Opening Shot

The morning sun was still low, soft and a little sleepy, spreading pale gold across the paddocks. The air carried that crisp, clean chill that wakes you up faster than any overpriced espresso. Crew members moved between cables and equipment, calling out instructions as the first filming day slid into motion. A couple of horses already leaned over the fences, flicking their ears toward the bustle.

It was the very first scene on the schedule. A simple introduction on paper, the kind directors always call “easy warm-ups” right before they turn out to be anything but.

Sophie stood beside a chestnut mare, nerves buzzing under her skin. Today they were shooting Emma’s first grooming scene: brushing the coat, cleaning hooves, fastening the bridle, settling the saddle. Even after days of practice, the idea of cameras tracking her every movement had her pulse doing a drum solo.

Liam, dressed as Ethan, crossed the paddock toward her with a grooming kit in hand, radiating the same steady calm she’d grown used to during rehearsals.

“Ready for your first scene?” he asked, offering a reassuring half-smile.

“As ready as someone pretending to be good with horses can be,” she said, forcing a breath.

“Then let’s make you look convincing.” He set the kit down and opened it. “Start with brushing. Long strokes along the neck. Keep your hands where she can see them.”

Sophie followed his guidance, the mare relaxing under her touch. The camera crew watched from a respectful distance, adjusting lenses and angles.

“Good,” Liam murmured. “Now hooves. I’ll show you one, then you try.”

He lifted the mare’s leg with practiced ease, cleaned the hoof, then stepped back so she could mirror him. Sophie crouched, focused, determined not to drop anything or look terrified. When she finished, Liam gave her a small, approving nod.

They moved to the bridle next, their hands brushing briefly as he showed her the quickest way to fasten the buckles. Then the saddle. Then tightening the girth. By the time the director called for final checks, Sophie’s nerves had finally begun to settle.

“See?” Liam said softly. “You’re doing fine.”

She almost believed him.

Then, of course, her father appeared.

Unannounced. Predictably.

He didn’t storm in. He never did. He just arrived, neat suit, composed face, and that quiet intensity that made Sophie’s stomach tighten. His gaze swept over the entire setup, evaluating, cataloging, quietly judging the universe.

“Sophie,” he said, voice polite enough to pass as warm. “I see you’re starting early.”

“It’s the first shoot day,” she replied, forcing a small smile. “Pretty standard.”

His eyes slid to Liam. Something unreadable flickered there, something Sophie knew far too well. Even before he spoke, she braced for the inevitable.

“I saw that photograph,” he said evenly. “From the horse… practice.” His tone stayed neutral, but the air thickened. “You know how these things can look. Misinterpretations. Rumors. For you, for the production.”

Sophie clenched her jaw. “It was just training. Nothing more.”

Her father studied her a moment longer than necessary. “Good. Just… be careful. No unnecessary complications.”

It was the polite version of what he really meant: no getting involved, no slipping out of his control, no star entanglements he couldn’t monitor from a polite distance.

“I know,” she answered.

He nodded once, then—naturally—headed straight for Liam.

Max noticed immediately, stepping subtly closer like a watchdog who’d smelled something intrusive.

“Liam,” her father began, hands tucked calmly into his pockets. “A moment. I wanted to stress the importance of a professional environment. Sophie has a lot riding on this project. The public eye can be… eager to assume the worst.”

Liam stood steady, posture firm but respectful. “I understand completely. This is work. That’s the focus.”

Max stepped in, voice diplomatic. “Everything on set has been strictly professional. Rehearsals went exactly as planned. The director’s pleased. There are no concerns.”

Her father acknowledged this with a slight nod. Not relaxed. Not tense. Just… noted. Observation complete.

“Good,” he said. “Then I won’t interfere.”

Which, naturally, meant he already had.

He walked off toward the monitors, positioning himself as if he had every right to oversee things he technically had no business overseeing.

Sophie let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Liam glanced at her with a look that said: that was… a lot.

The director called them to their marks.

Sophie returned to the mare, fingers cold, heart weighted with that particular exhaustion only one person on the planet could trigger.

Midday – On Set, at the Ranch

The morning mist still clung to the grass when Sophie slipped around the side of the stables, needing a breath away from the cameras, away from her father’s hovering presence. She tugged her jacket tighter, exhaling slowly into the cool air. The ranch was quiet here, shielded from the voices of the crew prepping equipment near the paddock.

She didn’t expect to find Liam there.

He stood with one boot braced against a fence rail, hands in his pockets, head tilted toward the hills. The silver pendant glinted faintly. He looked maddeningly composed. After the stunt her father had pulled an hour ago, Sophie didn’t feel composed at all.

He turned at the sound of her steps. “Didn’t mean to steal your hiding spot,” he said casually.

“It’s fine,” she said too quickly, stopping a few feet away. Suddenly, his presence seemed to fill the quiet, like the air itself adjusted around him.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Sophie inhaled, steadying herself. “Look… about that night in the club…”

Liam’s jaw flexed—barely—but enough for her to catch it. At least that meant he had thought about it too.

“It shouldn’t have happened,” she said, words tumbling out. “I was… drunk. Tipsy. Whatever. I reacted. And you stepped in for me, and I just—” She grimaced. “I kissed you. Like some weird thank-you reflex. It wasn’t planned.”

Liam kept his expression calm, but something flickered in his eyes.

“Sophie, you don’t have to justify anything,” he said quietly.

“I do,” she insisted, her voice almost cracking. “It was the alcohol. The moment.”

She didn’t say the part about the moment still sitting in her chest like a warm bruise. She didn’t have to.

Liam looked away, just long enough for the truth to slip through his expression. That kiss had hit him too. He hated how vividly he remembered her face close to his, her hand curling into his jacket, how fast the moment had burned into him.

He shut it all down with a slow breath.

“Look, it happened,” he said, forcing calm. “I’m not losing sleep over it. We both just… went with whatever was happening.”

Sophie nodded, though something in her eyes dimmed. “Right. Exactly.”

Liam almost winced. Almost. Shoulders tight, he stayed still. If he reached for her now, even just to soften things, he’d make everything worse.

“We’ve got a job to do,” he said, trying for lightness. “Scenes to shoot. Horses to not fall off. That’s the priority.”

The joke only tightened her chest.

“I know.” She folded her arms. “I just… didn’t want it to be weird.”

“It’s not weird,” he said gently.

It was absolutely weird. He hated that it was.

“Good. Then we’re… good.”

“Yeah,” he said, quieter. “We’re good.”

Too neat. Too controlled. Like sweeping tension under a rug already lumpy.

He pushed off the fence and stepped past her, too close, too aware. He caught the faint scent of her shampoo as he passed, heart tripping. Ridiculous.

He kept walking.

“See you on set,” he said, steadying his voice.

He didn’t look back. If he did, the mask might crack.

Sophie didn’t answer. She just stood there, caught between relief and something unspoken.

Liam walked toward the paddock with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, jaw tight. Her father’s words echoed annoyingly in his head. Her kiss echoed even louder.

He could pretend all he wanted. That night hadn’t left either of them untouched.