Chapter 214

The morning sunlight streamed through the car window, casting a golden glow on Serena Blake's face.

Her fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel. Since last night, an inexplicable sense of unease had settled in her chest, as if she'd missed something crucial.

"Damn it, my instincts are never wrong," she muttered irritably, slapping the horn and drawing curious glances from passersby.

She'd driven around all night without spotting a soul. With filming about to start, she reluctantly turned the car around.

Meanwhile, Aria Bennett had just finished shooting an emotional scene, her eyes still rimmed with red.

"Miss Bennett, someone's asking for you," a crew member whispered.

She looked up to see Tristan Cole leaning casually against the rest area, two coffee cups in hand.

"Heard you like caramel macchiatos?" He offered her one with a charming smile.

Aria accepted it and took a sip—perfect temperature.

"Mr. Cole, here to repay a debt?" She arched a brow.

"A life-saving favor deserves more than coffee." He stepped closer. "How about—"

"Stop." She raised a hand. "A clean transaction doesn’t need romantic theatrics."

Tristan blinked, caught off guard. This woman didn’t follow the usual script.

"Free tonight? I’ve got an '82 Chateau Belleneuve—"

"Busy."

"Tomorrow? There’s this private kitchen—"

"Booked through next year." She waved her script.

Tristan narrowed his eyes. Women usually threw themselves at him—this was a first.

"Miss Bennett," he lowered his voice, "I hear you’re knowledgeable about firearms?"

Aria’s fingers stilled. Ezra Vaughn’s man?

"Tried a few times," she said lightly. "What, Mr. Cole branching into arms dealing?"

"A friend’s very interested in you." His tone turned meaningful. "Perhaps—"

"She’s not interested."

A cold voice cut in. Damian Cross had appeared behind them, holding a thermos.

"Playing knight in shining armor, Mr. Cross?" Tristan smirked.

Damian unscrewed the lid and handed it to Aria. "Honey lemon tea. Good for your throat."

Their fingers brushed as she took it. Damian’s ears turned pink, but he deliberately positioned himself between them.

"Really have plans tonight?" Tristan pressed.

"Mm." Aria nodded. "Script run-through with Mr. Cross."

Tristan caught the triumphant glint in Damian’s eyes and gritted his teeth. Since when did this iceberg learn to intercept?

"Another time, then." He slipped a business card into her script. "Call me anytime."

As he turned, he saw Damian toss the coffee into the trash and—childishly—stomp on it.

Tristan smirked. Fine. He was determined to win her.

In a corner of the set, Serena Blake clutched the call sheet, her knuckles white. Now she understood what she’d missed—the man who should’ve been her savior was orbiting Aria instead.

"System!" she screamed inwardly. "What the hell is going on?"