Off Script

Let them Talk(MBJ POV)

The pings kept coming. Fast. Too fast.

I grabbed my phone off the cushion, thumb swiping the screen.

Photos. Headlines. Mentions stacked on mentions.

And there she was—Mina. Standing next to me on set.

My chest went tight. Not from fear of them knowing. From rage.

They weren't supposed to drag her into this. Not like this. Not through some shady ass photo, probably from Haven or one of her people.

Before I could even say a word, Mina's phone slipped from her hands like it burned. She shot up off the couch, my shirt sliding down her thighs as she moved fast toward the stairs.

"Mina—" I called after her, but she didn't stop.

I followed quick, my blood pounding. She was already halfway up, her hand gripping the railing so tight her knuckles went white.

"Baby, wait—"

"Don't tell me to wait, Michael!" Her voice cracked, sharp and scared all at once. "Do you even realize what this means? My face—J.C.—our names are probably already trending!"

I caught up as she reached the top, her breath ragged, tears streaking down her cheeks. She spun on me, eyes wild.

"No!" she snapped before I could speak again. "Because when this blows up, you go back to set, you can have security. You've got people. Me and my son? We gotta go to the grocery store. To the park. To his school. And now? Now we won't even be able to walk out the damn door without somebody pointing, or whispering, or taking pictures!"

Her hands flew as she spoke, trembling as hard as her voice. My gut twisted.

I stepped forward slow, reaching for her arms before she could retreat farther down the hall.

"I know you're scared," I said low, steady, even though my own blood was running hot. "And you got every right to be."

Her chest heaved, her eyes glistening with that fury I knew wasn't for me—it was for the world that just kicked our door open.

"He didn't ask for this, Michael," she whispered, voice breaking as her hands fisted at her sides. "He's six. Six. And already people are gonna start talking about him like he's some headline instead of a little boy who just wanted to watch you act today."

That's when my chest cracked.

I cupped her face, firm, making her look at me even as she tried to turn away.

"Listen to me. Nobody—nobody—gets to define him. Or you. Not the press, not some blogger, not a single motherfucker with a camera. They don't get to decide how J.C. grows up. You do—and one day, we will together."

Her tears spilled harder, and she shook her head like she wanted to believe me but couldn't.

I leaned closer, my voice rough but certain.

"I won't let this ruin what we got. I won't let them touch him. Or you. You're my family, Mina. That's it. End of story."

Her shoulders trembled under my hands, and all I could do was hold her tighter, knowing she was falling apart—and I had to be the one strong enough to catch her.

I held her there at the top of the stairs, her chest still heaving against mine.

"Breathe with me," I whispered, pressing my forehead to hers. "In through your nose. Slow. Out through your mouth."

Her fists clenched tighter in my tee, but she matched me, shaky at first, then steadier. Little by little, I felt her trembling ease.

"That's it," I murmured. "Just me and you right now. Block out the rest."