of paper. I assumed it was the bill at first, but it was simply a note.
‘I paid the bill. I’ve got an emergency. The doctor will drive you back. He is familiar with the location.’
I felt horrible for not properly thanking him and for not even asking his name. For the sake of God, I couldn’t even recall his face, with the mask and all.
I thanked the doctor with hand signals after he handed me a modest basket to put Brave in. Once we arrived back at my place in the evening, Lorraine shrieked after meeting her new roommate.
"I left you for a few hours, and look who you brought home."
She joked while caressing Brave.
That night, I did all I could to remember the guy’s face, but I simply couldn’t. The only details I knew were that he was tall.... and nice...
..........................................
CHAPTER 4
The shoot and watching over Brave kept me completely occupied for the next two weeks. He now had his eyes open and was beginning to make tiny, uncoordinated movements. During our last check-up, the vet assured me that he was recovering well. His heartbeat was steady, and he responded to touch. That reassurance had lifted a huge weight off my chest.
In the first couple of days after that night, I tried to find the person who had helped me, but it was like looking for a ghost. Maybe he was just a local passerby, not part of the crew. Considering the number of people who showed up to watch the shoot, it wasn’t surprising. Slowly, he slipped from my mind, replaced by more pressing responsibilities.
"I need the area cleared in fifteen minutes.... And tell the art team to double-check continuity," I whispered to my assistant.
He gave me a thumbs up, then threw an exaggerated shake of his head at Nathaniel, who was dozing beside me. Nathaniel had been slacking off a lot lately, casually dumping most of the production work on me. At first, I was overwhelmed, but over time, I began to adjust. The chaos became familiar.
I sensed movement beside me, the sleeping beauty had awakened. I scowled at him, but the old man just returned my glare with a toothy grin.
"How’s it goin’, kid?"
I rolled my eyes, knowing full well he was teasing.
"Are you serious, Nathaniel? Go back to sleep and don’t bug me."
He laughed and took a long sip of mint lemonade before winking.
"This is the most relaxed I’ve ever felt on set. I say we make films together from now on. You’re a solid partner."
I poked him playfully in the arm. "I’d rather not."
Though he didn't say it, I sensed Nathaniel was training me to be independent. He carefully examined all of my ideas and discreetly assisted me in improving them. He wanted me to succeed in my career, and I wasn't going to whine about it.
Once we wrapped the day’s shoot, Nathaniel called everyone to the conference room.
"The last two weeks have been rough. You all did great. We’re taking a three-day break, rest up."
Cheers and applause erupted from the crew, everyone grateful for the break.
For once, I was happy too. Lorraine and I took Brave out for a small outing. We shopped, ate local snacks, and laughed more than we had in days. It felt good to breathe.
……………………………..
“Shit, are you alright? Why didn’t you call me right away? How long will you be in the hospital?”
I paused typing and stepped out of my room to find Lorraine trembling, phone pressed in her hand, tears running freely. Her right hand covered her mouth.
I rarely meddled in her personal life, but the word “hospital” snapped my attention.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
She didn’t reply, just handed me the phone. On the screen was Matt, lying in a hospital bed, one arm in a cast and his forehead wrapped in gauze. He gave me a small wave and a sheepish smile.
“Hi, River. How are you?”
Matt was around Lorraine’s age but far more composed. His red hair always made him stand out, and more than anything, he was a genuinely kind person. He adored Lorraine, doting on her like she was a child. I didn’t know him well, but I liked him.
“What the hell happened to you?” I asked, immediately slipping into big sister mode.
“I, uh… fell down the stairs.”
“Were the stairs in the Burj Khalifa?”
He laughed but winced immediately. It looked like he'd survived a car crash, not a staircase. I handed the phone back to Lorraine after sending him a warm get-well-soon and left them alone.
Without waiting for her to ask, I booked her the next flight to Florida and started making arrangements. I even warmed some milk for Brave while she tried to gather herself. She insisted on remaining, which was understandable considering the exceedingly hectic schedule for the next few weeks. But I persisted, and by evening she was ready to leave with half a heart of worry and half a heart of relief. Matt needed her more than I did, and I wasn't a total asshole to ignore how much she was suffering.
"Don't skip any meals, and don't stay late."
Lorraine gave me a list of instructions, and I nodded my head, agreeing to whatever she said.
"God, I am torn between you two."
She whined as the driver started the engine, and I just patted her head.
"I am not a kid, Lor. Take care of Matt. Whenever you are ready to return, call me. Okay?"
In response, she squeezed my palm, and I could see the gratitude in her eyes.
“Where’s Lorraine going?”
I turned around to meet Carla staring at the retrieving car. She had a fruit mask smeared over her face. How long has it been since I did some skin care?
“Her boyfriend had an accident.”
Carla's eyes widened. “She has a boyfriend? I thought you two were a thing!”
She actually had a look of astonishment in her eyes, and I smirked. Who can blame her? Everyone assumed that Lorraine and I were romantically involved. She was with me wherever I went, and she was the one I spent most of my time with. Moreover, we didn't act in a way that a typical superior and subordinate would.
“She’s more like a sister to me,” I said, leaning against a nearby van.
Carla blinked in surprise. “Damn. I didn’t give Kim your number because I thought you were taken.”
My brows shot up. “Kim as in Kim Ji-Hoon?”
“Yes, that Kim Ji-Hoon.”
Kim Ji-Hoon was one of our lead actors. A young Korean artist who was extremely famous for his good looks and deep voice. He was older than me and an ex-idol. Sure, I was attracted to him the first time we met. Anyone would be. Even Lorraine was swooning over him. But that was where it ended.
“Why does he want my number?”
"To hit on you, duh! You are actually a magnet. The more you are trying to push them away, the more they want to get into your pants."
Carla always caught me off guard, but it was oddly refreshing. Her bluntness, on the other hand, has landed her in some messy situations and earned her quite a few enemies in the industry.
“Don’t give anyone my number.”
She rolled her eyes. “Girl, how long do you think fame lasts? Enjoy the perks while you can.”
I laughed as she bumped shoulders with me like we were teens.
“I’m having enough fun. What about your magistrate boyfriend?”
The media had lost it when Carla announced her relationship with a high-profile judge. Apparently, everyone is calling her an attention seeker and saying that he made a mistake by choosing her. She was classified as a beauty with no brains by the so-called netizens.
“We’re doing okay. He’s still adjusting to the backlash, so we’re laying low. But he’ll come around.”
Her voice softened. For a moment, I saw the cracks in her confidence. Being a celebrity, or simply dating one, puts your private life in jeopardy. I have two social media profiles for this very reason. One is used for my marketing, while the other is a private account that only includes people I trust and personally know. I don't post personal information on the public account, and it has proved beneficial on several occasions.
“I’m sure he’s lucky to have you.”
“He says the same,” she replied quietly.
The public's opinion was definitely starting to have an effect on her. We parted ways after some light chat, and I spent the following day completely in bed and taking care of Brave.
………………………..
Another week passed, and I felt like the only director on set. Nathaniel was off exploring the village while I managed the madness.
“Cut! Break!”
Groans of relief echoed around me as I gulped down my espresso.
“Ma’am, you need to sign this.”
I grabbed the clipboard without looking, scanning the item list for our next scene. Someone took the seat next to me.
“You’re doing a great job.”
I glanced sideways. Kim Ji-Hoon.
His face was glowing with amusement. He looked good, of course, he always did.
“Thanks. That last scene was solid,” I replied.
He’d nailed his role as the antagonist. It would definitely get him some praise.
“All thanks to my director.”
I could tell he was trying to flirt, but I wasn’t biting.
“I’ll pass the message to Nathaniel,” I said flatly, eyes back on my list. Still, he didn’t back down.
“So... any weekend plans? Want to go somewhere nice?”
There was nervousness in his voice, and I observed how he kept shaking his legs. I felt bad for rejecting him, but I didn't have an option. I don't want to go on a date with him and lead him on. That was the type of nonsense I despised.
“I’ve got work to finish. Sorry.”
He smiled, though it was tinged with disappointment.
“It’s okay. Just… call me if you change your mind.”
I nodded, knowing I wouldn’t.
I finished signing off the paperwork and handed it back to the crew guy.
“Thanks.”
I scrunched my nose as I thought I recognized that voice and lifted my head. But the man had already left.
That night, I came back home drained and eager to crawl into bed. I went to check on Brave first, but I was stopped in my tracks when I noticed that he had fallen out of his carrier and was lying on the floor. White foam was gushing out of his mouth, and his eyes were wide open.
No!
.........................................
CHAPTER 5
Brave was dead. The dark, fluffy ball of life had stopped breathing.
I remember rushing him to the vet, calling for a driver with shaking hands. The doctor’s words were clinical, yet final - fading puppy syndrome. He was lucky to have lived this long. That’s what they said. I hadn’t even noticed anything was wrong. My schedule was overflowing. The symptoms, they said, only become obvious when it’s already too late.
I felt hollow. Guilt gnawed through me like rust on metal as I brought Brave back to the village. I asked the house owner for permission to bury him in the backyard. He agreed without hesitation.
I wanted to cry. God, I wanted to sob until my body gave out, but there were people around. I didn’t want to look weak. I never did. That was the rule I lived by.
So, I stood there, rigid and silent, as two crew members dug a shallow grave in the garden. Carla and Brenda brought flowers. Not many knew Brave existed, but those who did showed up to say goodbye.
When Carla gently asked if I was okay, I replied like I always did.
“I’m fine. I only had him for three weeks.”
I even smiled.
“Besides, I figured I’d have to leave him here once the shoot wrapped. It was only a short-term commitment.”
That’s what I told them. They all nodded. Believed it. No one noticed the red imprint on my lower lip where I bit down hard, hard enough to bleed, just to stop myself from crying as they lowered Brave’s tiny body and covered it with earth.
What I didn’t say was that I was already planning to get him registered. I had looked up pet travel laws. I was going to take him home.
Eventually, everyone left. It was just me and the mound of fresh dirt. I stayed, frozen in place, staring.
“He was a wonderful dog.”
The voice startled me. I turned to see a man standing on the lawn, gazing solemnly at the grave. Something about him tickled my memory, though I couldn’t quite place it.
“Thank you,” I said cautiously. “And… I’m sorry, but do I know you?”
He looked surprised, then scratched the back of his neck, suddenly awkward.
“I work with the Art Team. I’m the one who drove you to the vet that night.”
My lips parted slightly in recognition. The voice. The build. He wasn’t wearing a mask anymore, but yes, now I remembered.
“Oh. I… I’m really sorry. I tried to find you but couldn’t. Thank you for helping me that day. You were… a huge help.” I paused. “But I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.”
I blinked several times, trying to stop the tears gathering behind my eyes. I needed him to leave. Now. Seeing him just brought it all back, that day, that moment. Brave, so small and warm in my arms. The way hope had filled me.
"It's getting late," I said, pasting a smile on my face. "I guess I’ll see you on set."
He didn’t move.
“Who said it doesn’t matter? Unlike his brothers, at least he died happy.”
Something inside me cracked. I held my breath, trying to contain the whimper building in my throat.
“Yeah. I’m sleepy, so... you should go.”
I knew I was being rude. Cold. But I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want comfort. I wanted space.
“You’ll be his first and last love,” he said quietly. “If you ask me, I think he was lucky.”
I didn’t even realize I was crying until the first tear slid down my cheek. What the hell was this guy playing at? I was unraveling.
“Leave.”
My voice trembled as I tried to keep it steady. But my hands were clenched. My throat burned.
“Finding him dead must’ve been—”
“I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT!!”
The scream tore from me before I could stop it. It echoed off the place, shocking even myself.
“Why don’t you just listen? Get out! Get out! I don’t want anyone here!”
My knees gave way, and I collapsed to the ground, crouched over with my head buried in my hands. Humiliation prickled across my skin, but I couldn’t stop. Brave and Happy kept switching places in my thoughts, blending, overlapping, merging into the same aching memory. Brave looked so much like Happy, my first pup. It was impossible not to see them as one.
And once again, my negligence had hurt something innocent. I hated myself. My ego, usually my armor, was now suffocating me.
Two long arms wrapped around me and drew me closer to a warm, muscular chest. He held me there, rocking us gently. And, to my surprise, I didn’t fight it. For the first time in my life, I didn’t flinch at the comfort of a stranger. His warmth was like a lullaby; soft, constant, unthreatening. I let myself lean in. Slowly, my sobs began to quiet.
What the hell is happening?
“Holding it in will just make things worse,” he said, his voice closer than I usually allow anyone to get. “Let it all out. Then move on.”
His breath skimmed across my cheek. My skin tingled. Somehow, that intimacy didn’t repulse me. It... grounded me.
“You’re doing well.”
It was such a ridiculous, simple phrase. And yet... I felt proud. Why? Why did his approval matter?
I don’t know how long we stayed like that. Minutes? Hours? But I didn’t care. For once, it felt good to fall apart. And, strangely, I wasn’t embarrassed. Not even a little. His touch didn’t trigger my usual recoil. It felt right. Safe. I wanted to rest my head on his shoulder.
Okay, I’m going insane.
“How do you feel?” he asked, still holding me, still steady.
I didn’t answer. I just nodded. Because if I said I was fine, he might leave. And I didn’t want that yet.
“You need some water.”
I shook my head immediately. No. Not yet. Don’t let go. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this pitiful. Not even when... well. Let’s not go there. This was a first.
Minutes passed, and I was still cradled in his arms when I heard a distant honk, and we both jumped at the unexpected sound. Something snapped inside me at that moment, and I shoved him a bit forcibly before leaping to my feet. My legs were shaky from kneeling. My breath caught in my throat. My eyes darted around like I’d just woken from a dream.
What the hell was I doing?
I am not a damsel in distress. I hate being one. So why was I playing the part? With a total stranger? Where had my values gone? Where the hell was my ego? Out clubbing?
“You good?” he asked gently, concern etched into his voice. For the first time, I really looked at him.
He had the kind of face that made you pause, a blend of Asian and English features, maybe? Tall, moderately-built. His face was clean-shaven, but messy brown waves curled over his forehead. Chiseled cheekbones. A strong jaw. Like someone had carved him from smooth stone. Why hadn’t I noticed this before? In fact, I remembered thinking he looked... average. Completely forgettable. But now? Now I couldn’t look away. Maybe it wasn’t him that changed. Maybe it was me. My perspective on him.
“I think you should go.”
My voice was shaky, breathless. I didn’t wait for his response as I turned and bolted into the house, slamming the door behind me. I sank to the floor, back against the wood, heart thundering. I could still feel him on me. Smell the faint salt of his skin.
What the hell was that?
I took a cold shower and swallowed some pain meds. Watched a horror movie, hoping to scare him out of my head. None of it worked.
I almost went back out to see if he was still there. But I didn’t. I had already shown him my weakest self. Facing him again would be mortifying.
Will he tell people how pathetic I was?
Will they laugh?
Will he act like I owe him something now?
But the truth is, I do owe him. After crying like that, I actually felt... better. The pain was still there, but it wasn’t ripping me apart anymore.
“I bet he’ll act all heroic tomorrow,” I grumbled, turning over in bed for the hundredth time.
This was new. These feelings, this storm, I didn’t recognize them. I couldn’t name them.
Was it love at first sight? No. I don’t think so. I’m not interested in dating him. Not really.
Was it anger? No. If anything, I wanted to throw myself back into his arms. Which is worse.
Maybe I’ve just been single for too long. Maybe my body’s trying to tell me it’s tired of being a damn virgin. It’s not that I haven’t dated, I have. But no one’s ever made me want to give that part of myself away. Not even close.
It was in high school that I realized how significant a mere hymen can be in one's life. And mine was such a remarkable experience. I shoved those thoughts aside. What mattered now was tomorrow. How was I going to face him? Maybe I should approach him first and warn him not to tell anyone. But I think the damage is already done.
God, I have been fine living on my own without any drama all this time. So why now?
………………………………………….
CHAPTER 6
When my alarm clock went off early in the morning, I was still wide awake. Sleep had evaded me entirely, and the weight of the previous night clung to my chest like damp wool. I didn't know how I should react if I saw him today, and the thought of just seeing him once more made me anxious in a special sort of way, if that even makes any sense. It wasn’t fear or dread, exactly... just something warm and cold tangled together, sitting uneasily in my stomach.
I lingered in the kitchen for half an hour, pacing between the stove and the fridge, struggling to decide whether or not to call in sick and skip work for two days. I even typed out a message to Carla before deleting it. My thumb hovered over the call button when I finally stopped myself.
"Stop it, River. You’ve never been a coward, and you were usually the one who intimidated others. So, what if he saw you crying? It’s not the end of the world. You’re a human, not a damn cyborg. People cry when they’re sad. It’s perfectly normal. Grow up, for God’s sake, and quit being such a drama queen."
With my newfound resolve, I threw on a baggy sweatshirt and a pair of loose mom jeans before tying my hair into a sloppy bun. My pulse was still erratic, and I had to double-check myself twice before locking the door. I hated how bizarre I was acting, but it felt like some unseen force had taken over my wheel. I’m going to be thirty in three years, and here I am acting like a sleep-deprived teenager. I don’t recall ever feeling similar sentiments back when I actually was a teen, or even with my past lovers. So, what makes this stranger different?
“Get a grip, stupid.”
I was trudging along the uneven road, muttering under my breath, when I suddenly remembered something. My eyes widened, and I immediately pulled out my phone, frantically opening the calendar. The moment the date registered in my head, I literally shrieked in relief. If there had been a couch nearby, I would have collapsed onto it, fanning myself dramatically.
It was that time of the month again.
Of course. That’s why I was acting like an unhinged, overly sentimental, emotionally compromised disaster. I wasn’t in love. No mystical arrow from Cupid had struck my chest in the dark. I was just PMSing. Again. I have never been on good terms with PMS, and this time, it had brought an entire marching band with it.
“Did you win a lottery?”
Carla’s voice interrupted my internal chaos. I looked up to see her raising a perfectly sculpted brow at me, a goofy grin still stuck on my lips. It all made sense now. Although it was still mortifying to remember how I broke down and let him comfort me, to the point where
Impressum
Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG
Texte: Parvathi Saji R
Cover: Parvathi Saji R
Lektorat: Online sources
Korrektorat: Online Sources
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 18.04.2025
ISBN: 978-3-7554-8070-9
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Widmung:
To all the girlies who are loyal to their book boyfriends.