Chapter 5 — Maybe He Is Your Cure
"It's not something I talk about," Alex said finally, quietly. "But I think I owe you that much, after everything."
Fidelia didn't say anything, just waited, the way she always did when she understood something mattered more than her own need to fill a silence.
"There's another reason I left, besides my parents splitting up." Alex kept her eyes fixed on a point somewhere past Fidelia's shoulder, the words coming out steadier than she felt saying them. "My half-brother tried to force himself on me. I was young. My mother found me before it went further than it did, but I still remember his hands. Ever since, I can't stand men touching me. Not even something small."
Fidelia's face went through several expressions in quick succession — shock, then something closer to fury, before settling into an ache that Alex recognized because she'd worn it herself for years, back when the memory was still sharp enough to cut.
"That bastard," Fidelia said, low and vicious. "I mean that. I would've helped you bury him if I'd known back then. I'm with you on all of it — whatever you need, whatever it takes, I'm in."
Alex managed a small nod, grateful in a way she didn't have words for.
Then Fidelia's expression shifted again, something clicking into place behind her eyes. "Wait. Hold on." She straightened, studying Alex like she was seeing her for the first time that day. "If you can't stand men touching you — what was that back there?"
Alex blinked, not following.
"Your Mr. Perfect," Fidelia said, gesturing vaguely toward the glass wall and the man on the other side of it. "He had his hand on the back of your chair the entire meeting. Practically against your shoulder. And you didn't so much as flinch. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but now—"
Alex frowned, running back through the meeting in her head. She genuinely hadn't registered it. Not the way she registered every other hand that came anywhere near her, the way her whole body usually went rigid and alert the second a man stepped past some invisible line she'd drawn around herself years ago.
"I didn't feel it," she admitted slowly. "I didn't feel anything."
"That's exactly my point." Fidelia's excitement was building now, the ache from a moment ago folding itself away in favor of something more hopeful. "It means you're not repulsed by him. Do you understand how rare that is? You've spent a decade recoiling from anyone who so much as brushes your arm, and this man sits down, puts his hand practically on you, and you don't even notice. Maybe this movie isn't just an opportunity for your career. Maybe he's the thing that finally helps."
"That's a big leap from one unnoticed hand," Alex said, though without much conviction behind it.
"Is it, though?" Fidelia tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, watching her friend with something unusually serious for someone who usually treated matters of the heart like a game. "I've watched you turn away every decent man who's ever shown interest in you, and I've never once pushed, because I understood why. But this is the first crack I've seen in that wall in years. I think you should get to know him. See where it goes. What have you actually got to lose?"
Alex exhaled, feeling the weight of the last ten minutes settle somewhere behind her ribs. "Why not," she said, and even to her own ears it sounded less like resignation than she'd expected. If it was true that Ethan's touch didn't send her spiraling the way every other man's did, this role might be less a professional risk and more the first real chance she'd had in years.
They returned to the conference room a few minutes later, composed, Fidelia leading the way with her laptop tucked under one arm like nothing at all had happened.
"After discussing it," Fidelia announced, "we've decided to accept the role."
Ethan raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two women. "You turned it down two minutes ago. What changed?"
"We weighed the pros and cons," Fidelia said smoothly, not missing a beat. "This role suits her, and frankly, it can only help her here to be seen working alongside you."
Leila didn't bother hiding her relief, clapping her hands together once before sliding the contract across the table like she was afraid Alex might change her mind again if given the chance. "Wonderful. If there's nothing you'd like to change, you can sign right here."
Alex signed without letting herself hesitate, then looked up at Leila with a question that had been sitting at the back of her mind since she'd first read the script. "Why me? I understand the role suits me, but Florelia must have actresses with the exact skill set you're looking for. All you'd need is someone trained in martial arts who can also play an instrument convincingly."
Leila's smile turned almost conspiratorial. "The truth is, the choice came directly from our CEO."
Alex and Fidelia spoke at nearly the same moment. "The CEO? The one nobody's ever seen?"
"I see the rumors have reached New Bell too." Leila laughed. "There's less mystery to it than people assume. Our director submitted a handful of audition tapes, including your advertisement for that game — Kill Nicky, I believe. Yours was the one that got chosen."
"I did wonder why there wasn't an open casting call," Fidelia said.
"Scene twenty-seven made that impossible," Owen explained. "It's Ethan's first scene of that nature, opposite a lead actress, and we wanted to avoid the chaos an open audition would have brought."
Ethan, who'd been quiet through most of this exchange, finally spoke. "I'd like to know why I was invited to this particular meeting, Leila. Surely not just to watch you hand out a contract."
"Now that it's signed, we can move forward with the next part." Something in Leila's tone shifted, polite but unmistakably firm. "To build anticipation for the film, the company would like the two of you to appear as a couple for a while."
Alex's stomach dropped. She kept her face carefully neutral, though inside, two very different voices were arguing at full volume — one insisting this was exactly the chance she'd been handed, the other warning her she had no idea what she was agreeing to. "Is that really necessary?" she asked. "I'm not even the lead. It seems like it could backfire with his fans."
"This isn't really about what the fans think," Leila said. "It's about the attention it generates. Whether the film is good or bad, we want people talking about it before it's even released. And it strengthens your presence here in Florelia, which is exactly what you need right now."
"I don't have a problem with it," Ethan said, looking at Alex in a way that made the statement feel less like professional courtesy and more like something else entirely.
Leila, who knew him better than anyone in the room, read something in his expression that made her think, not for the first time, that this arrangement was about to become far more entertaining than she'd planned for.
"It's just a game," Ethan told Alex, noticing the tension in her shoulders. "Nothing to worry about." Then, almost as an afterthought, "Unless you're already seeing someone. That would complicate things."
"I'm not seeing anyone," Alex said, a little too quickly, painfully aware of his hand resting again on the back of her chair.
"Then we shouldn't have a problem," he said, satisfied.
By the time the meeting wrapped, two hours had passed and Alex felt wrung out from the sheer volume of things she'd agreed to in one sitting.
As they left the room, Leila suggested taking everyone to dinner. Before Alex could respond, Ethan cut in, already reaching for her hand. "Sorry, that'll have to be without us. We have a first date to get to."
The gesture was so casual, so immediate, that it stunned everyone in the room into silence for a beat. What struck Alex more than the boldness of it was the absence of anything unpleasant in the contact — no flinch, no retreat, just his hand around hers, warm and entirely unremarkable in the best possible way.
In the elevator, Ethan seemed to realize he was still holding her hand and let go, a flicker of something apologetic crossing his face. He'd never felt anything quite like that before — the ordinary warmth of someone's hand in his, nothing performed about it. It unsettled him more than he wanted to admit. He'd spent years perfecting the version of himself the public adored: warm, approachable, endlessly patient with strangers. Privately, he avoided people whenever he could, especially women, because closeness had a way of turning into complications he didn't have the patience for.
"Put this on," he said, holding out a cap and a mask.
Alex took them, confused. "Why? I thought the whole point was to be seen together."
"Better to keep it quiet for now," Ethan said, opening the car door for her. "Let people wonder. It works better that way."