Rafael had been planning this moment for months. The kiss—the kiss—wasn't just another scene for him. It was a turning point, a climax that had simmered beneath the surface for longer than he cared to admit. He couldn't deny the electricity that sparked every time Cherry walked onto the set, but this kiss wasn't about passion, it was about power. How could he let her think he was just another puppet in her hands?
"How was he going to give her that kiss in her right senses?" he thought to himself, shaking his head slightly. No, Cherry wasn't going to get drunk or lose control. That wasn't her style. She was sharp, calculating. She wasn't going to let his lips near hers unless it was all part of the script.
"There's no way she's going to let me touch her unless it's all staged," Rafael muttered under his breath. His desperation was barely concealed now. But it wasn't about wanting Cherry, not really. He was desperate for something far more valuable: control.
