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The bright California sun glinted off the hood of the sleek, black luxury car as it pulled into the bustling LA film set. Rico's personal driver stepped out to open the door, and Ameya stepped onto the pavement, looking every bit the star she had become.
As she walked toward the director's tent, she was met with concerned looks. The director, a middle-aged man with a frazzled energy, hurried over to her.
"Ameya! I heard the news," he said, his eyes scanning her for any signs of distress. "Is Rico Jackson okay? That whole incident... it sounded terrifying."
Ameya gave a small, reassuring nod. "He's fine now. Thank you for asking."
"Sometimes these crazy sasaengs go too far. They think they own their idols and end up harming them," the director sighed, shaking his head. "Did you file a case? Any progress on that end?"
"Yes," Ameya replied firmly. "The police captured her that night. She's currently in jail awaiting trial."
"Good," the director grunted. "They need to be punished. People need to learn that 'love' isn't an excuse for stalking."
Ameya adjusted her bag. "Anyway, I'm ready to start. I'll go get into my wardrobe."
"Ameya, wait," the director hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. "Actually... we've had to make some more changes to the script overnight."
Ameya stopped in her tracks, a slight sense of dread pooling in her stomach. "More changes? We just discussed this yesterday."
"The production team felt the middle section was too slow," the director explained. "We've expanded the role of the second male lead. In fact, he's basically a second hero now. Do you understand what I'm trying to say? We've added significantly more romantic scenes between your character and him."
Ameya's eyes widened. "But you specifically told me when I signed on that there wouldn't be heavy romance with the second lead. You said it was a slow-burn solo journey!"
The director looked apologetic. "I know, I know. But the investors want more chemistry. Are... are you okay with this?"
Ameya took a deep breath, However, she straightened her shoulders.
"Fine," she said calmly. "As an actor, I have to do my work. If the script calls for it, I'll deliver."
The director looked relieved, almost unable to believe she took it so well. "Professional as always! I love it. Go get ready."
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A few minutes later, Ameya emerged from the dressing room wearing a flowy, ethereal dress that caught the morning breeze. An assistant handed her the updated script. She flipped through the pages, her heart skipping a beat at the descriptions: 'They gaze into each other's eyes,' 'He pulls her close by the fountain.'
She looked up and saw him.
The new male artist was standing near the set's central fountain. He was tall—easily over six feet—with a sharp, chiseled jawline and eyes that seemed to hold a natural spark of intensity. He was undeniably handsome.
Ameya walked over, maintaining her composure. "Hello. I'm Ameya."
The actor turned, offering a polite, charming smile. "I'm Julian. It's an honor to work with you. I've heard great things about your acting."
"Thank you. Let's make this a good scene," she replied.
Action!
"Places everyone!" the director shouted.
The cameras began to roll. The scene was set at a grand stone fountain, the water cascading behind them like a shimmering curtain. It started with a casual conversation—a moment of respite for their characters—but as they spoke, Julian's character stepped closer, his shadow falling over Ameya.
"You always seem to be looking for something that isn't there," Julian said his lines, his voice rich and velvety.
Ameya looked up at him, her character's vulnerability showing. "Maybe I'm just looking for a reason to stay."
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The Los Angeles sunset painted the sky in streaks of violet and burnt orange as Ameya pulled into the driveway of the Rico Mansion. The evening air was cool, carrying the faint scent of jasmine and the distant hum of the city.
An Empty Welcome
Ameya pushed open the heavy oak doors and stepped into the grand marble hall. The house was uncharacteristically quiet.
"Rico?" she called out, her voice echoing off the high ceilings. "Rico, I'm home!"
Silence.
She frowned, scanning the expanse of the living area. The hall was empty. Puzzled, she headed upstairs toward his master suite. The door was ajar. She stepped inside, looking around the spacious room—still no sign of him.
As Ameya walked toward the center of the room, a slight ripple in the long, velvet floor-to-ceiling curtains caught her eye. She didn't stop, a small, knowing smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. She continued toward the dressing table as if she noticed nothing.
Behind her, a shadow detached itself from the curtains. Rico crept up on silent feet, his eyes gleaming with mischief. Suddenly, he lunged forward and wrapped his arms tightly around her waist from behind, burying his face in the crook of her neck.
Ameya didn't scream. She didn't even flinch.
Rico pulled back slightly, looking disappointed. "Aren't you even a little surprised? I've been practicing my stealth all evening!"
Ameya simply pointed at the large, gilded mirror in front of them. "I saw you following me the moment I stepped past the curtains, Rico."
She turned in his arms and gave him a mocking, playful smile. Rico's bravado vanished, replaced by an awkward, boyish grin. "Oh... right. Mirrors. My old nemesis."
"Anyway," Rico said, clearing his throat to recover his dignity. "How did the shooting go today?"
Ameya sighed casually, leaning back against the vanity while he kept his arms loosely around her. "As usual... actually, no. The director decided to shake things up. He changed the script."
Rico's eyebrows shot up. "Changed it how?"
"He added a new second male lead," Ameya said, watching Rico's expression closely. "He's been cast as my new pair."
Rico's eyes widened in that signature cute, startled way of his. "What? Who?"
"A new actor," Ameya scoffed, suppressing a laugh. "I don't know much about his background yet. But I'll tell you one thing—he's incredibly handsome."
The "tough guy" facade Rico usually wore crumbled instantly. His lower lip didn't quite pout, but his face fell into the look of an upset toddler who had just been told his favorite toy was being shared.
"Handsome?" Rico scoffed, his voice an octave higher.
Ameya laughed and patted his chest. "I should go prepare dinner. I'm starving."
"I already took care of it," Rico muttered, still looking a bit dejected.
"Really?" Ameya reached up and pinched his cheek affectionately. "My cute, thoughtful boyfriend. Thank you."
Rico's mood brightened for a split second, and he caught her hand, his expression turning serious again. "Wait. Did you guys... do you have any romantic scenes together?"
"Of course," Ameya replied airily. "It's a romance drama, Rico. We have plenty."
Rico exhaled a sharp, dramatic breath. Ameya tilted her head, enjoying the view. "What's that reaction for? Are you jealous?"
Rico offered a tight, strained smile. "No. Not jealous. Just... super possessive. There's a difference."
Ameya smiled softly, tracing the line of his jaw. "Don't worry. It's just acting, remember?"
Rico pulled her even closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, sounding like an innocent child asking a scary question. "Did you guys... have a kiss scene? Is it in the script?"
Ameya gave him one last mocking look as she slipped out of his embrace. "Not yet," she called out over her shoulder as she walked toward the door. "But it's coming. And like I said... it's just acting!"
Before Rico could process the words or protest, Ameya had disappeared into the hallway, leaving him standing alone in the room with a very worried expression.
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The tension from the shooting script still lingered in the air as Rico stepped into the study to take a call. It was Michael, his best friend and the only one who knew exactly how much of a mess Rico could be.
"Hello?" Rico answered, his voice sounding flat.
"Whoa," Michael's voice crackled through the line from his own mansion. "What happened to you? Where's the usual Rico energy? Did Ameya find out you were faking that memory loss and blow up at you?"
"No," Rico sighed, leaning against his desk. "Yes. But,she actually forgave me. I'm just… dealing with some script changes."
"Then why do you sound like your dog died? Rico, talk to me."
"It's nothing, Michael."
Michael hesitated on the other end. "Look, man… I wanna tell you something. Just… don't get pissed, okay? Actually—"
Before Michael could finish his sentence, a piercing scream ripped through the silence of the mansion. "AHA! NO!" Ameya's voice echoed from the hall, sharp with panic.
Rico's heart leaped into his throat. "Ameya!" he yelled. In his haste to move, the phone slipped from his palm. He lunged for it, but it fumbled through his fingers and smacked face-down on the hardwood floor with a sickening crack. He didn't even stop to pick it up; he sprinted toward the hall.
He found Ameya standing near the corner of the living room, her face pale. Rico rushed to her, grabbing her shoulders and checking her over. "Are you hurt? What happened?"
Ameya pointed a trembling finger toward the dark corner behind the sofa. Rico narrowed his eyes, bracing for a hitman or a burglar. Instead, a tiny, furry grey shape scurried past.
Rico let out a long, dry scoff. "You freaked me out for that? It's just a rat, Ameya."
Ameya's eyes widened, and she snapped out of her fear into annoyance. "Just a rat? It's a monster! Fine, if it's so small, catch it yourself!"
Rico waved a hand casually. "Don't worry about it. The house staff will handle it in the morning."
Ameya raised an eyebrow. "The workers?"
Rico's thinks yes I sent them away. His smug smile froze. His eyes darted around the empty hall. "Oh... right. I forgot it." He cleared his throat and tapped her shoulder bravely. "Don't worry. I will do it."
Two hours later.
The "Great Hunter" and his lady were slumped on the sofa, panting and disheveled. The rat had proven to be a tactical genius, outmaneuvering every trap and broom-swing they threw at it.
"I don't think I can catch it," Rico admitted, wiping sweat from his forehead.
"Me neither," Ameya breathed, looking at his messy hair. They caught each other's gaze and burst into tired laughter.
"Let's just use rat killer," Rico suggested. "I'll order some online right now." He reached into his pocket, then remembered. "Oh... my phone. When you screamed, I dropped it. The screen is shattered."
Ameya saw a shadow move near the baseboard and shrieked again, lunging toward Rico for safety. He caught her instantly, pulling her onto his lap to protect her from the tiny intruder.
As the silence returned, the fear of the rat faded, replaced by a much more intense heat. Ameya was so close she could feel the steady, thumping rhythm of his heart against her chest. She looked up, her breath hitching as she took in his sharp jawline and the way his Adam's apple moved when he swallowed.
She tried to pull back, but Rico's hand was firm on her waist. He shifted her, settling her fully in his lap.
"Rico..." she whispered.
His eyes were dark, burning with a heavy, drunken-like devotion. He leaned in, his mouth brushing against her cheek and then her ear, sending shivers down her spine. His thumb traced the curve of her lower lip.
"Ameya," he murmured, his voice husky and low.
"Mm?"
"Let's eat first," she whispered, her head spinning. She started to turn her face away to break the spell, but Rico gently caught her chin, turning her back to him.
"Yes," he whispered against her skin. "Let's eat first."
He crashed his lips against hers in a demanding, hungry kiss. Ameya melted, her hands finding his neck as she kissed him back. His hand slid down to the curve of her hip, pulling her flush against him before he leaned back, laying her down on the sofa.
He hovered over her, his kisses moving from her lips to the sensitive skin of her neck and shoulder—slow, deliberate, and hopelessly passionate.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
A sharp knock at the front door broke the silence. Ameya gasped and tried to push him away, but Rico was too far gone, his face buried in the crook of her neck.
"Rico, stop," she hissed, biting his shoulder lightly to get his attention.
He jolled awake, blinking. "What? What is it?"
"Someone is knocking," she whispered.
Rico's expression shifted from passion to suspicion. "No... that's not just a knock. Someone is typing in the door password."
Ameya's heart raced. "What? Who knows the code?"
Rico scrambled to stand up just as the heavy front doors swung open. Ameya sat up frantically, smoothing her hair and adjusting her clothes.
Standing in the entryway was a woman dressed in a sharp, expensive suit, her eyes wide with shock. It was Clara, Rico's mother and the powerhouse CEO of the Herman Group.
The silence was deafening. Rico tried to stand fully, but his foot caught on the sofa cushion, and he fell right back over Ameya for a split second before balancing himself and springing up like a nervous teenager.
"Mom?" Rico stammered, his face turning a bright shade of crimson.
Ameya stood up, her face flushed, trying to look professional. "Auntie... Hi."
Clara stood frozen, her mouth slightly open. She looked at her son, then at Ameya, then back at the disarrayed sofa. She cleared her throat, an awkward, forced smile appearing on her face.
"I... see I should have called first," Clara managed to say.
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To be Continued...
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