The Stand-In

“No,” Knox said flatly. “And don’t ask me to use her again.”

The words carried across the soundstage with a finality that made several crew members freeze mid-movement.

Vivienne stood up.

Heads turned. Some crew members looked wary, until they caught sight of Reid and Felix flanking her like silent shadows.

She walked straight to Knox, eyes bright with exasperation and something else.

“Knox,” she hissed under her breath. “You have to kiss her. She’s your love interest. You can’t just say no and walk off.”

He raised a brow. “Actually, I can. I have a clause in my contract. Any intimate scene—including kissing—I can opt to use a double.”

Her jaw dropped. “You wrote that into your contract?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t used to. But things change.”

She stared at him. “But I love your romantic scenes. You have to at least kiss the actress playing your lover. That’s not a big ask.”

He looked her up and down, that maddening glint in his eye returning.

“Nope,” he said. “Only you, sweetheart.”

And then he kissed her.

Quick. Cocky. Infuriatingly soft.

She blinked, caught off guard.

The director’s voice cut through the tension. “Wait—this could be perfect.”

He stepped forward, eyes wide. “You’re practically the same height. Same build. Same energy. Would you mind?” he asked, desperate now. “We’ll put you in a wig, light makeup. We won’t even show your face. It’s just for this angle.”

Vivienne blinked, then looked at Knox.

He smirked.

And her heart started racing.

Before she could even respond, she was swept away by a flurry of assistants barking orders. One tugged her toward wardrobe, another was already calling for makeup. A wig cap was secured over her hair before she could protest, followed by a silky honey-blonde wig, just like the actress's. Foundation, contour, a subtle smoky eye, a dab of gloss.

Then came the heels, too tall, definitely not her style, and the silky robe that slid over her shoulders with more confidence than she felt.

The actress, now off to the side and watching with disinterest, barely blinked as she barked orders to her own team. Vivienne felt like a very glamorous imposter.

She shuffled back toward Knox’s dressing room, trying not to fall over her own feet in the heels, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

Before she could open the door, Knox was there.

He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her flush against him, heat radiating from his body as his palm slid to the small of her back.

“You look good,” he said, voice low and wicked.

Then he turned to the crew. “We’re going in ten seconds!” he shouted. “One take. That’s all you get. Then we’re out of here.”

Vivienne barely had time to process the weight of his arm around her before he was leading her toward the set, his pace unrelenting, his smile all fire.

Once they were in position, Knox leaned in and murmured, "You only need to stand there. Just take a few steps back when I move in. That’s it."

The set quieted. The air shifted. The director called, "Action."

Vivienne’s pulse thundered in her ears.

Knox moved toward her.

Exactly as he had before. Slow. Intentional. Controlled. He backed her up step by step until her spine met the cold, flat wall of the set.

Was this how close he'd gotten to the actress before? Had his knee pressed between her legs like it was now?

He whispered his line, breath brushing her lips despite the immovable layer of lipstick: "Tell me to stop."

His eyes met hers—burning. Focused. Unblinking. Her breath hitched.

Was he this close before?

A shudder tore through her, but she didn’t break. Couldn’t. Not when his hand slid up and cupped her jaw, his thumb grazing just beneath her cheekbone.

And then, he kissed her.

Slow at first. Reverent. But then it deepened. His mouth moved over hers like he’d waited all day for it. Like he didn’t care who was watching. His fingers sank into her waist, anchoring her as his lips claimed her completely.

The kiss was cinematic, intense, stunning. Like heat caught in starlight.

She could still hear the faint shuffle of cameras, an instruction somewhere near the director’s monitor, but all of it faded. All she could feel was Knox, and the way his body curved perfectly against hers.

But he didn’t stop there.

His mouth slanted over hers again, hungrier now. His hand slid from her waist to the back of her neck, angling her just how he wanted. His knee pressed further between her legs, anchoring her against the wall. His tongue teased the seam of her lips before he deepened the kiss, stealing her breath entirely.

It was no longer just a scene. It was heat and tension and something feral just beneath the surface. Vivienne gripped his shirt, nails curling into the fabric as she tried to stay upright.

She was dizzy. Breathless. Weak at the knees.

And then—

“Line, Knox,” someone called gently from behind the camera. “Say your line and then pull back.”

Then, reluctantly, he exhaled against her mouth and murmured, "You should've asked me to stop."

He stepped back.

“Cut!” someone else shouted immediately, a bit too loud and way too flustered.

The set burst into quiet murmurs. The director cleared his throat, voice cracking as he tried to refocus the room.

“Right... okay,” he said. “We need Anna to replicate that with the double.”

A younger guy, vaguely Knox’s build, raised his hand with visible hesitation. “Uh... wait, you want me to—?”

Knox, already peeling the mic from his collar, didn’t even look at him. “My scenes are done for the day, right?”

The director blinked, still a little stunned. “Y-yeah. That’s—uh—yeah. You’re good.”