"Action!" Derek exclaimed.
There were a few seconds of silence. Emma gently stroked Will's shoulder, her fingertips slowly tracing along his skin.
"Are you awake?" she finally asked.
Owen took a second to respond. "No," he murmured, his voice sleepy and slightly muffled by the pillow.
Emma smiled faintly. "Yes, you are."
Her hand moved lower now, calmly tracing along Owen's back, as if the conversation would remain light.
"Will… come live in California with me," she added softly, like an idea she had already thought through.
"What?" Owen asked, not fully changing his position.
"I want you to come to California with me," Emma repeated.
Owen slowly sat up and turned his torso to look at her. "Are you sure about this?"
Emma held his gaze without hesitation and nodded. "Oh, yeah."
"But… how do you know?" he asked, and this time doubt was already present in his tone.
"I know because…" she began, searching for the exact words, "I feel it."
She looked him straight in the eyes.
Owen lowered his gaze for a second and then spoke again, more serious. "What you're saying is something very serious."
"I know…" Emma began confidently, but Owen interrupted her, his words coming out faster than they should have.
"We could be in California soon. And you might discover something about me that you don't like. You know… maybe you'd wish you hadn't said that. But your proposal was so serious that you can't just take it back later."
He didn't stop. "Now I'm in California with someone who doesn't want to be with me. Someone who wishes they could take back what they said."
Emma frowned, confused. "Do what? Take it back?"
Then she added in a softer tone, "I don't want to take anything back. I just want you to come to California with me."
Owen shook his head slightly. He wasn't looking at her anymore. "Well, I can't go to California with you."
"Why not?" she asked, and disappointment began to seep into her voice.
"First, because I have a job here," he replied, moving his head as if listing logical reasons. "And second, because I live here."
Emma blinked slowly, processing it. "Look… if you don't love me, tell me."
Owen looked up, almost offended. "I'm not saying I don't love you."
"Then why won't you come?" she insisted. "What are you afraid of?"
Up until that moment the conversation had been soft, almost intimate. But something shifted in the air. It wasn't a shout. It was a tension that could be felt in the space.
Everyone noticed it.
Derek behind the monitor. Lianne with her arms crossed. Bryan, still, watching closely. Jacob, Gaten, Caleb, even the crew.
Something new appeared on Owen's face. His eyes hardened slightly. His brow furrowed just enough, without exaggeration.
Owen looked at her again. "What am I afraid of?" he repeated.
It wasn't a question. It was a challenge.
Emma tried to explain herself, still calm. "Well, you live in a safe world where no one challenges you. You're afraid of doing something different…"
Owen got out of bed with restrained abruptness and cut her off.
"Don't talk to me about my world."
He turned toward her and continued, "You just want to have fun with the guy from the other side of town, then go to Stanford, marry some rich guy approved by your parents, and socialize with other heirs while telling everyone you also spent time in the poor neighborhoods."
The words came out faster and sharper now.
Emma sat up, looking at him with genuine confusion. "Why are you saying that?"
Owen didn't respond immediately.
"What obsession do you have with money?" Emma asked.
"My father died when I was thirteen and I inherited that money," she added, her tone shifting to a sadder one.
Owen was watching her and listening, not patiently, but listening.
"Do you think there's a single day I wake up and don't wish I could give it back?" Emma continued. "That I wouldn't trade it all for one more day with him?"
Her voice cracked slightly. Just a little. "But I can't."
The silence was brief.
Then her voice hardened. "So don't project your problems onto me when you're the one who's afraid."
For an instant, something different appeared on Owen's face. As if her story had managed to break through the wall. A hint of empathy. A restraint that almost surfaced.
But the last sentence acted as a trigger.
The accusation again.
Fear.
He stared at her. "Afraid of what? What the fuck am I afraid of!?"
"Of me!" Emma shot back without hesitation. "You're afraid I'll stop loving you. You know something? I'm afraid too! But I want to try. At least I'm honest with you."
Owen shrugged. "I'm not honest with you?" he asked, as if the accusation were absurd.
"No," Emma replied without hesitation. "What about your siblings?"
The question hung in the air. Will had told Skylar that he had several siblings. A story tossed out almost casually. But he never took her to meet them. Never brought it up again. Never allowed her to get close to that supposed family world. And it was clearly a lie, he didn't have any siblings.
Owen looked at her. Opened his mouth. Closed it.
He knew he had no answer. It was already a lie.
"Alright," he finally muttered.
He stopped looking at her. Lowered his gaze. Walked toward the chair where his pants were and began getting dressed.
Emma shook her head and stepped in his way. "No. You're not leaving. You can't leave."
Owen stopped short. This time the anger was no longer restrained.
"What do you want to know!?" he demanded, his voice louder now, his face hardened.
Emma didn't back down. "The truth."
"That I don't have twelve brothers!?" Owen exploded. "I'm a fucking orphan!?"
The volume filled the room.
"You don't want to hear that!"
"I didn't know…" Emma tried to say, but her voice was barely audible, drowned out by the intensity.
Owen wasn't listening anymore.
"You don't want to know they used to put cigarettes out on me when I was a kid!" he continued, his tone caught between rage and memory.
Emma was on the verge of tears. "I didn't know…"
"This wasn't surgery!" Owen said, pointing at his abdomen. "That son of a bitch stabbed me."
"You don't want to hear that shit, Skylar!" he said again, pointing at her. His neck was tense, veins visible, and his face flushed with fury.
"I want to hear it," Emma replied, her eyes wet. "To help you."
"Help me!?" Owen repeated, almost incredulous. "What the hell? Do I have a sign on my back that says 'save me'!?"
He stared at her. "Do I look like I need that!?"
"No!" Emma replied, her voice breaking. "I just want to be with you."
She stepped closer and placed her hands on Owen's face, trying to hold him there.
"Don't lie to me!" he said, roughly pushing her hands away.
"I love you!"
"Don't lie to me!" he repeated, now completely overwhelmed.
He grabbed her by the arms and shoved her back until she hit the wall.
"It's not a lie! I love you!"
Owen was breathing hard. "Don't lie to me!" he shouted again, and this time his fist struck the wall, right beside Emma's face. He missed her by inches.
There was a brief silence, and Emma began to cry.
Owen's expression softened slightly. His breathing began to steady, and the fury started to fade.
"I love you…" Emma repeated for the third time, stepping closer slowly, managing to place her hands on his face again. This time Owen didn't push them away.
"I want to hear you say you don't love me," she whispered. "Because if you say that… I won't call you. I won't be part of your life."
Owen let Emma bring her face closer, but he wasn't looking at her.
Until finally he lifted his gaze and looked at her. His eyes were cold now. The anger was gone.
"I don't love you," he said in a low and cutting tone.
The shift was brutal. From explosion to ice.
Emma froze for a second, as if the words took time to pierce through her.
Owen freed himself from her hands, walked past her without looking at her, opened the door, and left the room.
The camera didn't cut. It stayed on Emma.
She slowly backed up to the bed, sat down, and broke into tears, no longer holding it in.
The set was silent. Only the sound of Emma crying, still sitting on the bed, filled the space.
"Cut!" Derek finally said.
But no one spoke right away.
Emma wiped her tears with the back of her hand, taking a deep breath. At that moment, the door Owen had exited through opened. It was a built set, behind it there was no real hallway, just technical structure.
Owen appeared with a completely normal expression. The transition was almost unsettling. His left hand held his right, the one that had hit the wall. His knuckles were slightly red, nothing serious.
He arched an eyebrow when he noticed the silence and that everyone was looking at him.
"Did it all come out well? Anything to improve for the second take?" he asked, looking directly at Derek.
Derek snapped back to himself. "No. It was perfect… and that was the first take," he replied, still processing.
It wasn't easy to impress him. He had worked with heavyweight actors. But what he had just seen wasn't simply intensity. It was control. The transition from intimate conversation to raw fury and then to absolute coldness in the "I don't love you" had been organic. There was no excess, no theatricality.
Lianne watched in silence. Outwardly, her expression remained professional. Inside, she was shaken. Until now, Owen had been seen as a competent actor with strong creative vision. The Spectacular Now had received excellent reviews, including for his performance, but most had only read about it, few had actually seen him on screen.
This scene was different.
It made it clear that Owen didn't rely on shared chemistry or heavy direction to hold his own. He could carry a scene by himself. And Emma's performance had been excellent. Her vulnerability, the crack in her voice, the final firmness, everything had been on point. But Owen's had something more.
Caleb and Gaten looked at each other. "Wow…" one of them murmured under his breath.
Not even Gaten, who knew him best, had imagined he could deliver a scene at that level.
Jacob looked at him differently too. Not as the young producer leading the project, but as a serious colleague.
Ethan and Bryan exchanged a brief glance. They said nothing. They didn't need to. It was one of those moments when experienced actors recognize something without putting it into words.
Owen nodded and walked over to Emma, who was still sitting on the bed trying to steady her breathing.
"Good job. You'll have to teach me that technique to cry so realistically," he said with a slight smile.
Emma let out a small laugh, her chest still rising and falling from the recent tears. She looked at him curiously.
"Thanks. You too…" she replied. "It surprises me how quickly you can switch from one state to another."
Owen smiled faintly. "I told you, didn't I? The switch."
"Strange method," Emma replied with a slight smile.
Then she lowered her gaze to his hand. "Are you okay? That punch sounded hard. For a moment I was afraid you were actually taking it out on me for insisting about the fear thing."
The comment broke the remaining tension. Gaten, Caleb, and Jacob couldn't help but laugh from the back of the set.
Owen let out a light laugh as well.
"I'm fine. And I can repeat the scene three or four more times if needed," he said, turning toward Derek.
Derek shook his head. "No need. We'll do one more for safety. We've got it."
His tone was certain.
In scenes like that, repeating too much can drain the truth that came out in the first take. Intensity doesn't always improve with more attempts; sometimes it fades.
They did a second take after a few minutes of brief rest to reset emotions and positions. It was solid. But everyone knew the first one had something special.
Saturday's half-day finally came to an end.
When they arrived at the hotel, Bryan caught up with Owen before he stepped into the elevator. "You really stood out today," he said with a genuine smile, no exaggeration.
Owen smiled, more relaxed now that the day was over. "Thanks. I guess little by little I'm erasing the image of the multimillionaire kid who knows how to write and put budgets together," he replied lightly.
Bryan chuckled. "Trust me, that image isn't on this set anymore."
He gave him a light pat on the shoulder. "We're going out to dinner. The whole group. Tomorrow we've got a day off. It'll be good to clear our heads. Seven thirty."
Owen didn't hesitate. "Count me in."
Owen went up to his room. He knew that dinner probably wouldn't just be eating and coming back. They'd likely stay out a while, talking, maybe having a drink. That meant the daily nine o'clock call with Jenna wouldn't be possible.
He didn't want to miss it. He took out his phone and texted her:
[We're going out to dinner, the whole team. Tomorrow's our day off. Can we talk earlier? I don't want to skip the call.]
The reply didn't take long.
[Jenna: Changing the terms of the agreement already? 🤔
Fine… can you in fifteen minutes? And today was supposed to be a video call.]
Owen smiled when he read it.
[Owen: I'm not changing anything. Just rescheduling so I can socialize with the team or they'll label me a workaholic or antisocial. I can. Let me know when you're ready.]
With his laptop open and the camera on, Owen finally joined the video call with Jenna.
The first thing he saw through Jenna's camera was her apartment, her living room, which he already knew. But she wasn't on screen. What appeared instead was her cat.
"Juan Antonio?" Owen said, confused, seeing the chubby cat in the foreground.
The cat stared back at him for a second.
"Say hi," Jenna said, picking up the cat and bringing him so close to the camera that only his round orange face was visible. The purring filled the speaker.
"Nice to see you, Juan Antonio. But… would you let me see your owner?" Owen replied.
"I'm not his owner. We're equals," Jenna retorted with mock offense, though clearly amused. "Although he probably sees me as his personal assistant."
She placed the cat back on his cushion and adjusted herself in front of the camera.
Owen smiled and observed her more closely. She was wearing a gray sweater that fit her a little snugly, black nail polish, soft makeup, slightly more noticeable around the eyes, and her hair neatly styled. It wasn't accidental.
"You look great," Owen said without overthinking it.
Jenna smiled faintly, satisfied that he had noticed. "Thank you."
"Are you going somewhere later?" Owen asked.
It wasn't usual for someone to get that dressed up for an improvised mid-afternoon video call.
Jenna tilted her head slightly. "Maybe. Does that worry you?" she asked with a small ambiguous gesture.
"No, no," Owen said, raising his hands. "I was just asking to keep the conversation going."
He wasn't lying. His question was more logical than emotional. There was no jealousy in his tone, only practical curiosity.
Jenna nodded, as if that reaction was exactly what she expected from him. "I got ready for the video call. I couldn't just show up looking messy."
Owen raised his eyebrows, genuinely surprised. "Really?"
"Yes," she replied naturally. "It could be considered a date, right? These video calls. So I have to look good."
Owen stayed silent for a second, processing it. He lowered his gaze to his own clothes.
He didn't look bad. He had just come from a day of work, he was presentable, nothing out of place by normal standards. But compared to her, he could have put in a bit more effort.
"You're fine. You're a guy," Jenna said, noticing his expression.
"That makes me feel much better," Owen muttered, looking back at her.
He stayed thoughtful for another second. "So… on the other video calls, did you get ready for me too?"
Jenna nodded.
Owen brought a hand near his mouth, pensive.
He had assumed that on the previous calls she was dressed up simply because she was coming from a workday and had already been active. It was logical to see her presentable at that hour.
But now it was one thirty in the afternoon. She could have been comfortable at home, without any extra effort. That was why, seeing her so put together at that time, he assumed she had plans later and asked.
"I'm sorry for not saying anything before," Owen said sincerely. "I noticed, but I thought you were already like that because of work."
Jenna shook her head. "It's fine. But it's good that you notice…" she added with a half smile. "It's appreciated."
Owen nodded naturally. "Then I'll say it every time."
Jenna raised an eyebrow. "Every time? That sounds like a clause."
Owen smiled. "Then let's put it in writing…"
The video call, which in theory was supposed to last thirty guaranteed minutes and a maximum of one hour, stretched well beyond what they had agreed on. But it was Saturday. It was early and they were both free. There was no rush.
They talked about a bit of everything, and when they finally hung up, nearly three hours had passed.
Owen spent some time reviewing a few things remotely with Matt. They were still moving forward on details related to Lights Out.
As dinner time approached, he took a quick shower, changed, and went down to the lobby to head out with the team to a restaurant near the hotel.
The night was fun.
And so, between intense shooting days and quieter moments off set, the days of filming continued to pass.
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