Love Without Measure

16. Crimson Spotlight

The Hollywood Hills glittered under a velvet night sky, each mansion a private universe of ambition, wealth, and secrets. Scarlet Vale, twenty-seven and fiery, had finally landed a breakout lead role in a highly anticipated psychological thriller. Her agent promised fame, her manager promised control—but Hollywood had a price she hadn't calculated.

The first day on set, Scarlet felt it immediately. Julian Cross, the film's enigmatic leading man, moved through the studio like smoke, dark eyes glinting beneath his tousled hair. He was older, refined, and dangerous—an aura of experience clinging to him like a second skin.

Why does he look at me like that? Scarlet thought as he passed her, lingering just a second too long. I should be intimidated. I should look away. But... I can't.

Their first scene was intimate, a romantic confrontation between their characters. Scarlet's heart raced, not from the lines she had memorized, but from Julian's proximity. Every brush of his hand, every weighted glance, sent shivers down her spine.

After the take, the director barked, "Cut!" But Scarlet couldn't move. Julian's gaze held hers, unreadable, magnetic.

"You're trembling," he murmured, leaning close.

"I... it's the scene," she stammered, heart hammering.

"Is it?" he asked, lips brushing her earlobe. The warmth of his breath made her knees weak.

Control yourself, Scarlet, she thought, gripping the edge of the prop table. He's older, he's dangerous... and yet... I want him.

By the second week, jealousy entered the picture. Scarlet noticed co-stars lingering near Julian, laughing too easily at his jokes, brushing against him casually on set.

She followed them into a hallway once, unnoticed. Her chest tightened as she watched Julian smile—warm, charismatic, devastating. Scarlet's fingers curled into fists.

I don't like this. I don't like feeling... possessive.

Later that night, she confronted him.

"You seem very popular," she said, forcing a casual tone as she leaned against his trailer door.

Julian smirked, leaning in close, lips just inches from hers. "And yet, here you are. Thinking about me when you should be acting."

"Don't," she warned, her voice trembling, more at her own desire than his words.

"I like it when you get jealous," he said softly, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "It shows me what's real."

God, he's infuriating. I hate how much I want him.

Then the disappearances started. Crew members who had been flirtatious with Julian or overly curious about him began vanishing. Security footage was vague, grainy—almost like a shadow swallowed them.

Scarlet tried to distance herself, but Julian always appeared at the edge of her vision.

One night, in her apartment, her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number:

"Don't stay away from me. You belong on set... with me."

Her stomach twisted. She didn't want to belong. I shouldn't want to belong.

But she did.

On set, the tension reached a fever pitch. Scarlet caught Julian staring at her in scenes meant to be intimate with other actors. His dark eyes lingered on her mouth, her collarbone, her hands—like he could see inside her.

"Stop looking at me like that," Scarlet whispered during a break.

"Like what?" Julian replied, feigning innocence, though the hunger in his eyes betrayed him.