Unscripted chaos
1277 Words
The atmosphere on set crackled with tension — the type that didn't need words to be felt. There was a buzz in the air, but not the kind that came from the thrill of filming. It was sharp. Suspicious. Like something was off.
Mira had sensed it since morning.
Her scene with Jason had gone flawlessly. The chemistry between them was undeniable — raw, electric. But when she stepped off set, her phone buzzed with an anonymous message.
> “Check your dress. It’s been tampered with. Try bleeding on screen next time.”
She froze.
Her hands instinctively touched the hem of her costume — the elegant white gown for the next romantic scene. It looked perfect. Untouched. But Mira wasn’t stupid.
She handed the dress to her stylist, whispering, “Run a scan. Threads. Hem. Stitching. And check the insides.”
Within minutes, the stylist returned, pale. "Someone mixed glass dust into the inner lining… near your waist.”
The director was never informed.
But Mira’s lips pressed into a thin, icy line.
> Arianna.
Who else would pull something so petty, yet precise? So damaging, yet subtle enough to pass off as “accidental wardrobe malfunction”? Mira didn’t need proof. She could feel it — the way Arianna had smiled at her earlier with eyes full of quiet malice.
Mira had fought wars with her words. But if Arianna wanted to play dirty, she would soon learn Mira didn’t just fight.
She obliterated.
---
Meanwhile… at Heinstein College.
The arrival of the black SUV turned heads. It pulled into the parking lot like it belonged there, tinted windows gleaming under the afternoon sun. The passenger door swung open, and out stepped a young woman with soft auburn hair, perfectly straightened, falling just below her shoulders.
Her almond-shaped eyes, rimmed with subtle eyeliner, scanned the familiar school grounds. Her lips curled, unimpressed.
> Peyton Cross was back.
And she wasn’t here to make friends.
She adjusted the strap of her designer duffel bag, her sleek white sneakers crunching softly on the gravel as she walked toward the administrative building.
“Guess who’s back from Paris,” someone whispered.
“Didn’t she leave after that scandal with the student council president?”
“Rumor was she punched him.”
“...He grabbed her skirt.”
Peyton heard all of it. Didn’t flinch.
She was used to whispers — had grown up with them. Being Jason Cross’s little sister meant she was always under someone’s lens. But she’d also learned how to disappear when needed... and fight back when necessary.
She was halfway down the hallway when a familiar voice shouted her name.
> “Peyt! I thought that was your scowl I saw!”
She turned.
And groaned.
> Axel Hart.
Jason’s best friend. Professional flirt. Eternal pest.
He jogged toward her with his messy hair flopping over his forehead, dimples flashing as he grinned wide. He was dressed like always — slightly chaotic but effortlessly attractive.
“Look what the French dragged in,” he teased. “Did they finally deport you for attitude?”
Peyton rolled her eyes. “Still wearing the same shirts from three years ago, I see. What happened — ran out of mirrors?”
“Ouch.” Axel placed a hand over his heart, mock-hurt. “You wound me.”
“I can do worse.”
“Oh, I bet you can.” His grin widened.
From behind him, someone else approached — quieter, calmer.
> Tyla.
Peyton’s stomach twisted.
He was dressed in black — simple tee, silver chain, denim jacket. His gaze, as usual, was unreadable. Deep, steady. The kind that could hold secrets without effort.
“Welcome back,” he said, voice low.
“Thanks,” Peyton replied, almost too quickly, her fingers brushing her hair behind her ear — a nervous habit she hated.
Tyla gave a half-smile, then looked away.
Axel leaned between them. “Awkward,” he whispered loudly. “So when are you two finally gonna admit—”
“Shut. Up,” Peyton and Tyla said in unison.
Axel laughed, walking off, tossing a wink over his shoulder. “You kids are boring.”
Once he was gone, silence hovered between them.
“I heard you aced the internship,” Tyla said, walking with her now.
She nodded. “Yeah. You still with Jason at the studio?”
“Yeah,” he said softly, “I’m helping on the Mira project.”
She looked at him. “I heard she’s got a rival on set.”
“More than one.”
Something in his voice sounded… protective?
Was he into Mira?
Peyton’s lips tightened.
---
Back on Set — That Evening
The crew prepared for the final scene of the day — a romantic confrontation under artificial rain. Mira, now in a new outfit after the wardrobe incident, stood under the downpour, waiting for Jason to walk into frame.
Her eyes burned — not just from the rain machine, but from frustration.
Arianna stood just off-set, holding her script, pretending to rehearse — but really just watching Mira with the smugness of someone who thought she’d already won.
But Arianna hadn’t counted on Peyton Cross.
---
Elsewhere — Heinstein Dormitories
That night, Peyton stood on the dorm balcony, gazing out at the lights below.
Tyla’s voice came through her phone, low and careful.
> “You should be careful around Axel. He jokes a lot, but… he says things he doesn’t mean.”
“Sounds familiar,” she muttered.
Silence.
Tyla finally sighed. “If I told Jason I liked you, it would change everything. He wouldn’t trust me again.”
“Maybe it’s not about Jason,” she replied softly. “Maybe you’re just scared I wouldn’t like you back.”
“I don’t want to ruin what we have,” he admitted.
Peyton’s chest ached — sharp and sudden. “Then stop acting like you do.”
She hung up.
---
Filming Day Two – Sabotage Unfolds
Jason and Mira were rehearsing when a tech assistant ran across the set, panicked.
“The suspension wires on the scaffolding—someone unlatched the safety lock!”
The rig for the rain machine tilted dangerously above them. Mira didn’t flinch — her body moved on instinct.
“Jason, move!”
She shoved him out of the way just as the rig crashed down.
Screams filled the air.
Dust. Water. Metal.
Producers rushed in. Camera operators froze. Assistants scattered.
Jason groaned, arm bruised. Mira stood, soaked, eyes blazing.
Director: “Who was on security?”
No one answered.
> But Peyton had seen it.
She’d visited her brother with snacks — and while walking toward his trailer, noticed a figure sneaking around the wires earlier.
Not crew. Not listed.
And not unnoticed.
She would recognize that handbag anywhere.
Arianna.
---
End Scene — The Brewing Storm
That night, Peyton confronted Tyla.
“Arianna tried to hurt Mira.”
Tyla paled. “You’re sure?”
“She sabotaged the wires. If Mira hadn’t shoved Jason—”
“Don’t tell Jason yet,” Tyla said quickly. “Not until we have proof.”
Peyton stepped back. “You knew something like this would happen?”
Tyla’s silence said more than words ever could.
---
Final Lines
The rivalry between Mira and Arianna wasn’t just about screen time anymore. It was blood-deep. Dangerous.
And Peyton — though young, fiery, and uninvited — had just entered the war.
But she wasn’t afraid.
Because for once… she had something worth protecting.
And maybe, someone worth fighting for.
Even if he didn’t fight for her yet.
- Writer
