Chapter 4His Amber Eyes Were Lies

I drove to the set to deliver the contract myself.

When I arrived, Wyatt and Tinsley were rehearsing a scene. The set was a chaotic mess of grips and PAs, so no one noticed me. I stood in a corner, watching them.

Wyatt was leaning down, tilting his head to catch Tinsley’s lines. She was looking up at him, radiant and glowing.

The midday sun was brutal, and I noticed Wyatt shielding her with his script, creating a patch of shade for her. It was a small, thoughtful gesture.

It was a level of tenderness he hadn't shown me in months.

They looked perfect together. A matched set. For a second, I felt like laughing. Wyatt must have felt my gaze, because he suddenly looked over.

He didn't look guilty. He looked expectant. He said something to Tinsley, she glanced at me, and then he started walking toward me.

We went to his luxury trailer. I handed him the contract. As he flipped to the final page, his eyes widened.

He knew what this meant. Howard’s brand was a household name. They didn't need "influencers." Getting this deal was a massive coup for Wyatt’s prestige.

A smug smile touched his lips. But then, he looked at me and asked, "Sylvia, can we turn this into a joint endorsement? For me and Tinsley?"

He asked it casually, but the air in the trailer shifted.

I stared at him. He was wearing colored contacts for his role—dark, flat brown. The amber was gone. I let out a short, sharp laugh. "What did you just say?"

If he were smart, he would have dropped it.

But he doubled down. "I want to do this with Tinsley. Our 'couple' brand is at an all-time high. It’s better for the company if we do it together."

He paused, then added the ultimatum: "If it’s not a joint deal, I’m not signing."

The smile stayed on my face, but the light in my eyes went out. I looked at him for a long time—or maybe it was only a few seconds—and then I set the contract down on the table.

I stood up and walked to the door. I gripped the handle and looked back at him. I had never used this tone with him before—polite, distant, and utterly final.

"Wyatt," I said, nodding toward the paper. "That contract isn't a career move. It’s a parting gift. You’ve been a decent distraction these past few years, and I wanted to settle the bill. Whether you sign it or not is entirely up to you."

I watched the color drain from his face.

"There is no third option," I said.