It Started With A Vampire

Boiling Point

The following morning began in chaos.

It started with Bella arriving in a barely-there dress and a steaming cup of coffee—Malachi's usual order. She handed it to him like it was second nature and leaned against his trailer door like she lived there.

"Rough night, huh?" she cooed.

Malachi rubbed his forehead. "Bella, please. We've been over this—"

"Over what?" she interrupted sweetly. "I kissed you. You didn't exactly pull away. Don't act like I'm the bad guy here."

He closed his eyes, trying to summon patience, but the guilt was already heavy on his chest. "I was drunk. It shouldn't have happened."

"And yet," she grinned, brushing a hand along his arm, "it did."

Before he could say more, a sharp voice called out.

"Bella. You're needed on set. Now."

It was Director Halloran, clipboard in hand, his tone clipped and firm. His eyes flicked between Bella's smug posture and Malachi's pale discomfort, narrowing slightly. "We'll talk later," he added to Malachi in a tone that left no room for debate.

Malachi gave a stiff nod. His day was already off to a brutal start—and it was about to get worse.

⸻

Eva sat in makeup, barely listening to the stylists talk as she stared at her reflection. Her eyes were tired, dark circles under them from another night of restless sleep. Ariana was across the room, watching her like a hawk.

"You sure you want to film today?" Ariana asked softly.

"I'm not letting her win," Eva whispered.

She wasn't sure who she meant anymore—Bella, the PR team, or her own emotions. But something inside her had hardened. She wasn't going to keep breaking down. Not on camera. Not for them.

When she stepped onto set, everyone noticed the change.

She wasn't smiling. She wasn't quiet. She was locked in, focused—and just cold enough that even the director glanced up from his notes.

"Everything alright, Aniston?" he asked.

"I'm good," she replied simply. But her voice lacked its usual warmth, and he knew better.

⸻

Rehearsal was a disaster.

The scene was supposed to be light and flirtatious—a playful exchange between Nova and Wren before a dance number. But Eva's delivery was sharp, her movements stiff. Malachi, flustered by the morning and the weight of Bella's kiss still hanging between them, kept messing up his lines.

Cut. Restart. Cut. Restart.

By the fifth take, Director Halloran called a break.

"Malachi," he called out across the room. "Walk with me."

The cast went still. Malachi's shoulders stiffened as he followed the director off set.

Eva looked away.

⸻

"Is there something going on between you and Bella?" Halloran asked bluntly once they were out of earshot.

Malachi hesitated. "No. Not... not really. It's complicated."

"Uncomplicate it," Halloran snapped. "Whatever this drama is between you and Eva—it's bleeding onto camera. Your chemistry is off. The crew's on edge. Fix it."

Malachi looked down, jaw tight.

"I'm not trying to get involved in your personal life," the director added, "but Eva's a minor. And she's clearly not okay. Someone needs to step up and protect her. If you won't, I will."

Malachi's head shot up. "I am trying to protect her."

"Then try harder."

⸻

Later that afternoon, while the cast was resetting for a group scene, Bella made her move again.

This time, it was blatant. She waited until Malachi was between takes, casually slid her arm around his waist, and said loud enough for others to hear, "You still owe me a real dance from the other night. What do you say—tonight? No cameras. Just us."

Eva, walking by, froze. MK, Milo, and Ariana all stiffened at once.

Malachi stepped back. "Don't."

Bella smiled but didn't move. "Don't what?"

"Don't use me to get to her."

Eva blinked, heart skipping a beat.

"Oh please," Bella laughed. "This isn't about her."

"Yes, it is," he snapped, louder now. "You kissed me when I was drunk and you're still trying to stir things up. It's pathetic."

Gasps from the nearby crew. Bella's eyes narrowed, her smirk dropping.

"Well," she said coolly, "we'll see what PR thinks when they hear what you called me."

Before she could turn away, a voice rang out across the lot:

"Enough!"

It was Meg. She stormed toward them, hair tied up, clipboard clutched in one hand, pure fury in her eyes. Ariana, MK, and Milo were right behind her.

"We're done letting PR bully Eva, and we're done letting you turn this into a tabloid circus," Meg said, eyes locked on Bella. "One more stunt and I'm going straight to legal. You're not untouchable, Bella. And neither is the team that's backing you."

Bella looked stunned—for the first time, actually speechless.

Then Meg turned to Malachi. "You need to clean this up. And you need to talk to her. Now."

He didn't need to ask who she meant.

⸻

Eva was sitting behind the set trailer, away from everyone, head in her hands.

When she heard footsteps, she didn't even look up.

"If it's Bella, I swear—"

"It's me."

Malachi.

She looked up slowly, expression unreadable.

"I'm not here to make excuses," he said quietly. "I messed up. And I let it go too far. I should've pushed her away. I should've told you the second it happened."

"You should've," Eva said. Her voice was soft, but it was edged with fire. "You let her mess with my head. You let her get in between us, and you watched."

"I know," he said. "And I'm sorry. I've been trying to protect us by not saying anything, but all I did was make things worse."

They stood in silence for a beat.

Then Eva looked at him, eyes shining—but not with tears. With something stronger.

"I don't want to be protected. I want to be chosen."

Malachi's breath caught. His voice was just above a whisper. "You are."

"Then prove it."