CHAPTER 154: SAY SORRY

"Ready—" the assistant director called out. "And... action!"

The set fell silent as Anna slipped effortlessly into character, her posture calm, her steps measured, the embodiment of poise and quiet confidence. But beneath the surface, a faint unease stirred in her chest, the kind of instinctive warning she had learned never to ignore.

Across from her, Fiona’s smile widened — that perfect, saccharine curve of her lips that didn’t reach her eyes.

The scene began smoothly.

Anna walked into the light, her every movement graceful and fluid. Ethan followed, his voice steady and warm, effortlessly drawing attention with his natural charm.

Everything looked seamless — almost too seamless.

Fiona’s turn came next. Her lines were flawless, her expression perfect for the camera, but there was something in the way her eyes tracked Anna — a quiet, calculating glint that didn’t belong in the scene.

The script called for a brief moment — Fiona brushing past Anna with a feigned stumble, leading to a short exchange before the cut.

But Fiona had other plans.

As Anna reached her mark, Fiona shifted her weight, her hand brushing the edge of a narrow prop stand placed dangerously close behind Anna. A single push — subtle enough to look accidental — was all it would take to send it crashing toward her.

Only, Fiona wasn’t the only one paying attention.

Anna had seen the faint movement of Fiona’s hand — the deliberate tilt of her wrist.

And she was ready.

The instant the stand wobbled, Anna pivoted sharply, her fingers brushing the base and sending it tipping the opposite way — straight back toward Fiona.

The heavy prop teetered for a split second before crashing down beside her. Fiona stumbled with a startled gasp, losing her balance and landing hard on the floor.

A sharp cry escaped her lips, echoing through the stunned silence of the set.

"Cut!" Wilsmith’s voice boomed, and the crew rushed forward in alarm.

"Are you alright, Fiona?" one of the assistants asked, helping her up.

Fiona winced, clutching her wrist, her face twisting in a mix of pain and disbelief — though it was her pride, not her body, that hurt the most.

Her teary eyes darted toward Anna, and in an instant, her expression shifted. The pain on her face deepening, perfectly calculated.

"Anna... why would you do that?" she asked, her voice trembling just enough to sound believable.

The room went still. Crew members exchanged uncertain glances.

Anna blinked, momentarily speechless not from guilt, but from sheer amazement at Fiona’s audacity.

"Me?" she repeated, pointing at herself, one eyebrow arching in disbelief.

"Yes, you!" Fiona raised her voice, tears brimming in her eyes as she continued the act. "I just saw you push that stand toward me!"

A hush fell over the set. Even Ethan looked taken aback by the sudden accusation.

Fiona sniffled, letting her voice waver dramatically as she stood up, one hand still pressed against her wrist. "Anna, I know you don’t like me interfering in your life... but you could’ve just told me that! You didn’t have to hurt me like this!"

Anna stared at her, momentarily silent, as the rest of the crew watched the unfolding drama with bated breath.

The look in Fiona’s eyes screamed triumph — she thought she’d turned the tables again. She thought playing the victim would save her.

But then Anna smiled.

It wasn’t warm. It wasn’t forgiving. It was calm, sharp, and disarmingly controlled.

"Fiona," she began softly, her tone even. "If I had really pushed that stand toward you..." she paused, tilting her head slightly, "then you’d be in the hospital by now — not standing here crying for attention."

The quiet confidence in her voice hit harder than any denial could have.

A murmur rippled through the crew, subtle but noticeable. Ethan folded his arms, his expression hardening — now certain of what had really happened.

Fiona’s fake tears faltered. Her lips trembled, but no words came out.

Anna took a small step closer, lowering her voice so only Fiona could hear. "Next time, if you plan to frame me, make sure you don’t set your trap where the cameras can see."

Fiona froze, her heart lurching. "C-Cameras?" she whispered.

Anna’s eyes glinted with quiet amusement. "You forgot we’re shooting a scene, didn’t you? Every angle is recorded. Including the one where you touched that prop first."

Color drained from Fiona’s face. She glanced around nervously, realizing too late that multiple cameras had been rolling when she made her move.

The faint smile on Anna’s lips deepened. "Now, should we replay the footage for everyone, or do you want to stop pretending?"

Fiona’s throat went dry. The murmuring among the crew grew louder. Even Wilsmith, who had remained silent so far, was now watching with narrowed eyes — the pieces beginning to click.

Unable to handle the scrutiny, Fiona let out an awkward laugh that sounded more strained than sincere.

"Oh, there’s no need for that," she said quickly, her voice high and nervous. "I trust you, Anna. You’re my friend, remember?"

She wiped the remaining tears from her cheeks, forcing a smile that barely held together but inside, she was seething.

’You ugly, conniving little brat,’ she cursed silently, her jaw tightening as she clenched her trembling hand.

But before she could say anything else, Anna’s calm voice cut through the tension.

"Oh, but I insist," Anna said smoothly, stepping forward. "You called me your friend, Fiona — and I wouldn’t want my friend to feel I’ve wronged her. It’s only fair I clear my name."

Her tone was steady, her expression unreadable, but the sharpness in her eyes said everything.

Back then, when Fiona had hired Mary and Jane to humiliate her, Anna had stayed silent — choosing peace over confrontation. She hadn’t wanted to create a scene or risk exposing the truth to her parents.

But this time?

Fiona had crossed a line in front of everyone. And Anna wasn’t going to let her get away with it.

"Director Wilsmith," Anna said, turning gracefully toward him. "Could you please replay the footage for me?"

The entire crew stilled.

Wilsmith blinked, momentarily caught off guard by her request. "You want to see the playback?"

"Yes," Anna said with unwavering poise. "I’d rather let the truth speak for itself."

The director glanced between the two women — Anna calm and resolute, Fiona pale and visibly unraveling.

Fiona swallowed hard, her throat dry. "Director, I don’t think that’s necessary—"

Anna’s gaze shifted back to her, soft but cold. "You said you trust me, Fiona," she interrupted quietly. "Then you have nothing to worry about."

That single line polite, poised, and piercing landed like a blade cloaked in silk.

"I said there’s no need," Fiona hissed under her breath, her jaw tightening as her teeth ground together.

Anna arched a brow, watching her closely — calm, collected, a quiet smile curving her lips. She could practically see Fiona’s fury bubbling beneath that fragile mask of composure.

"Say sorry," Anna murmured softly, her tone laced with a dangerous sweetness, "and I’ll stop it."

The words were quiet — meant only for Fiona — yet they struck with the weight of a threat.

Fiona’s eyes flickered in disbelief. For a split second, her carefully built façade cracked, the humiliation burning through her pride.

"W-What?" she stammered, her voice trembling despite her best attempt to sound offended.

Anna tilted her head slightly, her smile deepening just enough to make Fiona’s blood run cold. "You heard me."

The soft click of the playback equipment filled the silence, and several crew members turned their attention toward the two women. The weight of their stares pressed down on Fiona, each second feeding her panic.

She could feel it — the judgment, the curiosity, the whisper of her own downfall tightening around her throat.

Her fingers curled into fists as she took a shaky breath. "I... I don’t have to—"

But her voice faltered the moment her gaze met Anna’s — that unflinching, icy calm that warned her not to push further.

Anna didn’t need to raise her voice. Her silence was enough to command the room.

Fiona’s lips trembled. Her pride screamed for her to resist, but fear — sharp and suffocating — finally won.

"I’m... sorry," she whispered, barely audible, her head bowing just enough to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes.

Anna’s smile widened, slow and satisfied. "Good girl," she said quietly, then turned toward the director. "I think that settles it, Director Wilsmith. No need to waste anyone’s time."

Wilsmith nodded, looking faintly impressed — though he said nothing as he gestured for the team to resume setup.

As everyone dispersed, Fiona stood frozen in place, humiliated, her fists shaking at her sides.

And Anna walked past her poised, graceful, victorious leaving behind the faint echo of a smirk that told Fiona exactly what she already knew. She’d lost.

"Ma’am, are you okay?" Venus rushed to Fiona’s side, worry etched across her face.

But Fiona didn’t answer. She snatched her arm away, her heels clicking sharply against the floor as she stormed off the set — fury radiating off her in waves.

Venus stood frozen, startled by the sudden outburst, before slowly retreating under the heavy silence that followed.

Meanwhile, Anna turned to leave, finally ready to head to her changing room. But before she could take another step, a familiar voice stopped her in her tracks.

"You did push that prop toward her, didn’t you?"

Anna froze mid-step. Her eyes flicked over her shoulder to see Ethan walking toward her, that lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth — the kind of smirk that said he’d seen far more than he was letting on.

For a moment, neither spoke. The soft hum of the lights and the distant chatter of the crew filled the quiet between them.

Then Anna turned, meeting his gaze squarely.

"You saw everything," she said evenly. "And you didn’t say a word."