When the Script Changes

Chapter 4: The Breaking Point

Whatever it was, it was working.

Because when Freen finally did approach her, there was no teasing, no jokes. Just a low voice and an intensity that sent a shiver down Becky's spine.

"Are you and Lena close?"

Becky blinked at her. "What?"

"You seem... interested in her."

Becky raised an eyebrow. "Why do you care?"

Freen exhaled sharply. "I don't. Just asking."

Becky smirked. "Are you jealous?"

Freen's eyes darkened. "No."

"Liar."

Freen took a step closer, so close Becky could feel the warmth radiating off her. "Becky, stop playing games with me."

Becky's breath hitched.

Who's playing?

But before she could say anything, the assistant director called for them to get back on set.

Freen turned on her heel and walked away.

And Becky?

She was left standing there, pulse racing, utterly breathless.

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The scene they were filming that afternoon was supposed to be emotional.

A confrontation between their characters, Rina and Lina, after a big misunderstanding.

It was supposed to be a shouting match—frustration, anger, hidden emotions boiling over.

And maybe that was why the second the director called "Action!" something snapped inside Becky.

"You don't get to be mad at me!" Lina (Becky) shouted, stepping closer.

Rina (Freen) scoffed. "Of course, I do! You're the one running around acting like none of this matters!"

Lina's eyes burned. "Maybe because it doesn't! Maybe you were just something temporary—"

She didn't even get to finish the sentence.

Because Freen took an unscripted step forward.

And suddenly—

There was no space left between them.

Freen's voice was dangerously low. "Say that again."

The air crackled with something raw, something real.

Becky's breath came fast.

This wasn't acting anymore.

She could see it in Freen's eyes, in the tightness of her jaw, in the way her fingers twitched like she wanted to grab Becky but was holding herself back.

The tension was unbearable.

For a second, Becky thought—she's going to kiss me.

But then—

"Cut!"

The director's voice cut through the moment like a blade.

Becky stumbled back, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

Freen turned away so fast it was almost unnatural.

The entire set was silent. Even the crew had picked up on the something between them.

But no one said a word.

And Becky?

She had no idea how much longer she could pretend.

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That night, Becky didn't go straight home.

She went to Freen's apartment.

She didn't text first. Didn't call.

She just showed up.

Freen opened the door, her expression unreadable.

Becky didn't give her a chance to speak.

"You need to tell me the truth."

Freen leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. "About what?"

Becky swallowed hard. "Last night. Today. Everything."

Freen sighed. "Becky—"

"No," Becky cut in, stepping closer. "I need to know. Because I feel it, Freen. And I think you do too."

Freen looked at her, something flickering in her gaze. "Feel what?"

Becky exhaled shakily. "This," she whispered. "The way you look at me. The way I look at you. The way everything between us feels different now."

Freen didn't say anything.

Becky's chest ached.

"Tell me I'm wrong," Becky challenged, voice barely above a whisper.

Freen's fingers twitched. She looked away.

She couldn't say it.

She couldn't lie.

Becky took another step forward, so close now that she could hear the hitch in Freen's breathing.

"Do you want me?" Becky asked softly.

Freen's eyes snapped to hers—wide, vulnerable, desperate.

Becky saw it then.

The answer was yes.

But Freen didn't say it.

Instead, she whispered, "Go home, Becky."

Becky's heart clenched.

For a second, she considered pushing further.

But Freen had already started closing the door.

And Becky—no matter how much she wanted to—wasn't ready to force an answer that Freen wasn't ready to give.

So she stepped back.

And let the door close between them.

But as she walked away, she made herself a promise.

This isn't over.

Not yet.