All Chapters of The Actor's Contract: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

Date = 26 JuneI let her sleep, watching.Place = San Francisco (Black Pit)I don’t want to be here.POV - EnriqueWARNING – Sex scene!!!I stare through the window. It’s a picturesque view … breathtaking, brooding, and undeniably bold.But the shadows on the walls still whispered of what had happened in this house.I force myself to look at the building edged on the horizon.The stables.It haunts me like a wounded beast under the dim first rays of the rising sun.I don’t want to be here. Aria stirs and moans softly. I turn around to look at her, desperately trying to cut through the uncomfortable tension hanging in the air. She stretches comfortably, and her eyes slowly open. A soft smile on her lips. Her hair a curly mess.“Aria, we need to talk,” I say softly. I’ve been waiting for her to wake up. Why this girl can make me suffer from a chronic tummy ache, for one, I’m not sure … but I have an idea.I want to explain. I want her to understand. That I did what I did because I … eh

Date = 30 JunePlace = San Francisco (Inferno)POV - EnriqueAt the door, Tina almost runs into one of my bouncers.“Eh, Boss, you’ve got a … kid,” he says.“A what?” I’m not ready to be a fake daddy to another scam.The bouncer tilts his head. A small figure stands behind him, arms crossed, chin up like she owns the joint — or is about to burn it down.She can’t be more than nine. But she has the posture of someone who can do ollies and kickturns, and probably stashes a switchblade. Denim jacket over a black hoodie with some demon-looking cartoon character on the front. Beanie jammed onto a head with long golden hair. A band-aid on one cheek. With one hand, she clenches a skateboard against her tiny frame, and the other holds onto the strap of her oversized backpack that’s casually slung over one puny shoulder.I blink.What the fuck is a kid doing in my club? I can lose my license.She moves past the bouncer’s legs, shaking her head while she mumbles. “Good help is so hard to find t

Date = 1 JulyPlace = San Francisco (Damion’s house)POV - AriaAs my tongue eventually detaches from the back of my mouth, I manage to ask in an unsteady voice, “Eh … so … where’s the little angel?”I need something to distract my focus from the manly specimen now standing next to me. Inches away. While pretending his look of intense longing directed at my mouth doesn’t affect me one bit. Bloody hell, he makes things hard.And speaking of hard things … my eyes dart to his swollen crotch. At least he’s also feeling the heat in some way.“Angel?” he snorts out a chuckle. “I’m not sure that word suits our little runaway. She definitely shares Lee’s DNA. For a moment, I even assumed she could very well be my twin’s offspring.”Just the thought of Jackson reproducing pin-wheels my brain, and I lose my chain of thought. I look at Charlotte to help a girl out, but she just lifts her shoulders and pouts.“That’s stupid,” she tweets, “To have a baby, you need love, marriage, respect, and cons

Date = 1 JulyIn just a day, the little hooligan changed my view of life.Place = San Francisco (Damion’s house)The only place I could think of going.POV - EnriqueSteam billows out of the shower like smoke from a fire, curling around my feet as I sit on the bed, arms crossed, jaw tight. The walls of the house groan under the wind outside, but it was nothing compared to the storm I feel building inside me.My stupid, crazy twin is back. Finally. Filthy, hollow-eyed, a ghost in tattered denim and dried blood. He hasn’t spoken much — just grunted something about a hot shower before disappearing into the bathroom like a man walking into war. Again.I let him.For now.I know, from years of experience living under the same roof, not to poke. Poking almost always leads to a fight.And getting into a one-on-one with my brother when he’s like this is definitely not on my to-do list for the day. No, I have more elaborate plans scheduled, plans that involve Aria, me, no clothes, and a box of

Date = 1 JulyPlace = San Francisco (Damion’s house)POV - Aria“I need you naked,” Enrique says, so straightforwardly it feels like an order and a confession in one breath.We stumble into the bedroom, half out of breath, my shirt on the floor, before the lightning cracks again. Thunder rolls in after, deep and hungry.It feels like slipping into another dimension — one where breath and skin and longing blur into something weightless. The air smells like rain and electricity, like something about to break. The storm outside is a distant hum, barely audible under the pulse of moans and gasps that fills the room like static.Time doesn’t stop, but it bends. Warps.It stretches thin until it feels like we’re floating somewhere between lightning strikes, caught in the space before the next crash.Until the moment shatters, soft and final, and the world slowly returns to normal — the sting of air on sweat-damp skin, the thrum of blood in my ears, the ache of wanting something he still can