Was Once the King: Chapter 13: What the World Sees

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Morning arrived with its usual rhythm, but something in the air had shifted. Whispers followed Benjamin Wordsworth as he stepped into the studio lot. Some from staff members. Others from reporters hovering just outside the gate. The scent of scandal hadn't faded—it had merely changed direction.

His manager cornered him by the coffee station, concern carved deep into the lines on her face.

"Ben, we need to talk."

Benjamin raised a brow but nodded. They stepped into a quieter corner of the hallway.

"Your name's showing up in all the wrong places." She said, not bothering with niceties. "You're being tied to Hector's past. Some people are saying it's affecting your marketability."

Benjamin leaned against the wall. "Let them talk."

She sighed. "You know how this industry works. You've worked hard to get where you are. You can't let someone else's downfall rewrite your narrative."

His jaw tightened. "He's not someone else. And I'm not rewriting anything. I'm telling the truth."

She looked at him long, then backed off with a nod. "Just... be careful."

Benjamin watched her leave, and the words stayed with him longer than they should have.

Later that morning, while reviewing lines in the greenroom, another staff member hesitated near Benjamin. She was young—new to the crew—but bold enough to voice what others only murmured.

"You shouldn't let him pull you down." She said. "People talk."

Benjamin looked up. "Then let them."

She hesitated. "He's a legend, I know. But he's... damaged."

Benjamin smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Aren't we all?"

That afternoon, Hector was walking past wardrobe when he caught a piece of conversation meant for someone else.

"He should walk away while he still has time."

He knew they were talking about Benjamin.

The words hit like stones against old bruises.

He found Benjamin on the soundstage, running through scene lines alone.

"You should leave." Hector said.

Benjamin turned, startled. "What?"

"You should leave this project. Me. All of it."

Benjamin frowned. "Where's this coming from?"

Hector looked tired. Not physically, but soul-deep. "You're being dragged into my past. Don't let my ruin become yours."

Benjamin stepped forward. "I'm still here, aren't I?"

"You don't owe me anything."

"No, I don't." Benjamin said, voice firm. "But I choose this. I choose to be here. With you."

Hector looked away. "I've already burned down once. You don't need to stand in the ashes with me."

Benjamin's voice was a whisper—but steady.

"Then let it burn again. I'd rather fall with you than rise without you."

The next scene was a major rehearsal—Oran and Dastan, face-to-face after the betrayal.

Sam stood opposite Hector, his lines sharp, his body language taut with tension. It was rehearsal, but the air around them was electric.

The lines blurred.

Then Sam improvised.

"You never understood." He hissed. "I loved the illusion of you—not the man behind the screen."

It was too close. Too real.

Hector's face went pale. His lips parted—but no sound came out. He took a step back.

The director called, "Cut!"—but too late.

Hector stumbled, breath caught. And suddenly, the scene collapsed around him. He wasn't Oran anymore.

He was Hector Brandon, betrayed under the crushing weight of a scandal. Abandoned. Again.

He sank to his knees.

The silence was deafening.

Benjamin didn't wait.

He crossed the space and dropped beside him, ignoring cameras, ignoring protocol.

He wrapped an arm around Hector's shoulders and didn't say a word.

Not yet.

Hector trembled once. Then leaned into the warmth. Into the safety.

"I've got you." Benjamin whispered. "Just breathe. I'm here."

That night, a short behind-the-scenes video surfaced.

It wasn't official. A member of the crew had captured it—a respectful distance, no audio. Just Hector falling, and Benjamin catching him.

The internet exploded.

But not in scorn.

In awe.

'In a world that loves spectacle, this was real.'

'Hector isn't broken. He's surviving.'

'Benjamin Wordsworth isn't ruining his career. He's rebuilding someone the world left behind.'

Even the harshest critics softened.

The clip reached millions.

And Hector saw it.

In his dressing room, alone.

He didn't cry.

But he saved the video.

He saved it like a fragment of something worth keeping.

That evening, the rooftop waited for them.

Hector arrived first.

He didn't bring wine this time—only the silence.

Benjamin arrived moments later, a thermos in each hand, the warm scent of cider curling through the cool air.

They sat.

No words. Not at first.

The city lights shimmered in the distance, blurred by the early evening mist. The hum of life below was distant—muffled, almost gentle.

Hector took a sip.

Then another.

Then—

"He told me to lie."

Benjamin glanced at him, slow and careful, not pushing.

Hector's eyes stayed on the skyline.

"Sam. The day everything broke. He looked me in the eye and said, 'Tell them it was just a rumor. Tell them it was nothing.'"

His fingers clenched around the paper cup.

"He said if I loved him—if I really wanted to protect what we had—I'd make it disappear. That going public would destroy us both. But mostly... it'd destroy me."

Benjamin didn't interrupt. Didn't shift. He let the words settle.

Hector exhaled, slow. Bitter.

"I didn't say anything at first. I just... sat there. And he walked. Out the door. Out of my life. And hours later, the first headlines dropped."

He gave a humorless laugh.

"No name. No photos of him. Just mine. Just my name, everywhere. My face. My career."

Benjamin's voice, quiet: "He let you take the fall."

"He gave me the fall." Hector corrected, voice low and raw. "And for a while, I almost convinced myself I deserved it."

The wind picked up—soft, cool against his cheeks.

"I kept thinking, maybe if I'd just stayed quiet. Maybe if I'd lied like he asked. Maybe he would've stayed."

Benjamin turned slightly toward him.

"Do you still believe that?"

Hector was quiet for a long time.

Then he shook his head.

"No. Because if someone needs you to erase yourself just to love you... it was never love to begin with."

Benjamin didn't speak. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a small folded napkin, and offered it wordlessly.

Hector took it.

Wiped his eyes once.

Then offered a half-smile—tired, real.

"I didn't tell anyone that before." He said. "Not the full thing."

"I know." Benjamin said softly. "Thank you for trusting me."

A beat of quiet passed between them.

Then, without flourish, Hector reached into his coat pocket.

He passed Benjamin a small, folded piece of paper.

Inside, two handwritten words.

'Thank you.'

Benjamin read them, then folded the note again—gently, like something that mattered.

He tucked it into his jacket.

No reply.

Just a nod.

And a quiet smile.

And beside them, the city kept humming—small, persistent, alive.

For the first time in years, Hector felt like maybe... he was, too.

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