The sun hung high above the massive backlot of a Hollywood film studio, baking the asphalt and metal scaffolding until the air shimmered with heat.
From the ground, the stunt platform looked impossibly tall.
Thirty feet.
Maybe more.
To the producers and cameras below, it was just another dramatic scene.
To Macy Cole, standing at the edge of the platform with a thin harness digging into her ribs, it looked like a very real way to die.
She stared down at the crash mat far below.
It looked tiny.
Great.
Just great.
“Ready, Macy?” shouted the stunt coordinator from the ground.
His name was Rick, and he had the energy of a man who had already mentally clocked out for the day.
Macy glanced down again.
“Are you sure the line is secure?” she asked.
Rick waved dismissively.
“Relax. It’s Hollywood, not amateur hour.”
Macy resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
That was exactly the kind of sentence people said right before something went terribly wrong.
She tugged at the rope attached to her harness.
It felt… loose.
“Rick,” she called again, raising her voice. “Can someone double-check this?”
A few crew members glanced up, annoyed.
Below, the director—Jack Hunter—stood beside the monitor, headset around his neck.
“Let’s go, people!” Jack shouted impatiently. “We’re losing daylight!”
Rick cupped his hands around his mouth.
“It’s fine, Macy! Just jump when we say action.”
Of course.
Because if she died, they’d just hire another stunt double tomorrow.
Welcome to Hollywood.
Macy blew out a breath.
You need this job.
Rent was due.
Her bank account had exactly eighty-seven dollars left.
And the dream—the stupid, stubborn dream of becoming a real actress instead of a nameless body hitting the ground for someone else’s close-up—refused to die.
So she squared her shoulders.
Fine.
Let’s do this.
The cameras rolled.
“Quiet on set!” someone shouted.
Jack raised his hand.
“And… action!”
Macy sprinted forward.
The platform rattled beneath her boots.
Wind whipped past her ears as she reached the edge—
—and jumped.
For one glorious second, everything worked.
The rope caught.
Her body swung outward.
Perfect.
Then she heard it.
A sharp snapping sound.
Like metal tearing.
Her stomach dropped.
The rope went slack.
“Oh—”
Her scream ripped through the air as gravity claimed her.
The world blurred.
The crash mat rushed toward her far too quickly.
People below shouted in panic.
“THE LINE—!”
“IT BROKE!”
“Oh my God!”
Macy’s mind went completely blank.
This is it.
She’d survived car explosions, fake fires, falling through glass—
But a broken safety line?
Game over.
She closed her eyes.
And then—
Something cold wrapped around her waist.
The fall stopped.
Not gradually.
Instantly.
Her body jerked as strong arms caught her midair.
She gasped, opening her eyes.
For a moment she thought she was hallucinating.
Because the man holding her stood in the middle of the stunt platform like he had simply appeared there out of thin air.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Dressed in an immaculate black suit that had no business being anywhere near a chaotic film set.
His dark hair stirred in the wind, and his expression was eerily calm.
Like catching a falling woman was the most ordinary thing in the world.
He lowered her gently onto the platform.
Macy’s knees nearly buckled.
“Are you hurt?” he asked quietly.
His voice was low and smooth.
And his hands—
God.
They were freezing.
Not cool.
Freezing.
Like he’d been holding ice.
“I… I…” Macy blinked at him.
Words refused to cooperate.
Below them, the entire set had fallen silent.
Crew members stared upward in shock.
Jack Hunter ripped off his headset.
“How the hell—?”
The man stepped back from Macy.
Up close, he was devastatingly handsome.
Sharp cheekbones.
Dark eyes that seemed almost too intense.
And a presence that filled the air like a storm waiting to happen.
Macy finally found her voice.
“You… you caught me.”
“Yes.”
“That’s… not normal.”
A faint hint of amusement flickered in his eyes.
“No,” he agreed softly. “It isn’t.”
Footsteps thundered up the metal stairs as crew members rushed to the platform.
Rick the stunt coordinator arrived first, pale and sweating.
“Macy! Jesus, are you okay?”
She pointed weakly at the rope.
“It broke.”
Rick examined the snapped line.