"Action!"
The moment the word was said, the entire set came alive. Music filled the air, echoing through the vast soundstage like a heartbeat as everyone moved in unison. It felt less like a film shoot and more like watching a living, breathing symphony. Scarlett and Natalie Portman were at the center, their movements blending seamlessly with those of the professional ballet dancers surrounding them.
There was no clear distinction between the stars and the background performers, yet my eyes never strayed from the woman who held my heart. Scarlett spun and swayed with a fluid grace that made it seem as though she'd been born for this.
When I forced myself to look at the other dancers behind her, I couldn't spot much difference in their technique. It was strange but deeply satisfying to see her holding her own beside some of New York's best ballet dancers, every movement perfectly in sync.
Maybe the professionals were toning things down to give non-dancers like Scarlett and Natalie a chance to shine, but I didn't care. What I saw was beauty in motion, the entire ensemble moving together as one body, one rhythm, one breath.
"Cut!" Darren Aronofsky shouted, his voice echoing through the set for what felt like the hundredth time after so many retakes. "And that is how you do it, ladies. Perfect!"
A wave of applause followed. I found myself clapping too. Even as a trained ballet dancer in another life, I couldn't help but feel awed by the effort, the precision, and the emotion that had gone into the scene. Especially Scarlett. She hadn't danced seriously in years, and yet she moved with the confidence of someone who'd never left the stage.
When it became clear that filming had wrapped for the day, I retreated deeper into the shadowed corner where I'd been hiding. From here, I had a perfect view of the path leading from the soundstage to Scarlett's changing room. I'd picked this spot deliberately because it was the closest place where I could wait without being noticed. It really helped that my own production company was making the movie.
Just as I'd hoped, Scarlett appeared a few minutes later, chatting lightly with a crew member before breaking away toward her changing room. As soon as she came close, I stepped forward, pulled her into the corner, and covered her mouth before she could cry out.
"It's me," I whispered urgently. I held her still for a few seconds, waiting for the initial shock to fade, then slowly released my hand.
The moment I did, she smacked me hard in the chest. "Are you a little kid? Who does that at your age?"
"Ouch." I rubbed the sore spot with a small grin. "Not my fault you didn't want me to come here openly."
She crossed her arms, but the faint smile tugging at her lips betrayed her irritation. "When did you get back?" she asked, changing the subject with practiced ease.
"I came straight here from the airport," I admitted.
Scarlett sighed and stepped closer, wrapping her arms around me. Her head rested against my chest, and for a moment, the chaos of everything seemed to vanish. "I missed you, babe. A lot."
"We met at the Grammys," I reminded her softly.
"Yeah, but that was two weeks ago," she said in a mock-complaint, her tone light but affectionate, something I love about her a lot.
"Scarlett," I murmured, running my fingers gently through her hair. "Why don't you want anyone to see us together on set?"
A few days ago, when she learned I planned to visit, she'd texted me something that hadn't quite made sense at the time.
She stepped back, crossing her arms again. "I explained it in the text, didn't I?"
I gave her a steady look. "Did you? I didn't want to argue long-distance, so I let it go, but it doesn't make sense. You said people will talk about us. Guess what: they already are, and they always will. Pretending otherwise won't change that. I thought we were past caring about rumors."
"Did you like my performance?" she asked suddenly, breaking the silence.
"It was amazing!" I gushed, unable to hide my enthusiasm. "I loved everything about it. I couldn't even tell the difference between you and the professional dancers. But," I added, letting a teasing note creep into my voice, "there's one thing you could work on."
Her eyes widened slightly. "What?" she asked, a hint of worry in her tone.
"Your ability to change the topic whenever you don't want to talk about something."
Scarlett's lips pressed together, and for a full minute, she said nothing. The sounds of crew members packing up echoed faintly from the set. I didn't press her. I had already made up my mind that I wouldn't talk about anything else until we cleared this up. And I was willing to wait as long as she needed.
Finally, she sighed and muttered, "I really need to pee. Can we have this conversation back at your place?"
"It's a free country," I said evenly. "Just keep in mind, we will be having this conversation tonight. Otherwise, I'd rather go back to LA than stay here. See you back at home."
She nodded once before walking away, her ponytail swaying behind her as she disappeared inside her changing room.
I wasn't really angry at her. If anything, I understood her point of view. I didn't like mixing my professional and personal lives either. But what worried me was her avoidance. We could have talked this through weeks ago, set clear boundaries and the reasons for such boundaries, yet she kept dodging the subject. I wasn't the kind of man who tolerated ambiguity in a relationship, especially not a relationship I took this seriously.
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. Maybe it was best to return to my penthouse in Manhattan and wait for her there. By then, we'd both have cooled off and could talk more calmly. Besides, the longer I stayed on set, the higher the chances of someone spotting me. I might not agree with Scarlett's secrecy, but I still respected her wish for me to stay hidden from the [Black Swan] crew.
Just as I was about to leave, I froze.
"Scarlett is such a great dancer," a man's voice said nearby. I recognized it immediately; it was Darren Aronofsky, the director of the movie. "No offence, but you could ask for some pointers from her. Both of you started at the same spot, and see how far she's come. Your character is supposed to be the better dancer in the movie. Keep that in mind."
"Really?" came Natalie Portman's voice, hesitant and worried.
"Yup," Aronofsky confirmed. "Scarlett's parts are coming out perfectly in the dailies, last I checked. For you, we might need a few follow-up shots once filming wraps."
"I'll try to improve myself even more in the upcoming days," Natalie promised, her voice small.
I clenched my jaw. That was a terrible thing for a director to say to an actor. Even if Scarlett had outperformed her, there were better ways to motivate someone. You never pit one actor against another, especially not in a film as psychologically demanding as this one.
Then it hit me.
Could the real reason behind Scarlett's sudden change in behavior be that simple?
I stayed hidden behind the curtain, my earlier plan to leave completely forgotten.
A few minutes later, my suspicions were confirmed.
"Scarlett! Just the girl I wanted to see before you head home," Darren Aronofsky called out, his voice carrying easily across the set. There was a strange enthusiasm in his tone, the kind that didn't always mean something good.
Scarlett stopped mid-step and turned toward him, her expression polite but cautious. "Yes, Darren?"
"You were great in the scenes we shot today," he began with a grin. "And while I should be impartial as a director, I can't help but feel that Natalie's scenes were so much better than yours. She's been practicing for this role longer than you, and it shows. Her every move is perfect."
Scarlett's posture stiffened, though she didn't interrupt.
"You really need to up your game," he continued, folding his arms. "Your character is supposed to be the lead, not hers. Maybe we can reshoot your dancing scenes a few months later, after you've had more time to practice?"
"No," Scarlett said quickly, the word almost slipping out as a reflex. "I'll do better. I'll spend more time training if I have to."
"Are you sure about that?" he pressed, his voice laced with condescension that only a director with too much authority could manage.
"Yes," she replied, her tone firm but quiet.
He gave a perfunctory nod and walked off, leaving her standing there.
As I watched from my hiding spot, a slow anger began to rise in me. Every word out of his mouth had been deliberate, carefully chosen to undermine her confidence. It was this man, his impossible expectations and twisted motivational tactics, that was breaking Scarlett down day by day.
I wanted nothing more than to walk straight up to him and tell him to stop toying with his actors' minds. But I didn't.
Because if that confrontation ever got back to Scarlett, and it would, her erratic behavior would be the least of my worries. This needed to be handled carefully.
(Break)
Back at home, the dinner that followed was the quietest Scarlett and I had ever shared since we started dating more than a year ago. The clinking of cutlery against plates was the only sound between us, echoing faintly in the otherwise serene apartment.
It wasn't that there was nothing to say. I had plenty of thoughts swirling in my head, but I held them back, waiting for her to bring up the subject herself, or at least for us to finish eating, so she'd be less distracted.
It turned out to be the former.
"I have to practice," Scarlett said as she set her fork down. Her tone was calm but carried a strain of anxiety.
"After such a heavy meal?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
"My meal wasn't heavy," she retorted quickly, and she was right. She'd barely eaten, sticking to a light salad and a few bites of grilled fish. That in itself was unusual; Scarlett rarely ate less than one full meal a day.
"Also," she continued, rubbing her temple, "I'm so far behind Natalie Portman, it's not even funny. I need to up my game, or Darren will have to reshoot my dance scenes once filming ends."
I sighed quietly, leaning back in my chair. "How's your relationship with Natalie these days?"
She frowned, thinking it over. "We did [The Other Boleyn Girl] together, and we got along great back then. But lately… she's been distant. We still work well together during filming, but off-camera, it's like there's this invisible wall between us. She barely talks anymore."
"I think I found out why," I said slowly.
Her brows lifted. "Why?"
"When I was leaving the set earlier, I overheard a conversation between her and Aronofsky. And he said some… troubling things."
Scarlett's fork stilled in her hand. "What did he say?"
So I told her. Every word. From the moment he praised Scarlett to the way he subtly undermined Natalie. By the time I finished, her face was unreadable, caught somewhere between shock and disbelief.
"I've worked with plenty of directors in my life," I said, breaking the silence. "But none have ever been that blatantly manipulative. I don't understand why he'd say something like that to her."
What I didn't tell her, though, was that I had also overheard their exchange earlier. I wanted to see her reaction first, to understand what she truly felt before revealing just how much I knew.
"But he told me the opposite," she whispered, disbelief heavy in her voice. "He told me that she was the better dancer."
I leaned forward, my tone calm but firm. "Directors like Aronofsky thrive on getting real performances out of their actors. Think about Ellen Burstyn in [Requiem for a Dream]. Her performance was haunting and unforgettable, and it came from living that agony, not just acting it. That's what he's trying to do with you and Natalie. By pitting you two against each other, he's forcing both of you to dig deeper than you ever would on your own."
Scarlett's eyes shimmered with unshed tears. I could see the fatigue behind them the mental strain, the exhaustion, the emotional toll of trying to be perfect for someone who only seemed to move the goalposts further away.
"In your obsession to get better than Natalie," I continued gently, "you've cut yourself off from the world."
Her lower lip trembled, and for a moment, I thought she might cry. The vulnerability on her face broke something in me.
"Please promise me that you won't talk to Darren about it," she said softly.
"I want to," I admitted when she looked up at me, her expression stiffening. "I really want to. But I won't. Not until the shooting is over. I know how much effort you've put into this role, and I won't risk anything that could derail it."
She stayed quiet, her gaze fixed on the table. The silence stretched on until I finally added, "You know, Hunter asked me the other day if you were okay. He said you haven't been your usual self. He even took a leave from his work in D.C. and plans to come see you in a day or two."
Her eyes widened slightly in surprise.
"We all worry for you, Scar," I said, my voice softening. "Because we all love you. Don't do this to yourself. Don't let one man's manipulations break you down."
That did it. A tear slipped down her cheek, tracing a glistening path to her jaw. Before it could fall, I walked across the table and pulled her into my arms. She buried her face in my chest, sobbing quietly as I stroked her back in slow, reassuring circles. Her tears soaked into my shirt, but I didn't care. I just held her and let her cry until her breathing steadied again.
After what felt like an eternity, she finally spoke, her voice hoarse. "Darren is the one I didn't want you to meet on set. He never misses a chance to comment about you or our relationship. I think he's jealous of you or something. I won't work with him again once this film is done."
"I'm so sorry, Scar," I whispered against her hair. "Is this because I bought the film for you?"
"It's not your fault," she said immediately, pulling back just enough to meet my eyes. "I agreed to it. I wanted this. Sometimes I just feel… inadequate. Whether it's singing, dancing, or acting, you always seem to excel at everything. With this role, I wanted to prove to you, to everyone, that I could do something extraordinary too. I wanted to show you that I can be more than just your girlfriend."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. "Well, it would look worse for me if you remained 'just my girlfriend' forever. You'd be 'just my wife' instead," I said, unable to resist.
She froze, staring at me blankly.
I realized my mistake instantly. "Sorry," I said quickly, raising my hands in surrender. "That wasn't a proposal. I just meant… someday, when we're both ready for the next step, I'll propose properly. Is that okay? Or is it too soon to even think about that?"
She snorted through her tears before headbutting my chest gently.
"Who drops something like that in the middle of a serious conversation?" she asked exasperatedly. "God, what kind of dummy have I fallen for?"
I shrugged. "The hottest one."
We both chuckled at that before I pressed a quick kiss to her lips.
"I love you," I said firmly. "But you need to stop comparing our careers. If you go down that route, sooner or later, it'll turn into resentment."
"I don't resent your success," she protested.
"I didn't say you do. But one day you might," I countered. "I'll never ask you not to work, God knows I love what I do, and sitting idle isn't an option for me. But if your work is stressing you out this much, maybe you should take a break for a year or two once this film wraps. You don't even have to do [Iron Man 2]."
She thought about it for a moment before nodding. "Alright, I'll think about it. But I really need to practice right now."
I gave her a mild glare. "No, you're not. Remember what you told me when I was working on [Avatar]? I don't bring work home, so you're not allowed to do it either."
"But Troy—"
That was as far as she got before I scooped her up in my arms and slung her over my shoulder like a caveman.
She let out a startled yelp, but I paid it no mind.
"Only one butt will be talked about tonight," I said, giving her a playful smack on her ass. "I feel like we haven't done it in ages."
She seemed doubtful for a moment, until my hand slid up her thigh, brushing teasingly close to her most sensitive spot. Her breath hitched in anticipation before I abruptly pulled my hand back.
"So… dance practice or me? What are you gonna do tonight?"
"You," she answered without hesitation.
I grinned, carrying her toward the bedroom with long, decisive strides. "Good choice."
(Break)
"I can't believe I'm having dinner with Troy Armitage of all people," Richard Summers said gleefully. "Do you, love?"
"Not at all," Patricia Summers replied politely. "You have a beautiful home, by the way."
"Thank you," I said, nodding genially as I gazed at the NYC skyline from my penthouse window.
There were so many things I wanted to say to the couple, starting with how much I despised them, but I kept my emotions in check. My entire plan hinged on self-control, and I couldn't afford to lose it now.
"I don't want to rush you, Troy," Richard said eagerly, "but can we talk about the pension fund you wanted me to manage for your employees? I've made some great investments in the past year, not as big as yours, of course, but with your busy schedule, I doubt you'll have the time to manage it yourself."
I smiled faintly, watching the desperate gleam in his eyes. Before inviting them, I had hired a team of investigators in London whose only task was to dig into Richard Summers and his hedge fund. What they found was exactly what I expected.
Due to my absence, the lives of the Summers duo had taken a different course from the original timeline, but that didn't mean they had changed. They were still crooks. Their investment scheme was, at its core, a Ponzi operation. At present, they were completely out of funds. In their desperation, Richard had contacted me, hoping I could help revive his fund, and perhaps repay the few investors who were already demanding their money back.
"Unfortunately, I've already handed control of those pension funds to Andrew Cohen," I said evenly. "He's been managing my money since I was a kid."
Richard's face tightened in displeasure, but before he could respond, Patricia jumped in. "But surely you'd want to diversify your risk," she reasoned smoothly. "Mr. Cohen might be capable, but he's still one man. It's always wiser to allocate funds across multiple managers and see who performs best."
I shook my head. "Andrew is very good at following instructions. I may not run the fund personally, but I give him a list of strategies and trades to execute, and I've never been disappointed with the results."
"I can do that as well," Richard promised quickly.
"To be honest, Richard, I don't trust you enough."
A tense silence fell across the table. I let it linger just long enough before playing the real card I had been holding back.
"There is something I can do," I said slowly, as if weighing my words. "I can share a few trades that I believe will pay off big in the near future. If you follow through and show me consistent returns on your exstisting portfolios, then maybe, I'll consider giving you my business next year."
Patricia started to speak, "But what—"
"I accept," Richard interrupted, his tone sharp and hungry. The glint of greed in his eyes was unmistakable.
I studied him for a long moment before continuing, "There's one condition. The information is sensitive, and I can't reveal my source."
Richard nodded immediately. "This meeting never happened. You didn't tell us anything at all."
The building's security was top-notch. Every visitor passed through a metal detector, and my team had already confiscated the Summers' phones at the entrance. There was no chance this conversation was being recorded. That is why I was confident in giving them the information I had planned.
"Alright then," I said. "The stock that will rule the markets in 2009 and beyond is General Motors. Invest as much as you can in it."
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Announcement: Some great news for you all! I have just released my second story, Swimmer to Superstar (Hollywood SI), here on Webnovel and on my website, Fablefic. Do check it out if you want to read a story set in the past. It will start in the year 1979, but will be set mostly in the '80s.