Chapter 22
I could feel the anger simmering beneath my skin, like a fire I couldn't put out. My hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles turned white, but it wasn't enough to release the rage building inside me.
I'd never felt anything like it before—this overwhelming, uncontrollable anger that made me want to tear something apart. And it was all because of her. Because of what I'd just seen, of what that bastard had done.
I'd always been good at controlling my temper. I'd had to be. In business, losing your cool meant losing control, and I'd learned early on that keeping a tight leash on my emotions was the key to success.
But with Megan… with her, I couldn't seem to hold it together. She had the ability to make me lose my mind, to make me forget all the rules I'd set for myself.
And right now, I was hanging by a thread.
I glanced over at her, sitting quietly in the passenger seat. She hadn't said much since we left the set. She was staring out the window, her hands folded in her lap, and I could tell something was on her mind.
Something she wasn't telling me.
I couldn't stand it. I didn't want her to hide things from me—not after what had just happened. Not after I'd stood up for her, declared to the world that she was mine.
I wanted to protect her, to make sure no one ever treated her like that again. But how could I do that if she wasn't being honest with me?
I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to speak. "Megan."
She didn't look at me right away, her eyes still focused on the passing buildings outside. I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she was holding herself so still, like she was trying not to crack.
"Megan," I said again, my voice harder this time. "Are you hiding something from me?"
Her eyes flicked toward me, wide and startled. For a moment, she didn't say anything, but I could see the hesitation in her gaze—the way her lips pressed together, like she was holding something back.
I didn't like it. My chest tightened with a frustration I couldn't shake. "Tell me."
She swallowed, turning away from me again. "It's nothing, Caleb."
I didn't believe her for a second. Something was wrong, and I wasn't going to let her brush it aside.
Not after what I'd seen on set. Not after the way she'd looked at that director like she was afraid of him.
"Megan," I said slowly, my voice low and controlled, though inside I was anything but calm. "If there's something you're not telling me, I need to know. I can't protect you if you don't tell me what's going on."
She was silent for a long moment, and I could feel the tension in the air thickening between us.
I didn't push her, but I didn't back down either. I just waited, my heart pounding, my fists clenched.
Finally, she let out a soft sigh. "Okay," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I'll tell you."
I kept my eyes on the road, but my focus was entirely on her. I could feel the weight of her words before she even spoke them, and I knew whatever she was about to say was going to make me even angrier than I already was.
She took a deep breath, her voice trembling slightly as she began. "It's about Mr. Rodriguez… He's been… harassing me."
I felt my grip on the steering wheel tighten, my pulse speeding up. "What do you mean, harassing you?"
She hesitated, and I could see her biting her lip, struggling to find the right words. "It started a while ago. Before we even met. I was supposed to meet with him that night at the hotel, the night I ended up meeting you instead. He'd been pressuring me for a long time, trying to get me to… do things… in exchange for better roles."
My blood ran cold. I could feel the rage boiling inside me, threatening to spill over. "What things?"
Her voice was quiet, almost ashamed. "He would touch me sometimes, make comments… And if I didn't go along with it, he'd punish me. He's the reason I've only been getting these minor roles. He's been holding me back."
That fucking bastard.
I could barely see straight. My vision blurred with red as the reality of what she was saying hit me. That piece of shit had been harassing her, manipulating her, treating her like she was some kind of object he could control.
I could feel the heat rising in my chest, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might explode.
"I see," I said through gritted teeth, my voice unnervingly calm despite the storm raging inside me.
I could feel my fingers digging into the steering wheel, but I didn't care. Outwardly, I might have looked composed, but inside, I was a damn volcano ready to erupt.
I wanted to destroy him. I wanted to find that bastard and make him pay for every single thing he'd done to her.
The idea that she'd had to deal with this for so long, that she'd had to suffer in silence, made me sick. I should have been there. I should have protected her.
Megan must have sensed the shift in me because she reached over and placed her hand on my arm, her touch soft and comforting, even though I was anything but calm.
"It's okay now," she said, her voice gentle. "You're here. He can't hurt me anymore."
I stared at her, my chest heaving with barely controlled fury. She was trying to reassure me, to calm me down, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to just sit here and let it go. That bastard had to pay.
I stopped at the side of the road, the tires of my car screeching to a halt. She looked at me, wide eyed.
"Caleb…" she called out. I didn't look at her as I squeezed the steering wheel and swerved back to the set.
"Caleb!" Megan yelled. I went from 60 to 120 in speed. We stopped outside the set, and I turned to her.
Without thinking, I leaned over and kissed her—hard. It wasn't gentle or sweet. It was raw, possessive, filled with all the emotion I couldn't express in words.
She gasped against my mouth, but she didn't pull away. Her hands tangled in my hair, and for a moment, the world disappeared.
But it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to ease the burning rage inside me.
I pulled back, my heart still racing, and without another word, I jumped out of the car.
"Caleb!" Megan shouted, scrambling to unbuckle her seatbelt and follow me. But I wasn't listening. I couldn't listen. All I could think about was getting back to that set and finding Mr. Rodriguez. I needed to end this.
Now.
I stormed across the lot, my mind a blur of fury and adrenaline. I could hear Megan running after me, her voice pleading with me to stop, but it was too late. I was already halfway to the set, and nothing was going to stop me.
The moment I saw him—standing there like he hadn't just ruined someone's life—I snapped.
I didn't even think. I just acted.
I lunged at him, my fist colliding with his face before he even had a chance to register what was happening. The sound of the impact echoed through the set, and Mr. Rodriguez stumbled back, clutching his nose as blood began to flow.
But I wasn't done.
I grabbed him by the collar, dragging him toward me, my voice low and dangerous. "You think you can treat her like that? You think you can get away with it?"
He didn't have time to answer before I slammed my fist into his gut. He doubled over, gasping for breath, but I didn't care. I didn't care about anything except making him feel the pain he'd caused her.
I kicked him, hard, right in his pot-bellied stomach. He crumpled to the ground, moaning in agony, but it wasn't enough.
I wanted to keep going. I wanted to make him suffer.
It took three men to pull me off him—three of the crew members, shouting and struggling to hold me back. But even as they dragged me away, I could still feel the rage burning in my chest, the need to hurt him, to make him pay.
"Caleb, stop!" Megan's voice broke through the haze, and I finally looked up to see her standing there, tears in her eyes, her hands pressed to her mouth. "Please, stop."
I stopped struggling, my breathing ragged as I forced myself to calm down. The men let go of me, and I stumbled forward, my chest heaving, my fists still clenched.
I turned to Megan, my heart breaking at the sight of her. She ran to me, throwing her arms around my neck, and I pulled her close, burying my face in her hair.
"It's going to be alright," I whispered, my voice hoarse. "I won't let anyone hurt you. Ever."
As I held her, the thought flashed through my mind—what if I hadn't met her that night at the hotel?
What if she'd gone through with that meeting with Mr. Rodriguez? What if she'd been forced to endure his disgusting advances?
The thought made me sick. I couldn't bear the idea of something so beautiful, so amazing being ruined by a pervert like him.
I held her tighter, the anger still simmering beneath the surface, but now it was mixed with something else—relief.
Relief that I'd found her.