Naomi didn’t cry immediately.

That, in itself, scared her more than the diagnosis.

She just sat there staring at the hospital blanket while her future quietly rearranged itself without asking permission.

MS.

The word echoed again and again inside her skull, refusing to settle into something real.

It explained things she had spent weeks trying to understand—
the numbness, the dizziness, the blackouts, the exhaustion that never fully left her body.

But understanding it didn’t make it easier.

It made it worse.

Because it also took something away.

Hollywood didn’t forgive weakness.

It worshipped women who looked untouched. Controlled. Perfect.

Not women who might collapse between takes.

Not actresses whose bodies could betray them at any moment.

Naomi knew what happened to those women.

They disappeared quietly from casting lists.

Replaced without explanation.

The doctor continued speaking—treatment plans, medication, stress management, lifestyle adjustments.

Stress management.

Naomi almost laughed at that.

As if stress was something she could schedule away.

As if she wasn’t currently trending online as a possible murderer.

When the doctor finally left, the silence that followed felt heavier than anything he had said.

Elias spoke first.

“Hey.”

Naomi didn’t look at him.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t look at me like I’m about to fucking break.”

His jaw tightened slightly.

“You just got life-changing medical news. You’re allowed to react.”

“I don’t have time to react.”

She stood too quickly.

The dizziness hit immediately.

Her body betrayed her again before she even fully registered it.

Elias caught her before she fell.

His hands steadied her at the waist.

Warm. Firm. Real.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Naomi became sharply aware of everything at once—his grip, his breathing, the exhaustion sitting in both of them like weight, and the strange fact that despite everything falling apart around her, Elias still looked at her like she was a person.

Not a headline.

Not a scandal.

That realization hurt more than it should have.

She stepped back quickly.

“Sorry.”

Elias studied her.

“Why do you apologize every time someone helps you?”

The question landed too close to something she didn’t want to name.

Because in Hollywood, needing help made you difficult.

Replaceable.

Costly.

Before she could answer, her phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

Again.

She opened it.

A new message appeared.

Damien talked before he disappeared.

Another followed immediately.

And now they think you did too.

Naomi’s blood went cold.

Then a third message arrived.

Leave Los Angeles before they clean this up.

Elias saw everything over her shoulder.

He didn’t speak immediately.

Neither of them did.

Because suddenly it was clear to both of them—

this wasn’t just about Damien anymore.

Not just a scandal.

Something bigger had already been set in motion.

And whatever Naomi had stepped into without realizing—

people were willing to erase lives to keep it buried.

Outside the hospital window, paparazzi cameras flashed violently.

Waiting.

Watching.

Like vultures circling something that wasn’t fully dead yet.