His Stolen Kiss My Golden Reign

My best friend was peeling an orange for me when she tilted her head and asked, completely out of nowhere: "When Owen kisses you, does he taste like oranges too?" My fingers seized against the hospital bedsheet. Before I could breathe, the door swung open. Owen walked in, casually tucking the corner of my blanket over my knees. His tone was breezy, effortless: "The director threw in an unscripted kiss scene at the last minute. Forgot to mention it." Sloane held a glistening segment of orange to my lips, her smile dripping with wide-eyed innocence. "God, the director was terrifying today. Neither of us had ever done an on-screen kiss before. He made us do seven takes before he finally gave us a pass." Owen stood by the edge of the mattress, looking straight down at me, his mouth set in a tight, silent line. Why was he looking at me like that? Three years ago, on a sweat-drenched night in an empty rehearsal studio, he had pinned me against the wall of mirrors, his eyes rimmed with red as he begged me: "Let’s make a pact, Sadie. No kissing scenes for either of us... no matter what." Neither of them was half as good an actor as they thought. The guilty one was overcompensating, trying desperately to project innocence. The thief was pretending to be harmless while flaunting the prize. One was terrified I would get angry. The other was terrified I wouldn't. 01 It was almost funny. The truth was, I already knew about the kiss. The night before my surgery, Owen had called to say he couldn’t make it to the hospital. He claimed the shoot was a disaster, that the director was furious, that he couldn't leave the set. An hour later, an obsessive set-stalker had sent the raw video straight to my DMs. There was no disaster. The crew had erupted into cheers the moment their lips touched. They kissed with a frantic, breathless hunger—so deep in it they didn't even hear the director yell "Cut." Someone on the leaked tape gasped, "Jesus, they’re incredible. It looks completely real." I knew Owen. He wasn't that talented. When he was faking an emotion versus when he was drowning in it was something I could clock in half a second. The stalker’s message beneath the video read: "Hope your surgery fails so my favorite ship can stay together forever." I hadn't slept a wink that night. I drafted a five-hundred-word text. I demanded to know what Sloane was to him, why he broke our rule, how he could abandon me alone in a sterile room before a life-altering operation. But by the time I finished typing every frantic question, the answers were already staring back at me in cold, blue light. As the anesthesiologist pushed the propofol into my IV, my mind drifted back to Owen three years ago. In our damp, drafty studio apartment, clutching my hands until my knuckles ached. "Sadie, from now on, you screen every script I take. I’ll turn down every intimate scene." "It’s not that serious," I had laughed softly back then. "It’s just acting." "It is serious!" He had stared into my eyes with fierce conviction. "This industry is toxic. But you and me? We never change." "We never change." 02 When did the rot actually set in? A month ago, severe vocal cord polyps forced me to hit pause on my music career. The internet was a cesspool of rumors: Sadie Ellis had lost her voice, Sadie Ellis would never sing again, breach-of-contract lawsuits, impending cancellations. I couldn't look at the news. I couldn't face my fans. I was terrified of a surgery that offered no guarantees. The doctor noted a severe spike in my clinical anxiety. To mitigate PR fallout, my label put me under soft house arrest, forbidding me from stepping outside. The only face I saw was Owen's. And then he told me he was booked as the lead in a new drama. His co-star, playing the female lead, was my best friend, Sloane. Under normal circumstances, he never should have brought her over to our place. "Sloane isn’t an outsider," he had reasoned smoothly. "If management asks, I’ll handle it." Sloane had beamed, stepping through the doorway with armfuls of groceries. "Sadie, we’re heading to set next week, and I just couldn't leave without seeing you. Just rest. Even if you end up completely mute, Owen and I will take care of you forever. I’ll keep an eye on him for you on set, don't you worry!" Owen had nudged her elbow gently, scanning my face for a reaction. Sloane took the cue instantly, looping her arm through mine. "I just mean, with both of us around, you're safe." That quiet rhythm between them—that shared shorthand—had been growing for months. Sloane tied my apron around her waist and bustled into the kitchen to wash vegetables. Owen stepped in beside her, chopping and seasoning. I was relegated to the living room couch. Watching their silhouettes move together in the warm kitchen light, I felt like a stranger crashing someone else’s domestic bliss. I picked up my phone and texted Owen: "Don’t you think this is weird? Am I being frozen out in my own house?" He walked over, wiping his wet hands on a towel, and tousled my hair like I was an insecure child. "Stop overthinking. You’re recovering. Can’t you just accept people trying to take care of you?" I was a patient, not an invalid. The only thing broken was my throat. At dinner, they made hot pot. They debated scene blocking and character arcs while I stared at my separate pot of bland, unseasoned clear broth. I couldn't jump into the conversation, and I couldn't fake a laugh. Owen kept dropping slices of meat into the spicy red broth. He forgot to drop a single shrimp dumpling into my pot—the only thing I actually loved. The spicy broth bubbled too high and spilled over the divider, bleeding red grease directly into my clear soup. Ruined. The room was heavy with steam and the sharp scent of chili oil. I sat there, isolated and erased, just like my spoiled broth. "Oh no!" Sloane gasped, dropping her chopsticks. "I didn't see it boil over. Owen, you idiot, look what you did to Sadie’s soup. You can’t even drop meat properly." Owen rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "The script’s been running through my head all night. I wasn't paying attention." I set my chopsticks down with a sharp click and stood up. My voice came out as a raw, scraping rasp: "I’m full." I shut the bedroom door and turned the lock, tuning out their muffled calls from the hallway. After Sloane left, Owen stood outside the locked door. His voice through the wood was heavy with disappointment. "You went way too far tonight, Sadie." "I know you’re stressed about the surgery, but once this is over, you owe Sloane an apology. She’s been nothing but good to you." 03 A cold war began that night. He left for location shooting without saying goodbye. A full week passed before he reached out—only to tell me he couldn't be there for my operation. I didn't actually lack support; my agency had arranged private nurses and top specialists. What I lacked was him. Staring at the stark white hospital walls, I gripped the blanket with white knuckles, swallowing down the sob burning in my chest. I even wondered if I had been unreasonable. Like he said, Sloane was my best friend. I remembered the first time I met her on an indie music video set. She had been so broke and hungry she slipped extra catering rolls into her canvas tote. When a production assistant caught her, she had held her head high: "I’ll pay for them when I make it." It was a three-minute music video, but she had handwritten five pages of character backstory. I loved that grit. I put her in every single one of my music videos after that. I dragged her into my brand sponsorships. I pitched her name to every director I knew. Gradually, she started booking real roles. Our "industry besties" narrative took off. Back then, Owen had hated it. "Why do you two get joint fan clubs while we have to hide in the shadows?" "Can’t you see she’s riding your coattails? She’s using you for clout." "She’s calculating, Sadie. Keep your distance." When the three of us celebrated my birthday, he wouldn't even look in Sloane’s direction. Yet somehow, over the past year, the lines had blurred. He started mentioning roles he had "put in a good word for" on Sloane’s behalf, claiming it was a favor to me. Sloane, who used to act intimidated by him, began making offhand jokes about how good his physique was looking from his new gym routine. They shared script notes that filled entire margins—pages I couldn't decipher. He personally liked a fan-edit video of him and Sloane on social media. And when I finally asked if we could go public with our relationship, he told me to wait: "Let’s not steal the spotlight from Sloane’s debut lead role." My gut had screamed at every single red flag. But I had forced myself to stay calm, gaslighting myself into believing I was just insecure. That leaked video was the mirror that finally shattered my delusions. A flood of memories burned like acid behind my eyes as the orderlies wheeled my gurney toward the operating theater. The anesthesia took hold, plunging the pain into silence. A single, scalding tear tracked down my temple. That was the last thing I felt. 04 The surgery went smoothly. The surgeon removed the polyps, and with them, the thorn that had been lodged in my throat. Looking at the unsent five-hundred-word draft on my phone, I remembered a quote I’d read online: "Writing an essay during a breakup is the most pathetic thing you can do. They won’t read it, and they’ll only find you exhausting." I smiled faintly, leaned my thumb against the screen, and hit delete. Owen and Sloane walked into the room just as my assistant stepped out. "I’m so sorry, Sadie," Owen began, his face painted with worry as he leaned over the bedside rail. "The director wouldn't release us until we nailed the scene. How are you feeling? Does it hurt?" I looked at them both with flat, empty eyes. "Sadie, please don't be mad," Sloane chimed in, rushing to the other side of the bed. "I heard you two fought before he left. I already gave him hell for it! Don't hold it against him—he was worried sick about you the whole time." "Who's getting hell?" Owen muttered, a playful edge to his voice. "You, obviously." They bantered back and forth. I just watched. My assistant returned with a fresh set of clothes. Sloane immediately shoved Owen toward the door. "Time to change! Boys out!" Owen obeyed without hesitation—so natural in his compliance that he seemed to forget I was his girlfriend, not Sloane. Once the door clicked shut, Sloane peeled an orange, and that was when she dropped the bomb about the flavor of his lips. Oranges? No. He had never tasted like oranges with me. Owen detested citrus. Sloane was the one obsessed with them. He had chewed orange mints specifically for her. I felt no rage. My heart didn't even skip a beat. It was just a flatline of cold clarity. Seeing me offer zero reaction, the two of them finally sensed the eerie shift in the air when Owen stepped back in. Sloane reached out, subtly tugging at the hem of Owen’s linen shirt. "Is she actually mad?" Owen shook his head, murmuring under his breath, "Don't worry. It has nothing to do with you." They traded a two-second look of silent communication before speaking over each other: "The director added the scene—" "The producers demanded it... I mean, the director did." Their clumsy overlap hung in the quiet room. They exchanged an irritated glance, silently blaming each other for the flub, before turning their synchronized smiles back to me. Sloane shrugged, letting out an airy laugh. "Look at us getting all worked up! Sadie isn't petty like that. Besides, your boyfriend is an awful kisser. I had to guide him through the whole take. If anything, I’m the victim here." Owen, who had been studying my blank expression, snapped his head toward Sloane, genuinely offended. "I was bad? You’re the one who froze up like a rookie." Fresh out of throat surgery, I couldn't utter a syllable. I tapped my assistant’s arm and pointed toward her phone. I had already texted her five minutes ago: "Get them out of here." My assistant bit her lip, caught between two rising stars. Before she could speak, Sloane glanced at her designer watch. "Shoot, look at the time! Sadie, the director set up a video conference with the network. Is it okay if we leave you to eat lunch alone?" She pointed to a plastic takeout bag Owen had dropped on the bedside table. "We’ll be quick. We’ll come right back tonight." Owen’s defensive posture melted into soft guilt. "Go ahead without me, Sloane. I need to stay with my girlfriend. I haven't seen her in weeks." "Owen..." "Cover for me on the call." Sloane bit her lip, clearly unhappy, her fingers tightening on his shirt sleeve again. "Don't cause drama with production. Besides, he’s with me—what does Sadie have to worry about? Right, Sadie?" I nodded slowly, then raised my hand and pointed straight at the door. "Get out." Owen blinked, caught off guard by my absolute compliance. He looked back twice as he walked toward the exit, finally setting a thermos of warm water on the nightstand. "Drink lots of fluids. Wait for me." The passing floor nurse smiled into the room. "You two are so sweet together." I smiled back. "Sweet." When Owen spoke just now, the cool scent of orange and peppermint had washed right over me. I knew exactly where they were going. Chemistry like that takes a lot of practice. 05 When Megan marched into my room, her left wrist was wrapped in a hard fiberglass cast. "Sorry, kid. PR fires everywhere. Couldn't get away sooner." Always impeccable, my manager hadn't even bothered to conceal the dark purple shadows under her eyes. Managing the narrative around my vocal collapse had nearly broken her. The vultures had been circling for weeks, praying my career was dead in the water so their own talent could feast on my endorsements. "The press release confirming a successful surgery is live. Stay off social media for a while." She dragged a chair over and sat heavily. "The surgery worked, but nobody knows what your tone will sound like when you heal. Our rivals are using the uncertainty to dig up every piece of dirt from the past three years to strip your commercial deals." I shook my head, picked up the legal pad on my lap, and wrote: "What dirt do they have on me?" "Owen," Megan said bluntly. "His on-screen ship with Sloane is printing money right now. If your relationship leaks today, their fans will tear you apart." I picked up the pen without hesitating: "What if we break up?" Megan froze. She shot out of her chair so fast her cast cracked against the bed frame, but she didn't even flinch. "Are you serious?" I gave her a firm, unblinking nod. She grabbed my good hand, her eyes blazing with raw adrenaline. "You dump him today, Sadie, and I swear to God I will make you an A-list icon tomorrow." "If you hadn't let that boy anchor your career with his fragile ego, you'd already be running this town!" She knew how deep my devotion to Owen had run. Over the years, whenever a massive career leap made Owen insecure, I had walked away from it. If my singles hadn't dominated the charts by pure force of nature, the label would have dropped me years ago for being uncooperative. She squinted at me, still skeptical. "You really pulled the plug? Why now?" I didn't want the humiliation of recounting the details. I simply pointed at the plastic takeout bag on the table. Megan opened it. "Raw salmon sashimi? "He" bought this?" I nodded. "That absolute moron. You just had throat surgery! Raw fish? The bacteria alone could ruin your recovery. A sworn enemy couldn't have picked a worse meal." She cursed him out in three different variations before storming into the hallway with her phone glued to her ear. When she came back, she had just ended the call. I held up my pad: "Can I take some quiet time before jumping back into work?" "No," Megan said firmly. "Your name is trending everywhere. If you hide, the industry will assume your voice is permanently destroyed. I've already mapped out your post-discharge schedule." I scribbled furiously: "I literally cannot speak for thirty days." Megan slapped my knee, her face splitting into a predatory grin. "Who said anything about speaking? I just signed you onto a feature film. You’re playing a mute." "Me? Acting?" "Yes. The third lead in Leo’s new prestige drama. The casting director reached out three times. I kept turning it down because the script had heavy romantic scenes and I knew you'd refuse them for Owen." "Leo?" Megan’s eyes sparkled. "Yes. The newly crowned Academy Award winner, Leo. Sadie, darling... breaking up with that dead weight is the best career move you've ever made."