Was Once the King: Chapter 15: The Scene Beneath the Scene
The studio was unusually quiet that morning. Not the kind
of quiet that meant rest, but the kind that came right before a storm. Everyone
seemed to be watching, waiting, bracing.
Benjamin arrived early, flipping through his script,
though his mind wasn't on the words. Hector was due to film the rewritten
betrayal scene—his version of it—and the weight of that was heavy on the entire
cast. Not just because it was the emotional climax of the episode. But because
everyone knew this was more than acting.
Sam arrived last.
He entered with his usual air of ease, tossing greetings
that didn't quite land. The air tightened as he joined the blocking circle,
eyes skimming past Hector like he wasn't there.
The director gave brief notes, but otherwise, everyone
knew what this was. Let it happen. Let the story carry itself.
The camera rolled.
The throne room set was lit in shadows. Cracked stone,
fallen banners. Oran stood with his back straight, spine rigid like it was
holding him together.
Dastan entered. Sam's expression was smooth, calculated.
Cold.
They began.
"Still pretending this was about loyalty?"
Sam's voice cut through the air like glass. "Oran, you never ruled. You
pleaded. You wept. You begged for people to stay. That's not a king. That's a
child clinging to power he never deserved."
Hector's breath stuttered—just slightly. But he held his
ground.
"Then why did you follow me?" He asked, the
line delivered low, gutted.
"Because I wanted to see how far you'd fall."
Sam snapped. "And you didn't disappoint."
The room froze.
That line wasn't in the script.
The director didn't call cut. Maybe he was waiting. Maybe
he knew.
Hector didn't flinch.
He took a step forward, his voice quiet, laced with
steel. "You didn't help me fall. You stood there and watched, hoping I'd
shatter so you could walk away unscathed."
The crew was silent.
Benjamin stood just off camera, jaw tight.
Sam stared at Hector—something unreadable flickering in
his eyes.
"Cut." The director said finally. "That's
the one."
Nobody moved. Then slowly, applause—soft, uncertain, then
full.
But Hector walked off set without a word.
In the dressing room, he washed his hands even though
they weren't dirty. The water ran too hot. He didn't notice.
His reflection in the mirror looked calm.
It was a lie.
Memories surfaced.
A flashback to the voicemail Sam left after everything
broke:
"Say it was just a rumor, Hector. You'll be fine if
you don't add fuel to it. Don't be dramatic."
Another flash—Hector scrolling through headlines alone in
his apartment, watching his name climb trends for all the wrong reasons. His
own face dissected. His career shredded.
Sam never even texted.
Hours later, as the team wrapped for the day, a young
actor from the supporting cast found him.
They hesitated at the door before stepping in. "Mr.
Brandon?"
Hector looked up.
"I just wanted to say... I saw the interview. And
today's scene. And I—" They faltered. Then steadied. "You made me
feel like maybe I don't have to stay quiet either."
Hector blinked.
They weren't asking for help.
They were thanking him.
"Thank you." They said again, softer this time,
and left.
That evening, Hector sat in the dim warmth of his living
room, scrolling absentmindedly through social media.
A thread caught his eye.
Fan art.
Dozens of pieces showing Oran and Cale—not as tragic,
broken figures, but as survivors. Some showed them rebuilding the ruins. Others
showed them simply sitting side by side on the remains of a throne.
One user had rewritten dialogue based on the rooftop
scene from earlier episodes:
'You chose me before I ever knew how to choose myself.'
The post had thousands of likes.
He stared at it.
The world was changing.
And somehow, it was letting him change with it.
Later that night, Benjamin was already on the rooftop
when Hector arrived. The sky was cloudy, but warm. The skyline flickered in
muted color.
No cider. No wine. Just two cups of tea, still steaming
on the ledge.
They sat.
Quiet at first.
Then Hector said, "I didn't walk off set
today."
Benjamin nodded. "I know."
Hector leaned back against the wall, exhaling slowly.
"It was worse than I thought it'd be. Being in that moment again. But... I
stayed."
"You did more than stay." Benjamin said.
"You reclaimed it."
A soft breeze passed between them. Gentle. Anchoring.
"I think I needed to see that." Hector
murmured. "That I could face it. That the worst thing that ever happened
to me didn't get the last line."
Benjamin reached into his coat pocket and pulled out
something folded.
Fan art.
Oran and Cale, facing each other under a ruined sky, a
caption beneath them: Some stories are rewritten not with words, but with who
stays.
"I printed it." Benjamin said. "Reminded
me of us."
Hector's lips twitched. "We're fan fiction
now."
Benjamin grinned. "We always were."
They shared a quiet laugh.
Then Hector pulled out something from his own pocket—a
folded piece of notebook paper.
Not a thank-you this time.
A quote from one of his earliest scripts, one that never
aired.
'You don't survive betrayal by forgetting it. You survive
it by choosing someone who never makes you question your worth again.'
He passed it to Benjamin.
And Benjamin tucked it into his jacket like it was
something sacred.
The next afternoon, the trio was called into wardrobe for
a final fitting.
Sam was already there.
The tension was immediate.
Benjamin stood beside Hector without saying anything. But
his presence was loud.
As they passed by the long mirror, Sam spoke without
looking:
"You're steadier now."
Hector met his eyes in the reflection. "I was always
steady. You just never saw it."
Sam smiled faintly. "Maybe I was too busy saving
myself."
"You didn't save anyone." Hector replied, calm.
"You just walked away first."
And then he walked past him.
Benjamin followed.
Before they left for the night, a production assistant
approached.
"Tomorrow, interview with Mirror Line Media. It'll
be streamed live. Not the fluff kind. They want to talk legacy and personal
arcs. Might get uncomfortable."
Sam looked eager.
Hector looked tired.
Benjamin looked sharp. "Hector sits beside me."
The assistant nodded. "Understood."
Hector gave him a sideways glance. There was nothing
said.
But the relief in his shoulders spoke volumes.
The next day, the greenroom buzzed with pre-show nerves.
Mics were clipped. Water bottles lined up. A screen flashed the studio feed.
The three of them sat in place.
Hector beside Benjamin.
Sam on the other end.
The host greeted them with ease, but there was an edge to
her smile. "Let's not pretend the story behind the scenes hasn't captured
as much attention as the drama itself."
She turned to Sam first.
"You've recently made headlines due to a leaked
audio clip—care to clarify?"
Sam gave a well-rehearsed sigh. "I think we all say
things in private that we regret. My past comments don't reflect who I am
today. I've grown. And I hope the audience sees that growth."
Then he turned, voice soft. "And I hope Hector sees
it too."
The host pounced. "Hector? Any thoughts?"
Hector didn't smile.
"I think growth comes with accountability. And
regret isn't enough when you left someone else to pay your debt."
Sam froze, composure cracking.
Hector continued, steady:
"I lost years. Not just work. Not just headlines.
Years of believing I was the mistake. While he got to walk away clean."
The host looked between them. "So... is
reconciliation possible?"
Hector glanced at Benjamin.
Then looked forward.
"Closure doesn't need an apology. Sometimes it just
needs a full stop."
The host blinked.
Sam swallowed.
And Benjamin? He leaned slightly toward Hector—not
protective, not possessive. Just there.
The interview wrapped. Fast.
But online, it lingered.
The quotes circulated.
And one image went viral.
Hector and Benjamin, side by side. The same stillness.
The same strength.
And a caption beneath it:
"This isn't redemption. It's resolution."
And Hector Brandon's name trended again.
Not for scandal.
But for finally, finally, saying what needed to be said.
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