Lola blinked twice, her heart racing as she gazed at the two distinct red lines on the pregnancy test. "I am pregnant," she whispered to herself, the weight of her words hanging in the air, heavy like a storm cloud overhead. For three long years since she had exchanged vows, the yearning for a child had stirred deep within her, only to remain unfulfilled. In the silence of this moment, a fear tugged at her - the fear of never becoming a mother, and she had braced herself for the possibility of barrenness. But now, those red lines ignited a flicker of hope within her, a fragile flame she had almost abandoned. She couldn't help but imagine how Mony would react if he knew; his excitement would be boundless, overflowing with joy, just as her heart dared to begin feeling.
Suddenly, a loud knock on the restroom door shattered the solitude of her contemplation. A voice, demanding yet familiar, echoed within, "Lola, are you done changing?"
With a jolt, Lola tucked the pregnancy test into a small bag, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest. Calming herself, she responded, "Oh, almost done," trying to mask the whirlwind of emotions rising within her.
Moments later, she stepped out of the restroom, her long brown hair damp from her hurried wash, strands clinging to her cheeks like confused thoughts.
"Is everything alright? You were in the bathroom for quite a while," Jenny asked, concern etched across her face. A close friend and steadfast manager, Jenny had a keen intuition and could sense when something was amiss. Thirty minutes had stretched into eternity, and everyone else was growing impatient.
"Yes," Lola replied, pushing her emotions aside, determined to keep her secret safe.
As she moved ahead of Jenny, the air around her thick with unspoken words, Jenny informed her, "They've made some adjustments to the script."
Lola felt a familiar weariness wash over her. "What changes?" she sighed, knowing that this wasn't the first time she had encountered hastily made revisions. This was the fifteenth alteration since she had received the script, and she couldn't help but wonder if anyone in charge ever truly had a clear vision.
"I've highlighted them for you," Jenny replied, pointing to the marked sections in the script. Lola halted, her gaze fixed on the page, realizing she hadn't the strength to engage in yet another round of changes. Sighing deeply, she handed the script back to Jenny, feeling an odd sense of detachment from the scene that lay before her.
As she emerged from the sanctuary of the restroom, the harsh rays of sunlight flooded her senses, stinging her eyes. She instinctively raised a hand to shield herself from the brightness, momentarily losing herself in the golden glow until Jenny, ever thoughtful, opened an umbrella to shield her from the sun's fierce embrace.
"Lola, you need to take your position now. We can't afford any more delays," Jenny urged with gentle authority.
"Okay," Lola replied, surrendering her bag to Jenny before claiming her seat—a throne-like chair set aside just for her within the bustling chaos of the set. Directly across from her sat her co-actress, Stella, who flashed a smile that felt oddly out of place in that moment. 'Why is she smiling at me?' Lola mused, more confused than comforted.
Stella raised her hand, a spark of excitement in her eyes. "Director, can we stand to perform the scene? I believe it will leave a lasting impact on our audience."
Lola felt a flutter of discomfort knot in her stomach. Knowing Stella's history, this was unexpected. Stella had always shunned any notion of deviating from the script, preferring to maintain her status as the favored princess of the stage.
"What do you think, Lola?" the director's voice cut through her thoughts, putting her on the spot.
Feeling the weight of their collective gaze swirling around her, Lola reluctantly agreed, although unease settled within her like a low mist.
"1…2…3…Action!"
"How much money do you want for you to leave my husband alone?" Stella's line reverberated through the air as a splash of water arced through space, drenching Lola's clothes, followed swiftly by a resounding slap that echoed like a clap of thunder against her skin.
"Director, that wasn't in the script!" Jenny exclaimed, her voice rising in protest as she pointed at the chaotic scene unfolding before them.
"I'm sorry; I was trying to improvise," Stella replied with an apologetic glance, "but I believe the slap will resonate deeply with the viewers. I hope you don't mind."
With a cautious demeanor, Jenny draped her arm around Lola's shoulders, guiding her toward the dressing room, where they could regroup.
Once there, Lola slipped into her costume, but the sting from Stella's unwarranted slap lingered. A crew member approached her with an ice pack, placing it gently against the reddened mark on her cheek.
"I can't shake the feeling she did that on purpose," Jenny scoffed bitterly. "This so-called improvisation of hers is ridiculous."
"Hush now, Jenny . Just let it go," lola murmured, squeezing her hand to comfort her, though Lola could sense a simmering tension beneath the surface.
"Why do you waste your kindness on people who don't deserve it?" A man in a black suit said, stepping forward.
Both women turned to face him, recognition washing over Lola's features as a smile broke through her earlier frustration.
"Mony," she exclaimed, her heart racing at the sight of him.
"I'll leave you both to it," Jenny said, sensing the electric charge that filled the room, before slipping out and closing the door behind her.
Lola stood up, the ice pack forgotten in her hand. "What brings you here?"
Mony stepped closer, wrapping his arms around her waist, his touch a balm to her frayed nerves. "I came to see my beautiful wife," he said with a playful grin, his fingers brushing lightly against her cheek. "Does it hurt?"
"It stings a little, but when I see you, the pain seems to fade into the background."
Mony chuckled, yet something in his expression shifted suddenly, becoming serious. "Should I handle this for you?"
"Handle how?" Lola asked, trying to tease him, but a flicker of curiosity danced in her eyes.
"Kill her."
Lola's breath caught in her throat, stunned by the intensity of his response. She had expected him to suggest removing Stella from the production, a thought that had crossed her mind, of course, but to hear him say something so drastic—something she never would have anticipated—was jarring.
"What?" she replied, disbelief coloring her voice.
"I'm joking," Mony said, amusement returning to his face as he pulled away, his hands resting comfortably around her waist.
Lola shook her head, laughter bubbling up despite the tension. "You scared me for a second there."
"Seriously though," Mony continued, his tone taking on a more earnest note,
"I have something very important to tell you tonight."
"What is it, Lola?"
"Just make sure you come home early tonight. It's incredibly important."
"Can't you tell me now?"
Lola's eyes narrowed, knowing all too well how much Mony hated secrets. The allure of her words had his pulse quickening, a mixture of excitement and trepidation as he waited for the answer, knowing that whatever revelation she held could very well change everything for the both of them.
Jenny knocked gently on the door, her voice breaking the stillness as she said, "Forgive me for intruding, but lola, the director, urgently needs to speak with you both."
"I'll explain everything later," she replied, her eyes lingering on Mony as he reluctantly released her from his grip.
Watching her walk away from the dressing room, Mony's expression shifted from one of warmth to something colder, more calculated. He reached for his phone, his fingers flying over the screen as tension filled the air.
"Have you managed to uncover the truth?" he inquired, his tone clipped.
"Yes, I have," came the affirmative response, tinged with anxiety.
"Excellent," Mony replied, a sinister satisfaction creeping into his voice. "Prepare for the operation tomorrow. Inform the rest of the team to be on high alert."
Meanwhile, Lola sat across from the director in the confines of his office, the atmosphere thick with unspoken words. He was silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the floor before he lifted his head, meeting Lola's eyes with a somber expression. "I must extend my apologies on behalf of Stella," he said softly.
"It's not your fault," Lola reassured him, the weight of the day's events pressing heavily upon her shoulders. "There's no need for apologies."
The director nodded, relief flooding his features, but it was fleeting. "That's good to hear. Might I ask you to put in a good word for me with your husband?"
In that moment, realization dawned on Lola. The apology was less about remorse and more about ingratiating oneself with Mony, who wielded significant influence over many enterprises, including this very entertainment company. "I'll see what I can do," she replied cautiously.
Returning to the dressing room, an unsettling quiet welcomed her—and Mony was nowhere to be found. Lola's heart sank; she assumed he had to attend to some pressing business.
After a grueling day of filming filled with the usual chaos and laughter, Lola returned home, her arms laden with groceries. She poured her energy into crafting an elaborate feast, hoping that the warmth of home-cooked food would draw him back to her. Yet, as the evening wore on and the table lay set, anticipation turned to apprehension when Mony failed to arrive.
Her heart raced as she texted him, her fingers brushing against the screen with hope. But there was only silence in return.
She dialed his number, and her anxiety deepened as the call went straight to voicemail. A gnawing worry settled in her stomach; something felt profoundly off.
Just then, a beep echoed from her phone, jolting her back to the moment. She snatched it up, her heart racing, praying it was Mony. Instead, a text from an unknown number flashed across the screen: "Do you wish to uncover the whereabouts of your husband? Meet me at his office tomorrow, and all will be revealed."
Chills raced down Lola's spine as uncertainty enveloped her. A complex web of deceit loomed before her, and she stood at the precipice, caught between love and an understanding that her world might never be the same again.