Unfiltered Romance

The interview was over, but its echoes followed Vivien and Ren long after the bright studio lights dimmed. The crew's chatter faded as the set was dismantled, replaced by the hum of distant traffic filtering through the open studio doors. Vivien moved toward the exit with brisk, practiced efficiency, her blazer draped neatly over her arm, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. Ren lingered for a moment, watching her silhouette disappear through the door, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

They left like strangers, moving to separate cars, heading toward opposite ends of Los Angeles. It wasn't planned, this quiet retreat, but it was telling. Words hovered in the spaces between them—words that neither had spoken, that neither knew how to speak. The silence was not born of anger, nor even indifference, but of something far more fragile: uncertainty.

Vivien's car glided through the downtown streets, the neon glow of the city casting fleeting patterns on the sleek interior. She sat rigid in the backseat, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her assistant, Chloe, had offered to ride with her, but Vivien had declined, needing the solitude to process the evening.

Her mind replayed moments from the interview on an endless loop. The interviewer's sharp smile, the pointed questions about their "unfiltered romance," Ren's voice as he spoke about trust and the impact of those who challenge you. That last one had stuck with her, hitting a little too close to home. She hadn't let herself look at him when he said it, but she'd felt his words like a direct hit.

Why did he have to say things like that? Why couldn't he just leave it where they'd agreed to leave it—in the past?

Meanwhile, Ren's car moved more slowly through the same city, though it felt like he was driving in a different world. He had insisted on driving himself, ignoring the assistant producer's suggestion of a car service. Driving gave him a sense of control, even if the roads were congested and unforgiving.

His mind, too, was stuck on the interview. Vivien's calm, composed responses had been everything he expected of her, and yet they still stung. She had been so good at deflecting, at turning personal questions into polished soundbites. Watching her smile and dodge had left him feeling hollow. She had always been better at closing doors than he was.

He thought of her walking off the set, her chin tilted slightly higher than usual, the faintest hint of tension in her jaw. He wondered if she was thinking about him now. Probably not. She was probably going over her answers, calculating how they'd play out in the press, analyzing every word.

For Vivien, though, there was no calculation left. As her driver slowed for a red light, she let her head fall back against the seat, her eyes closing for a moment. The exhaustion she carried wasn't just physical; it was emotional, a weight pressing down on her chest.

Why did it still bother her, the way Ren looked at her? The way his voice softened when he spoke to her? She told herself it was because of the campaign, because of the expectations they had to manage together. But a quiet part of her knew it was more than that.

The light turned green, and her car moved forward, yet she felt stuck in place.

Ren's car, meanwhile, pulled into the driveway of his loft. He sat for a moment with the engine off, staring at the reflection of his tired face in the rearview mirror. He wasn't sure what he had expected tonight. Maybe some small sign from Vivien that she felt the same pull he did, that she hadn't closed the door on what they had shared.

But no, she had been distant, professional, untouchable. It was like she had rebuilt the walls he had spent so much time breaking down, and now he was left on the other side, unsure of how to reach her again.

Inside his loft, he tossed his keys onto the counter and sank onto the couch, staring blankly at the city lights twinkling through the window. His phone buzzed with notifications—clips from the interview already making rounds online—but he ignored them. The glowing comments about their chemistry, about their "love story," only served to remind him of the distance between them.

---

The car ride to her apartment was cloaked in stillness. Vivien sat in the backseat, her posture upright but her mind wandering far from the carefully constructed image she projected to the world. The city streaked past, a blur of lights and shadows that felt oddly fitting. She leaned her head against the window, letting the cool glass ground her, but it didn't help.

Ren's voice still lingered in her thoughts, pulling at the edges of her resolve.

"Sometimes the people who challenge you the most are the ones who leave the biggest impact."

He'd said it so calmly, as if it were a universal truth. And maybe it was. She hadn't looked at him directly when he'd spoken, but she'd felt the weight of his words all the same.

What had he meant by that? Had it been just another answer for the cameras, or had there been something more beneath it?

Her fingers toyed absently with the edge of her lavender blouse, her mind drifting back to Santorini—the sunsets, the laughter, the way Ren had looked at her when he thought she wasn't paying attention. She hated how easily her thoughts returned to those moments, how vividly she could recall the sound of his laugh or the warmth of his hand brushing against hers.

But she couldn't go back to that place. Not now. Not after everything.

Her phone buzzed in her lap, snapping her out of her thoughts. Chloe's name flashed on the screen, no doubt with a debrief about the interview. Vivien ignored it, tucking the phone into her bag. For once, she didn't have the energy to maintain her perfectly polished exterior.

By the time the car pulled up to her building, the weight in her chest had grown heavier. She stepped out into the crisp night air, the city's energy buzzing faintly around her, and made her way upstairs.

Inside her apartment, Vivien kicked off her heels and stood in the middle of the living room, unsure of what to do with herself. She wanted to move forward, to push past this lingering ache, but no amount of distraction seemed to work. Instead, she sank onto the couch, staring at the city skyline beyond her window.

The lights blurred as tears pricked her eyes. She told herself they were tears of frustration—frustration with herself, with Ren, with the tangled mess of emotions she'd been trying so hard to bury. But deep down, she knew it wasn't that simple.

---

Across the city, Ren sat on the edge of his bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his phone clutched loosely in one hand. The screen glowed faintly, displaying endless notifications. Clips from the interview were already circulating online, fans dissecting every glance, every word, every stolen moment between him and Vivien.

"Did you see the way he looked at her? That's not acting."

"They're obviously still in love. You can't fake chemistry like that!"

Ren sighed, tossing the phone onto the nightstand. The comments were nothing new—he'd seen the same speculation since the campaign launched. But tonight, they cut deeper.

Vivien's voice replayed in his head, her words carefully crafted yet distant, as if she were holding him at arm's length even in front of the cameras.

"Ren and I are professionals first and foremost."

That was her way of drawing the line, of reminding him—and maybe herself—that whatever had happened between them in Santorini was over. But the look in her eyes when she'd said it had told a different story. There had been something unspoken there, something she hadn't let herself say.

He stood and crossed the room, pacing in front of the windows that overlooked the city. The glow of the skyline felt hollow, a backdrop to the turmoil inside him.

Vivien had always been a mystery to him—a challenge he couldn't quite solve. She was brilliant and guarded, driven by a need for control that he both admired and resented. But in Santorini, she had let him in, just a little, and it had been enough to change everything.

Ren ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling to the surface. He hated feeling this powerless, hated the way she could disarm him with a single look. But most of all, he hated the idea that he might never get the chance to tell her how he really felt.

As the night deepened, neither Vivien nor Ren could escape the pull of a memory that had refused to fade.

It had been late in Santorini, after a long day of filming. The crew had retired for the evening, leaving them alone on the terrace of the villa. The horizon had been painted in shades of lavender and gold, the Aegean Sea stretching endlessly before them.

Vivien had been quiet, her gaze fixed on the water as if searching for something she couldn't name. Ren had sat beside her, offering her a glass of wine without a word.

She had laughed softly, a sound so unguarded it had taken him by surprise. "What?" she'd asked, catching the way he was looking at her.

"Nothing," he'd said, his voice lower than usual. "I just… I don't think I've ever seen you like this."

"Like what?"

"Relaxed," he admitted. "Happy."

She'd smiled then, a real smile that had stayed with him long after that night. But it had also scared him, because he knew in that moment that he was falling for her.

---

Neither of them slept well. Vivien lay awake, staring at the ceiling as doubts crept into her mind. Was she making a mistake by keeping him at a distance? Was it really possible to move forward without addressing what had happened between them?

Across the city, Ren tossed and turned, torn between respecting her boundaries and fighting for what he wanted. He knew he couldn't change the past, but he also knew he couldn't ignore what he felt for her.

By the time morning came, both of them were exhausted, caught between the weight of their shared history and the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

And as the city woke up around them, Vivien and Ren were left with the same question: Was it too late to find their way back to each other?