Chapter 4: One Bed, Two Hearts

Filming officially begins on a completely ordinary afternoon.

It’s drizzling outside—a soft spring rain.

I’m rehearsing my latest dance routine.

My solo stage comeback in March.

Will anyone really watch such a boring scene?

Same moves, same music, repeated all afternoon.

But then again, most people are probably tuning in for Jesse Cole.

They won’t care about me.

So I focus, throwing myself into the dance.

Compared to my trainee days abroad, this is nothing.

The more I practice, the clearer those memories become—why did I give up everything for a man?

“Savvy, time to go.”

My assistant comes in as dusk falls.

The cameraman follows us onto the van.

The studio should be live by now, with the regular guests arriving.

I sneak a peek at the show’s trailer on my phone.

There are four regulars: the host, Harrison, a veteran actress, and Jesse’s bandmate.

Maybe because it’s rare for Harrison to do variety, the camera lingers on his face, trying to catch every micro-expression.

He greets everyone politely.

The host asks, “What do you think of the two of them?”

“They look good together.”

—Some people are just good at acting.

As I watch his smiling face, Jesse’s interview echoes in my mind.

“Savvy, we’re here.”

Looking out the window, my heart skips a beat.

The Silver Ridge apartment complex—the same neighborhood as the house I shared with Harrison. Only a few hundred meters apart.

Whoever picked this location really nailed it by accident.

Getting out, the cameraman follows me to the door.

There are already hundreds of cameras inside the apartment.

I turn on the lights—27th floor, huge and empty. Not even all the furniture is in.

It’s already midnight.

Jesse’s still out working.

I walk around the place—the bedroom doesn’t even have a bed. Just some basic toiletries and a stack of albums in the corner.

I sit on the sofa bed in the center of the living room and put on one of the albums.

The intro echoes through the empty space.

Outside, the city lights flicker against the night.

It’s Jesse’s song.

The moment he starts singing, it’s like a thunderstorm crashing in—powerful, overwhelming, sweeping me away.

The door unlocks. He walks in.

I panic and quickly turn off the music.

Turning around, I meet his gaze.

According to the script, we’re supposed to act surprised, exchange polite greetings, then shyly warm up to each other.

I’d imagined a thousand ways we might meet again—on an even footing at an awards show, or exchanging formal congratulations at a music gala…

Never thought his first words to me would be:

“Which bed do you want to sleep on?”

So natural, like we’ve done this a million times.

I glance at the lone sofa bed in the empty living room.

There’s only one bed! What does he mean, which bed?

Why isn’t he following the script?

“Th-there’s only this one.”

I try to explain, but it comes out sounding all wrong—like I’m inviting him.

I quickly add, “There’s no bed in the bedroom, just this big one in the living room.”

The more I talk, the worse it gets.

It’s not like I deliberately didn’t buy a bed!

Why am I even talking about beds?

Get it together, Savannah.

He’s younger than me. Just a kid, what could he possibly know?

I take a breath and glance at the nearest camera.

“I can have my assistant bring over another blanket. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“No need to trouble the staff, it’s late.” He raises an eyebrow. “Let’s check the convenience store nearby.”

As if convenience stores sell blankets?

We walk down the quiet street, one after the other. Our shadows overlap and separate.

The cameraman keeps his distance, filming.

At the 24-hour store, the smell of corndogs and nachos is thick in the air.

Jesse buys some for the cameraman, then hands me a bowl—exactly my favorite.

“I’m not eating. I need to diet.”

I gain weight easily. Except during my trainee days abroad, when I was so stressed I’d sneak out for late-night snacks.

I rarely eat at night anymore.

Jesse doesn’t insist, just takes my bowl and eats it himself.

He must not have had dinner.

He eats quickly, but with elegance.

“The 7-Eleven by St. Mark’s Station,” he says suddenly.

I look up in surprise.

That was my go-to spot for late-night snacks back then.

“I went to buy corndogs once and saw a girl sitting outside, eating and crying, calling her mom in Mandarin, saying she was exhausted and wanted to go home.

“Her mom said, then come home, stop training. But she said no—she really wanted to stand on stage at the music awards, so she’d grit her teeth no matter how hard it got.”

He tells this story in a calm voice, something I’d almost forgotten myself.

I stare at him, stunned.

Six months after that phone call, I finally debuted.

That same year, Jesse became the first American idol to get an opening solo.

“Guess what happened to her?”

He looks me in the eye.

After that, I quit my group and came back to get married.

I can’t say a word.

Is this why he agreed to let me join the show? To make me face how wrong my choices were?

He stops smiling, looking away. “Let’s go find that blanket.”

“It’s the middle of the night—where?”

I grab a bottle of water and head to the register.

“Isn’t your house nearby?”

My heart jumps.

How does he know?

“N-no, I don’t live around here.”

I avoid his gaze, grabbing another bottle of water at the register.

Just as the clerk is changing shifts, a young girl hurries out, tying her apron.

“That’ll be two-fifty. I’ll ring you up.”

She looks up, recognizes me, and stares for a moment. Then she spots Jesse behind me, her eyes go wide, her face flushes, and she keeps hitting the wrong keys.

“If you need anything next time, just have us deliver it to your house,” she stammers.

Jesse raises an eyebrow at me. “So you don’t live here?”

The cameraman follows us all the way to my and Harrison’s house.

On the way, I secretly text Harrison several times—only to realize he’s blocked me.

Jesse walks behind me, hands in his pockets, watching like he’s enjoying a show.

It feels like I’m bringing a wolf home.

“Bro, can we not film this part?” I whisper. “It’s not safe to show my house.”

The cameraman glances at Jesse.

“They can cut it in post,” Jesse says.

I pull out my keys, staring at the lit-up windows in the living room, silently praying.

Please don’t be home. Please don’t be home.

Before I can even turn the key, someone opens the door from inside.

I nearly jump out of my skin.

“Ma’am?” The housekeeper rubs her eyes. “Why are you back so late? Sir, he…”

She spots Jesse behind me, glancing back and forth between us with a look that screams, ‘City people really are wild.’

“We’re filming,” I whisper. “Is he home?”

“N-no, he’s out of town. Should be back in the morning.”

“I’m just grabbing something. Go to bed.”

I scan the place—thankfully, there aren’t any photos of us together.

“Need help?” Jesse offers.

“No, I got it.”

I turn to leave, but he tugs my sleeve, his sharp features softened into something almost gentle, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.

“I’ll be right down.”

I explain instinctively.

He lets go, obediently.

He gives a long, drawn-out “mm,” then asks, “You haven’t stayed here in a while?”

Why is he asking this?

“Yeah, I moved out a while ago and haven’t been back.”

He smiles, says nothing more.

Since filming isn’t allowed inside, the cameraman waits outside, smoking.

Upstairs in the master bedroom, I search the closet for the spare bedding I’d packed up. Gone. Probably taken by Harrison when he traveled—he’s particular about his bed and blanket.

No matter how busy I was, I’d always pack for him.

I sigh, looking at the Marie Cat blanket on the master bed.

Downstairs, Jesse grins as I struggle to carry the huge, fluffy blanket.

He takes it from me effortlessly.

“Let’s go home, little cat.”