Was Once the King: Chapter 2: Whispers Meant to be Heard
The sun hadn't risen yet when Benjamin Wordsworth arrived
on set.
He stepped out of the sleek black car with the quiet
confidence that had become synonymous with his name in recent years. His
assistant trailed behind him, arms full of neatly organized scripts, an
insulated coffee tumbler, and a pressed change of clothes. But Benjamin didn’t
need much. His expression was composed, but his eyes… they were searching.
Even before the light hit the windows, even before the
crew had fully arrived, Benjamin’s presence shifted something in the
atmosphere. He wasn’t loud. He wasn’t commanding. But people made space for him
anyway. That’s what the industry did for the ones it liked.
And it liked Benjamin.
He nodded politely to the makeup artists, exchanged
pleasantries with the camera crew, and paused to talk to one of the lighting
technicians whose daughter had just won a scholarship. He remembered those
things. That was part of what made him special—not just his performances, but
his presence. He made people feel seen.
But the one person he was looking for wasn’t here.
Not yet.
Benjamin’s smile faltered as he stepped inside the
studio. His assistant handed him his schedule for the day, but he barely
glanced at it.
“Is Hector here already?” He asked, too casually.
The assistant blinked. “Uh, I don’t think so, sir. I
haven’t seen him.”
Benjamin nodded, but he already knew. Hector always
arrived early. Before the stares could settle in. Before the crew could decide
how to react.
The script read-through was held in a quiet room off the
main soundstage. A long table stood at the center, with printed scripts at each
seat, bottles of water arranged neatly beside them. Benjamin took his seat
without fanfare. The others filtered in slowly, cast members ranging from eager
newcomers to seasoned veterans. But there was only one chair he paid attention
to—the one beside him.
Hector arrived ten minutes early, as expected.
He wore black. Not just for the slimming effect, but
because it dulled attention. His hair was tied back, clean but unstyled. He
nodded to the others, not quite a greeting, but not disrespectful either.
Then he saw Benjamin.
Their eyes met.
Hector hesitated for only a second, then looked away and
took the seat across the table. Not beside him.
Benjamin didn’t let the disappointment show.
The script read began.
Hector’s voice was clear, steady, razor-edged. Every line
cut with precision. He read like a man carving a legacy out of ruins. When his
character—a fallen king returning to confront the one who replaced him—spoke,
everyone in the room listened.
Benjamin played the other side of the crown. The golden
boy. The newly crowned. His lines were lighter, smoother, like silk hiding a
blade. The dynamic was electric. And uncomfortable.
Scene Twelve.
Their characters meet alone in the throne room. The
fallen king confronts the new one.
HECTOR (as King Oran): “You wear it well. My throne. My
legacy. My undoing.”
BENJAMIN (as King Cale): “It was never yours to keep.”
ORAN: “But it was mine to lose, wasn’t it?”
CALE: “You lost it long before I arrived.”
A pause.
ORAN: “Did you wait for my fall?”
CALE (softly): “I waited for the chance to stand beside
you. But you kept walking alone.”
The air thickened.
No one said it out loud, but they all felt it. This
wasn’t acting. This was history bleeding into fiction.
The director looked thrilled. “That was incredible.” He
said when the scene ended. “Let’s keep that exact tension for the shoot.”
Benjamin didn’t say anything. His eyes were still on
Hector, who was carefully avoiding his gaze.
The others dispersed. Benjamin stayed.
He saw Hector gathering his things—script, pen, water
bottle—and head for the door. He moved like someone always half-ready to leave.
Always braced for rejection.
Benjamin moved before he could think better of it.
“Hector.” He said.
Hector paused.
Benjamin stepped into his path. Not blocking it. Just…
there.
“Hector, can we just talk? Just for a minute.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“You don’t have to pretend with me. I’ve seen you—seen
what this place did to you. I was there. Even if you didn’t see me.”
Hector finally looked up. His voice was low, brittle.
“And what would talking change now, Benjamin? You want
closure?”
Benjamin didn’t answer.
Hector’s tone softened, but the pain laced through it was
sharper than any anger.
“I can’t let this turn into something it’s not. Not
again. You getting close to me? That’s just handing them a new target—with a
fresh name and a different face. I won’t drag you into the fire I barely made
it out of.”
He stepped past him and walked away.
Benjamin stood still.
“…I never wanted easy,” He whispered. “I just wanted
you.”
But Hector was already gone.
Benjamin stayed late that night.
The crew had packed up. Lights were off. Only the faint
hum of the security system remained.
He wandered onto the throne room set, walking between the
towering columns and velvet banners. He sat where his character was meant to
sit—on the throne—and let the silence stretch.
He remembered the first time he saw Hector on-screen.
Benjamin had been sixteen, still an extra on a minor series. Hector was already
a household name, standing on red carpets like he was born to wear light.
And then they met.
Backstage at an awards ceremony. Hector had been laughing
with a makeup artist when Benjamin bumped into him. Their hands brushed. Hector
had smiled. Not politely. Not distantly. Just… genuinely.
It was the beginning of a hundred almosts.
But nothing ever came of it. Not while Sam was still
there. Not after the breakup. And especially not after the scandal.
Benjamin had tried. Reaching out through mutuals. Calling
once. No response. He didn’t blame Hector. But he never stopped watching from
afar.
Hector, meanwhile, didn’t go home right away.
He drove to an old bar two towns over. One that didn’t
play music and didn’t ask for photos. He sat in the corner booth and ordered a
glass of red wine and a small plate of olives he wouldn’t touch.
His phone buzzed once. A message from the same unknown
number.
"He looks at you like he never stopped.”
Hector stared at the screen for a long time. Then turned
it face-down.
His fingers lingered near the glass of wine, untouched.
As silence pooled around him, his mind drifted—years back—to a different set, a
different time.
Benjamin had been no one back then. A nervous minor actor
with barely five lines and a tendency to mumble them. Hector, the star of the
show, had stepped in during one rehearsal, quietly guiding him through a scene.
“Slow down.” He’d said gently, his hand lightly brushing Benjamin’s shoulder,
“Feel the moment. Don’t rush it just to get through it.”
Benjamin had looked up at him with wide eyes, startled by
the kindness. And Hector had smiled, a little softer than usual. Not out of
pity, but because Benjamin reminded him of something he couldn’t name.
There had always been a quiet thread connecting them.
Unspoken. Fragile. Real.
Part of it, Hector had always known, was Sam.
Sam Aron—Hector’s then-boyfriend—had mentioned, in
passing, that Benjamin was his distant cousin. They weren’t close. They’d maybe
met a handful of times at family gatherings. But that knowledge, even in its
vagueness, had made Hector watch Benjamin differently. More carefully. With a
trace of something warmer. Protective, even.
He had no idea then that years later, it would be
Benjamin—not Sam—who stayed.
Or tried to.
He downed the wine in a single swallow, then refilled the
glass.
The next day, filming began.
Scene by scene, the story of the two kings unfolded. The
betrayal. The silence. The slow realization that what had been lost was never
just power—it was connection. Trust. Maybe even love.
The irony stung.
In one take, Hector’s character collapses in the rain,
crown falling from his hands. Benjamin kneels beside him, whispering a line
that wasn’t in the script.
“I would’ve stood in the storm if you let me.”
The director loved the improvised line. Kept it in.
Hector said nothing. Just walked away after the cut.
The last scene of the day was a flashback—when the two
kings were still princes. Still friends.
They stood in simple robes, looking out over a hill. The
younger version of Benjamin’s character laughs.
“Someday we’ll rule together. Won’t that be something?”
Hector’s character gives a small smile.
“Someday.” He says. “If we’re lucky.”
Cut.
That night, Hector sat alone on the rooftop of his
building, wine glass in hand.
The script had his fingerprints all over it. His story,
dressed in velvet and fantasy.
But Benjamin?
Benjamin was real.
He was here.
Waiting.
And Hector had heard him—that whispered confession after
he’d walked away. The one not meant to reach him, but it had. Every word had
lingered longer than it should.
“I just wanted you.”
But want was dangerous.
Hector gripped the wine glass tighter. He’d burned
once—scalded by love turned weapon, by whispers turned headlines. He couldn’t
let that happen again. Not to Benjamin. Not to someone who still had everything
to lose.
If staying away meant saving him from the backlash, then
so be it.
Let the world believe they were nothing more than
coworkers.
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