Page 69 of Beyond the Bright Lights

Torture interrupted by a knock at my door. Mylan pauses, mouth still claiming a nipple.

“Mylan,” I manage to say through the lust paralyzing my body. “I know you heard the knock.”

We can’t ignore the next one because it sounds like a SWAT team is on the other side getting ready to bust down my door.

“You two better not be fucking in there because we don’t have time for that shit,” Eloise says, her voice muffled.

Mylan growls at the same time I laugh.

“I’m going to fire her.”

“You better not.” I check my shirt to make sure Mylan’s wet mark can’t be seen. Thankfully, the blouse I chose to wear is dark enough. I offer my hand to Mylan. “Come on. We can finish this later.”

Mylan begrudgingly takes my hand, and we leave.

Over the past week, Silo Springs High School had been transformed into a movie set. White box trucks line the horseshoe driveway at the front. Police and security teams are in place, ready to intercept any fan or media person who may try to sneak on set. There's already a decent crowd of them gathered when we arrive.

Mylan takes time to greet his fans, sign his autograph on a variety of items, and take pictures with every single one of them. They even wanted me to sign things and take selfies.

The pit stop with the fans made us slightly late to set.

Once inside the school, Mylan holds my hand tightly as we weave through busy crew members, some wearing headsets, others wearing gear that I couldn’t begin to explain what it’s used for. The hallways are also packed with equipment: carts, dollies, tall lights on tripods, a camera on a track so it can roll along with a moving target.

It's all too much to take in, both exciting and terrifying. Terrifying because this movie about my dead fiancé—about me—is really happening.

We reach a holding area located at the end of the hallway before the entrance to the locker room. I spot more of the crew standing and talking, pointing down at a small stack of white papers. Next to them is another group, clearly part of the cast. They're all too beautiful to be otherwise. Not that there aren’t any handsome and gorgeous crew members. But the big-breasted woman standing beside Jensen Boliver, the asshole director of the movie, has an air about her that says model-turned actress.

The moment she spots us approaching, her face lights up.

“Mylan Andrews, alive and in the flesh. I can’t believe it.”

Mylan narrows his eyes at her before turning to me. “Lana, this is Michelle Miller. She’s playing you.”

Michelle’s judging gaze flickers to me. “A way younger you,” she clarifies and scans my body, up and down. She smirks, and it’s not a nice smirk. “You certainly changed, haven’t you?”

“What the fuck does that mean, Chelle?” Mylan asks through clenched teeth. His grip on my hand tightens.

Before Mylan can crush my hand, or blow a gasket based on how red his face is turning, I laugh. Mylan’s tense shoulders relax but barely.

I laughed, but I’m not about to let this woman get away with her fatphobia and ageism.

“Time’s a bitch and you’ll realize that one day. Unless you fix your aging with a doctor and a vial of poison. Even then, no one but you can change the ugly you store inside that fit body. Take some advice, stop caring about what the world thinks about you and live how you want to live, eat what you want to eat. You’ll be much happier, I promise.”

It’s wild how much Michelle Miller looks like college me. Typical cheerleader type, skinny but muscular.

“Oh, um, yeah, well . . .” Michelle struggles to compose a comeback, choking on her words. “I just meant you’re all tattooed with red hair now.”

“Sure, sweetie.”

I turn to Mylan, who looks like he’s about to die with how hard he’s trying to hide his amusement. He squeezes my hand.

My eyes find Jensen next, who’s been silent since we walked up.

“Lana.” He acknowledges me, then glares at mine and Mylan’s embraced hands. “So glad you could join us on set today.”

His words are forced. He’s not glad at all.

Mylan stares at his former friend with all the hatred the world could offer. Jensen must not see it, or maybe he doesn’t care. He lifts his chin and wags his finger at Michelle and Mylan.

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