“It's not pity!” My voice rises, frustration and hurt warring within me, threatening to spill over. “I care about you! I don't want to see you lose everything because of some stupid contract! I'm willing to risk my entire career telling Elliott we're leaving?—”
“Risk your career?” Finn scoffs, the sound harsh and dismissive, missing the weight of my words entirely. The casual cruelty of it steals my breath. “What does that mean? You lose a role. You get another one. They make another movie. It's not real. Losing the lodge ... losing my home ... that's real. Don't compare your Hollywood drama to what's at stake here.”
His words land like stones thrown at glass. My career, my world, everything I've fought for—dismissed as drama. Not real. The life I've built, the sacrifices I've made, the battles I've won and lost—none of it matters to him. I'm some actress playing dress-up in his real world. The pain is so sharp I can barely breathe.
He doesn't understand me at all. After everything, afterlast night, I'm still Lena Kensington to him. A Hollywood fantasy. Not Mags. Never Mags.
“Then let me handle it my way,” he says, his voice cold as he turns back to the immediate problem. “Stay out of it. Play your part for Elliott's cameras for a few more days. Let me earn the money I need to save my home. Don't make this harder than it is.”
Play your part.The final hit. That's all I am to him—a performance. His words land like blows, each one driving deeper into the hollow space where my heart used to be. He's shutting me out, pushing me away, treating what happened between us like another problem to manage, a complication to his real worries. The vulnerability he’s shown me has vanished, replaced by that impenetrable wall of pride and misunderstanding.
The hurt crystallizes into something harder, colder. If that's what he wants—if I'm a Hollywood problem to be managed—then fine.
“Fine,” I say, my voice brittle, ice forming around the edges of the hurt, protecting what's left of me. “If that's what you want. Handle it yourself.”
I turn away, blinking back sudden, furious tears, and walk toward the main camp. My steps stay measured, controlled. The spectacular beauty of Painted Peaks stretches in every direction—mocking, cold, indifferent. He threw my help back in my face. Chose his pride over trust. Over us. Over even trying to understand what I was offering.
The crew is setting up the tents in the meadow. I see the small, two-person tent Finn and I had been sharing. Ignoring it, I walk directly to where Carlos is laying out his gear near the tent he previously shared with Dave.Fine.He wants to handle it himself. He wants to pretend last night meant nothing more than shared body heat. Two can play at being cold and practical.
“Carlos,” I say, my voice deliberately loud, carrying across the suddenly quiet meadow. Several heads snap our way.
“Yeah, Lena?” He raises his head, surprised.
“Finn will take Dave's spot in this tent tonight,” I state, channeling every ice-queen role I've ever played to keep my expression unreadable, to remove the tremor from my voice. “Looks like you've got a roommate.”
Carlos shifts uneasily, glancing toward Finn as he approaches, then back to the tent. “Uh, no problem,” he says, studiously avoiding my face. He gestures toward the entrance. “Dave’s space was on the left.”
Finn nods curtly, drops his gear near the tent entrance, and walks away without a word.
“Good.” I walk to the tent Finn and I had been sharing, duck inside, and emerge moments later carrying his sleeping bag and pack. I stride over to the tent Carlos will now share with Finn and drop Finn's gear near the flap.
A collective gasp ripples through the watching crew members, followed by dead silence. I turn to face Finn, who has stopped a few yards away, watching me, his expression unreadable but tight. The rest of the crew stares, silent and wide-eyed.
“There,” I say, my voice clear and cold, projecting across the silence of the meadow. “You can handle things yourself. You won’t need my‘medical monitoring’tonight.”
The words hang there—too specific, too revealing—and I realize, too late, that no one else knew.
But I don’t stop to explain.
I turn on my heel and head for the tent originally assigned to us—my tent now. I duck inside and zip the flap closed with a rasp that feels final. Outside, the meadow is silent. Inside, the ache in my chest echoes loud enough to drown everything else.
Perhaps he was right. Perhaps our worlds are too different.
Chapter Twenty-Two
FINN
The raspof the zipper closing Lena's tent echoes across the silent meadow. It feels like a door slamming shut, not on the tent, but on … something else. Something I hadn't realized I valued until the thought of losing it hit me, cold and hard. I stand there, rooted to the spot, watching as she disappears inside. She's dropped my gear at Carlos's feet like it's trash.There. You can handle things yourself.Her voice, brittle with ice I hadn't known she possessed, rings in my ears.
The crew gapes. Marco fiddles with his microphone. Even Elliott looks momentarily stunned, his mouth slightly open. Carlos blinks, clearly thrown, his attention shifting between me, the gear at his feet, and the tent Lena disappeared into.
“She’s exaggerating,” I say, voice low but firm. “Took a fall on the way back through the pass. Ribs are bruised. Cut my arm. Nothing major.”
A few eyes shift away like they’ve been caught staring. I bend to grab the gear, ignoring the way it pulls at my side.
A collective gasp had rippled through them when she dropped my stuff—a sound that scraped raw against my frayed nerves. Humiliation burns hot at the back of my neck. Shedidn’t only reject my decision, she publicly evicted me. In front of everyone. After everything … after the cave…
My first instinct is pure, wounded pride. Anger flares, hot and quick. How dare she? After I pushed myself half-dead up Raven's Spine to get back to her? After I opened up about the lodge, about my fears? But the anger gutters as it flares, doused by a cold wave of realization. She's right. I pushed her away. I threw her offer back in her face, dismissing her. I let my fear and pride speak louder than sense, louder than the connection that had felt so real hours before. I told her to handle it herself, and now she is. Starting with me.
