“Sure. But not yet. First, we do something ridiculous and stupidly romantic. Like go to her flat, throw pebbles at the window, quote poetry, fake our own deaths… maybe kidnap her.”
My head jerks up. “What?”
“Just saying. Stockholm syndrome worked forBeauty and the Beast.”
“You’re deranged.”
“Only on weekends.” He drops onto a stool beside me, suddenly serious. “Jake… I saw the pictures. I read the comments. This world doesn’t deserve her.”
My chest caves in again. “No. But I do even less.”
Will nods. “You do. But only if you stop hiding behind PR and actually prove it.”
I whisper, “I’d do anything. Burn it all down if I had to.”
He studies me. “Even if it means losing everything else?”
I meet his eyes. “There’s nothing else worth keeping if I lose her.”
Will’s expression shifts, his usual smirk replaced with something quieter.
“You mean that?”
I nod. “With everything I’ve got.”
He exhalesand moves toward the balcony, staring out at the city—cold and uncaring.
I sit with it and let it settle into my bones.
This isn’t about headlines anymore or saving face.
This is about Amy.
And the truth I finally understand: The films, the fame, the noise—none of it means shit without her.
Will turns back to me slowly, his voice lower now. “Good.”
“Good, what?”
“Good. It means you’re ready.”
“For what?”
He’s already halfway to the door. “To let me start the fire.”
I blink. “What does that mean?”
He glances over his shoulder with a cocky smirk. “It means I’ll be right back.”
“Will—”
“Relax. No arson. Not the illegal kind anyway.”
And just like that, he disappears.
I stare at the closed door for a long beat.
Then I realize… he meant it.
