SuperStar!

The set was eerily silent as the cameras rolled, the dim lighting casting dramatic shadows over the wrecked motel room. Ethan sat on the bed, elbows resting on his knees, head hanging low as he waited for his cue. The air was heavy, not just with the artificial fog pumped in for effect, but with the weight of the story they were about to tell. This wasn't just another music video—this was art, raw and vulnerable.

Emil's voice rang out through the set, cutting through the hushed murmurs of the crew. "Alright, Ethan, we're rolling. Get into character. Feel the weight of the moment."

Ethan inhaled deeply, steadying himself. The world around him faded, the hum of activity on set becoming nothing more than white noise. His fingers twitched slightly before he clenched them into fists, then released them again. A method actor might call it settling into the role, but for Ethan, it was more instinctive—its like he had years of performing which taught him how to shift his mindset on demand since his first music video.

The camera zoomed in as he mouthed the opening lyrics, his expression carrying the turmoil of a man caught between love and regret. He leaned forward, his fingers dragging through his hair in frustration, his eyes flickering between longing and guilt. The therapist scene was first—it had to be flawless.

The setting was stark, intentionally devoid of warmth. A simple chair positioned against a bare white backdrop, a single, harsh light beaming down to create the feeling of an interrogation. The actress playing the therapist sat across from him, nodding in feigned understanding as Ethan delivered his performance with the right balance of hesitation and anguish. His jaw tightened at just the right moment, his brow furrowing, his hands moving slightly—clenching, unclenching—as if fighting back unseen emotions.

It was the smallest details that made the scene believable.

"Cut!" Emil called. His voice echoed across the set. "That was perfect, Ethan. Let's move on to the flashback scenes."

Ethan exhaled, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the weight of the moment. He stood, grabbing a bottle of water from a nearby table and taking a sip, his gaze moving across the set. The crew moved quickly, resetting the stage to resemble a makeshift apartment. The actress playing his love interest adjusted her outfit while the makeup team did last-minute touch-ups.

As Ethan waited for his cue, he turned toward the far side of the room. Eminem stood in front of a monitor, head bobbing slightly, silently mouthing his verse with that same focused intensity he always carried. Ethan found himself mirroring the movement, nodding along as the faint beat pulsed through the space. Without realizing it, his lips started moving in sync with the lyrics, his body following the rhythm.

What he didn't notice was one of the crew members filming him on their phone, capturing the moment as he rapped along under his breath, unaware of how naturally he had slipped into the performance rapping and dancing at eminems part.

"Ethan, you're up!"

Snapping back to reality, Ethan took his position. The next scene was the water sequence.

This was the one he had been dreading—not because of the scene itself, but because the warehouse they were filming in wasn't exactly warm. He had tried not to think about it, but now that he was standing under the rig, he could already feel the chill creeping in.

The set had been modified to simulate a heavy downpour. Ethan stood in the center, his body tense as he stared straight into the lens. The first few droplets hit his skin, sending a shiver down his spine, but he held his ground. Then, the rain intensified, drenching him in seconds. His plain white shirt clung to his body, water dripping from his hair, but he stayed in character. Every movement, every expression was calculated yet natural—he channeled every ounce of emotion into the performance, his eyes conveying heartbreak, anger, resignation.

He hoped—prayed—they would get the shot in one take

The cold seeped into his bones, but he kept going, moving with precision, his lips syncing flawlessly with the lyrics. The music swelled, and he let himself go, fully immersed in the moment. He had done countless shoots before, but this one felt different—there was something raw about it, something unfiltered.

The water slowed, signaling the end of the take. Ethan looked up instinctively, waiting for Emil's verdict, his breath coming in short, controlled bursts.

Silence stretched for a moment.

Then—

"That's great. We got it!" Emil's voice rang out, bringing an almost immediate wave of relief.

Ethan exhaled slowly, wiping the water from his face as he stepped out of the artificial rain. His body was still shivering slightly, but he forced himself to act normal, not wanting to come off as unprofessional. He caught sight of Joe, the production manager, standing by the monitors. Joe shot him a thumbs-up, and Ethan returned the gesture before heading toward the changing room.

He peeled off the soaked shirt, running a towel through his hair before throwing on the fresh set of clothes he had worn earlier. He lingered for a moment, eyeing the wardrobe section. If he had to be back early tomorrow, flying out tonight would be a hassle. He grabbed a shirt for the next day, making a mental note to stay over at the hotel instead.

"Hey," Ethan called to the fashion designer nearby. "Mind if I borrow this?"

The man turned, flashing a quick smile. "Of course, of course. Take whatever you need."

Ethan nodded in appreciation before stepping out of the room.

As he entered the hallway, he saw Eminem coming from the opposite direction, fresh from his own shoot. The older rapper looked at him, arching a brow slightly.

"You ready to leave?" Eminem asked.

Ethan gave a small smirk, running a hand through his damp hair. "Yeah, let's go."

And with that, they walked out, leaving behind the echoes of a music video that was sure to leave an impact.

The car ride back to the hotel was quiet at first, the exhaustion from the shoot settling heavily on Ethan's body. He leaned against the window, watching the city lights blur past, his muscles aching from hours of intense performance. The adrenaline that had pushed him through the last scene had finally worn off, and now, all he wanted was to collapse onto a bed.

Eminem sat beside him, stretching his shoulders as if shaking off the weight of the performance. He turned to Ethan, breaking the silence. "Thanks for doing this, man. You killed it. I'll hit up your team—I'll make sure you get paid."

Ethan, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion, sat up straighter, shaking his head. "No, no. Forget that. You came to my tour and performed on stage we did magic up there. There's no way I'm taking payment unless you take one from me first."

Eminem smirked, shaking his head. "Nah, man. I'm not collecting."

Ethan grinned. "Then I'm not either."

For the first time that night, the car filled with laughter. It wasn't just about money—it was mutual respect, an unspoken acknowledgment of the effort both had put into the project. Ethan had grown up admiring Eminem, and to be able to collaborate with him was already more than enough.

The ride continued in silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet shared between two artists who had given everything they had on set. As the car neared the hotel, Eminem glanced at his phone, checking something before turning back to Ethan.

"By the way, I booked the suite for me and my daughter but. With the rush, that's all I could get. You're stuck with us tonight."

Ethan, too tired to argue, just nodded. "No problem. As long as there's a bed, I'm good."

When they arrived at the hotel, security was already waiting, ensuring that they could enter unnoticed. They moved quickly, covered and shielded from prying eyes, taking a back entrance straight up to the suite. The exhaustion in the air was palpable.

As they stepped inside, Ethan barely took in the luxurious surroundings before asking, "Which room's mine?"

Eminem, still scrolling through his phone, pointed towards one of the doors. "That one."

Just then, the door to another room creaked open, and Hailie stepped out, rubbing her eyes, clearly exhausted herself. She gave a half-hearted wave before yawning. "Night, guys."

Ethan smiled, nodding. "Night."

With that, he trudged toward the room Eminem had pointed at, stepping inside without another word. He didn't bother turning on the lights or even taking off his clothes. He just collapsed onto the bed, the exhaustion swallowing him whole. His body sank into the mattress, his mind already slipping into unconsciousness before he could think of anything else.

Ethan slept heavily after a very busy day, not knowing the next day would be even more strenuous—with a surprise waiting for him in the morning.

I want to apologize for not posting yesterday—I was very sick and exhausted. I'm feeling a little better today, so I hope you enjoy this chapter. It might not be my best, but I didn't want another day to pass without posting.