A/N: Triple Update ♡

𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

The soft murmur of voices outside my trailer was a distant hum, blending with the occasional clang of equipment as crew members prepared the set.

I stared at the script in my lap, my fingers absently tracing the corner of the page. The words blurred together, meaningless.

All I could think about was Y/n.

Her voice replayed in my mind—sharp and cutting, laced with frustration. I'd pushed too far. I always did.

But what haunted me most wasn't the way she snapped at me. It was the look in her eyes: anger, hurt... and something else I couldn't quite name.

"What the hell were you thinking?" I muttered under my breath, dragging a hand through my hair.

I knew what I was thinking. I knew exactly what I was doing. Seeing her there last night, so close, had undone every wall I'd built to keep myself away from her. The resolve I'd worked so hard to maintain crumbled the moment our eyes met.

And then I said it. Those words I'd buried for so long. "Preferably with me."

God, I was an idiot.

I leaned back in my chair, letting out a long, shaky breath. My phone buzzed on the table beside me, lighting up with a notification. I hesitated before picking it up, already dreading whatever new headline was making the rounds.

"Y/n Evans and Scarlett Johansson: Sparks Flying Again?"

My stomach twisted as I read the words. The accompanying photos showed us at the bar, leaning in close, the dim lighting making it look far more intimate than it had been.

I tossed the phone onto the table like it burned, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes. This was exactly what I didn't want. More drama, more speculation, more fuel for a fire that was already threatening to burn out of control.

And then there was Chris.

The thought of him made my chest tighten. I hadn't heard from him since the article dropped. His texts had gone from lighthearted to almost nonexistent.

I knew he was angry, and I couldn't blame him. Y/n was his little sister, and he loved her fiercely. To him, I was supposed to be the friend he could trust.

But I'd failed him.

I stood abruptly, pacing the length of the trailer. My reflection in the small mirror by the door caught my eye. I looked tired, my face drawn and pale, my eyes shadowed by restless nights.

"You're a fucking mess," I muttered, glaring at my reflection. "Get it together."

But I couldn't. Not with Y/n occupying every corner of my mind. Not with the knowledge that I might have pushed her too far this time. And not with the growing realization that no matter what I told myself, I still loved her.

The knock on the door startled me, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Scarlett, you're needed on set," a crew member called.

"Be right there," I replied, my voice steadier than I felt.

I grabbed my jacket and stepped outside, squinting against the bright sunlight. The set was bustling, people moving in every direction, but my focus zeroed in on one person.

Chris was standing by the cameras, his arms crossed, his face unreadable.

He saw me and gave a curt nod before turning away.

My stomach dropped. This wasn't going to be easy. But I owed him an explanation.

And I wasn't sure I was ready for the fallout.

.  .  .

𝐘/𝐍'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

The sound of a basketball thudding against the pavement echoed around us as I stood at the free-throw line, spinning the ball in my hands.

The court was nearly empty, just me and Dylan under the fading sunlight, and the city's distant hum provided a soothing backdrop.

"Alright, Evans," Dylan called from the sidelines, lounging on the bench with a smug grin. "You've been standing there for like five minutes. You gonna shoot, or is this some kind of meditative ritual I'm not cool enough to understand?"

I rolled my eyes but couldn't help the small smile tugging at my lips. "Maybe I'm just building suspense."

"Suspense for what? You missing?" he teased, tossing a water bottle in the air and catching it lazily.

I shot him a glare before focusing on the hoop. The ball left my hands with a satisfying spin and swished cleanly through the net.

"Still got it," I muttered, jogging forward to retrieve the ball.

"Congratulations," Dylan deadpanned. "You're officially better than every dad at a barbecue."

"Thanks for the support," I said dryly, passing the ball to him. "Your turn, hotshot."

Dylan stood and dribbled dramatically, doing a spin move that was more flair than function. He launched the ball toward the hoop, and it bounced off the rim with a loud clank.

I burst out laughing as he threw his hands up in mock frustration. "See? That's why I stick to acting," he said, shaking his head.

I caught the ball and leaned against the pole, watching him plop back onto the bench. Despite his usual antics, I knew he was here for a reason.

Dylan wasn't the type to let me wallow alone, and after everything that had gone down with Madelyn, I appreciated it more than I could say.

"Alright, spill," he said, leaning back and crossing his arms.

"You've been quieter than usual, which means either you're plotting something devious, or your brain is a mess. And since you're not cackling like a Disney villain, I'm guessing it's the latter."

I sighed, sitting down next to him and letting the ball rest between my feet. "It's just... everything feels like it's falling apart."

He frowned, turning toward me. "Everything?"

I nodded, picking at the edge of my hoodie.

"Madelyn. Scarlett. The stupid articles. It's all too much. I'm trying to show Madelyn she's my priority, but every time I think we're okay, something else comes up. And Scarlett—she doesn't make it any easier."

Dylan tilted his head, his expression softening. "You still love her, don't you?"

My head snapped up, and I stared at him. "What? No. I mean—" I hesitated, running a hand through my hair.

"It's not like that. I love Madelyn. But Scarlett... she's complicated. There's history there."

"History doesn't mean destiny," he said, his tone unusually serious. "You're allowed to have a past, Y/n. But you need to figure out if that past is still holding you back."

His words hit harder than I expected, and I let out a bitter laugh. "Wow, since when did you become a therapist?"

"Don't get used to it," he said with a grin. "I charge by the hour."

I shoved him lightly, and he feigned injury, clutching his arm dramatically. "Ow! Assault! I'm calling HR."

"Shut up," I said, laughing despite myself.

He nudged me with his shoulder. "Hey, you know I've got your back, right? Whether it's figuring out your love life or dunking on you in basketball, I'm here."

"You mean missing shots and letting me win," I corrected.

"Semantics," he said with a shrug.

For the first time in what felt like days, I felt a weight lift off my chest. Dylan had a way of making even the heaviest moments feel lighter, and I was grateful for it.

As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, I leaned back on the bench, letting the cool air wash over me.

"Thanks, Dyl," I said softly.

He looked over at me, his expression warm. "Anytime, Y/n/n. Anytime."

.  .  .

𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

The sharp snap of the clapperboard echoed across the set, a sound I'd usually associate with focus and precision.

Today, though, it felt more like a countdown to something I wasn't ready for. I adjusted the cuffs of my jacket, my movements automatic, as the crew bustled around us.

Chris stood a few feet away, casually leaning against one of the set pieces, his arms crossed over his chest. His expression was unreadable, but there was a tension in his posture I couldn't ignore.

"Alright, everyone, take five while we reset!" the director called out.

Chris pushed off the wall, his stride purposeful as he walked toward me. My heart sank; I knew that look.

It wasn't Captain America coming to deliver an inspiring speech—it was Chris Evans, my best friend, and he was pissed.

"Scarlett," he started, his tone low but firm. "We need to talk."

I swallowed hard, nodding toward a quieter corner of the set. "Let's go over there."

As we stepped out of earshot of the crew, I tried to brace myself for whatever was coming.

Chris wasn't one to lose his temper easily, but when it came to people he cared about—his family, his friends—he didn't hold back.

He stopped, turning to face me with a look that was equal parts disappointment and frustration. "What the hell is going on with you and Y/n?"

I blinked, taken aback by the bluntness of his question. "I don't—what do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean," he said, his voice sharper now.

"The articles, the posts, the cryptic captions—it's all over the internet. And now, Y/n's relationship with Madelyn is falling apart because of it."

I opened my mouth to respond, but he held up a hand to stop me. "Let me finish," he said, his jaw tight.

"You're my best friend, Scarlett. You've been there for me through everything. But Y/n—she's my little sister. And the fact that you didn't come to me about any of this? The fact that you've been playing whatever game this is with her heart? It's not okay."

His words hit like a punch to the gut. "Chris, I never meant to hurt her. Or you."

"Intentions don't matter right now," he snapped. "What matters is what you've done. You've been stringing her along, whether you realize it or not. And now she's caught in the middle, trying to prove herself to Madelyn while you're... what? Throwing cryptic comments out there to make her question everything?"

I shook my head, my voice trembling. "It's not like that. I wasn't trying to—"

"To what? Be a distraction? Make her think about you instead of the person she's with?"

"Chris, stop," I said, my voice cracking. "I get it, okay? I messed up. I let my feelings get in the way, and now it's a mess. But I didn't mean for this to happen."

He stared at me for a long moment, his blue eyes piercing.

"You owe her better, Scarlett. And you owe me better. If you still have feelings for her, figure it out. But stop playing games. Because if you keep this up, you're going to lose her. And maybe me too."

The weight of his words settled over me like a heavy blanket. My throat tightened, but I forced myself to meet his gaze. "I'm trying," I said quietly. "I'm trying to figure it out. I don't want to hurt her. Or you."

Chris nodded, but his posture didn't relax. Instead, he leaned closer, his voice dropping low.

"Honestly, if you're not going to get your shit together, leave her the fuck alone. Don't bother talking to her, don't text her—nothing. I'd hate to have to end our friendship over this because let me just tell you, if I have to choose between my friendship with you and my sister's happiness and heart, I choose her every single time. And that would take no thought."

His words hit harder than I expected, each one cutting deeper than the last. "You'd really end our friendship over this?"

"In a heartbeat," he said, his tone steady. "You've known me long enough to know how I feel about her. She's my priority, Scarlett. Always."

I nodded, unable to find the words to respond as the assistant director called for everyone to get back into position.

Chris stepped back, his expression softening just slightly. "We've got a scene to shoot," he said, his voice calmer now. "But don't think we're done talking about this."

As he walked back toward the set, I stood there, the weight of his words pressing down on me. I had always prided myself on keeping my emotions in check, on being in control.

But now, standing on a set surrounded by cameras and lights, I felt more lost than ever.

And for the first time in a long time, I wondered if Chris was right—if I was about to lose everything.

.  .  .

𝐘/𝐍'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

The evening sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm, golden glow over the living room. I was sitting on the couch, my laptop open, but I wasn't doing anything productive.

My mind kept drifting back to her—Madelyn. The last few days had been hell without her. I felt like a piece of myself had been ripped away, and I didn't know how to stitch it back together.

The sound of the door opening startled me. I looked up to see Madelyn stepping inside, her presence filling the space in a way that made my chest ache.

She was wearing one of my hoodies—too big on her petite frame—and her hair was loosely tied back. She looked beautiful, as always, but there was a heaviness in her eyes that sent a wave of dread through me.

"Hey," she said softly, closing the door behind her.

I stood, unsure whether to rush to her or keep my distance. "Hey."

She walked toward the couch, dropping her bag on the floor before sitting down. "I used my key," she said, almost apologetically.

"You don't need to explain," I replied, sitting beside her. "You can use it whenever you want."

Her lips twitched into a faint smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "You're still sweet, even when I don't deserve it."

I frowned, turning to face her fully. "Maddie, what are you talking about? You deserve everything."

She shook her head, looking down at her hands. "Let's not do this yet. Can we just... sit for a minute?"

I hesitated, then nodded. "Of course."

We sat in silence for a while, the tension in the air thick but not unbearable. After a moment, I reached out, slipping my hand into hers. She didn't pull away.

"Remember the first time we came back here after a night out?" I asked, my tone light, hoping to break the heaviness.

She smiled faintly. "You mean the night you spilled half a bottle of wine on my dress?"

I laughed, squeezing her hand. "In my defense, you were distracting me."

"Distracting you? You were the one flirting with me."

"You didn't seem to mind," I teased, leaning a little closer.

Her smile grew, her eyes softening as she looked at me. "No, I didn't."

For a moment, it felt like everything was normal again. Like we were back to being us—happy, playful, and completely in sync. But then her smile faded, and she pulled her hand away, sitting back with a sigh.

"Y/n," she began, her voice trembling slightly. "I've been doing a lot of thinking."

I swallowed hard, already knowing where this was going. "Babe, don't—"

"Please, just let me talk," she interrupted gently, her eyes pleading.

I nodded, my chest tightening.

She took a deep breath, her hands fidgeting in her lap. "I love you. So much. More than I've ever loved anyone. But I can't keep doing this."

My heart dropped. "Doing what?"

"Feeling like I'm fighting a ghost," she said quietly.

"I've been piecing things together, Y/n. The articles, the way Scarlett looks at you, the things she says... and I think, maybe, again, you don't realize it, but she has a hold on you."

"She doesn't," I said quickly, shaking my head. "Madz, she doesn't mean anything to me."

Her eyes glistened with tears as she met my gaze. "Maybe you believe that, but I don't think it's true. I think there's a part of you that still loves her, even if you don't want to admit it."

"I don't," I insisted, reaching for her hand again. "You're the one I love. You're the one I want."

She let me take her hand, but her expression didn't soften. "I know you love me, Y/n. I really do. But love isn't always enough. I can't keep wondering if I'm enough for you."

"You are," I said desperately. "You're more than enough. You're everything."

Her lips trembled as a tear slipped down her cheek. "Then why does it feel like she's still here? Like she's always going to be in the background?"

"Because people won't let her go," I said, my voice cracking. "But I have, Madz. I've let her go. You have to believe me." I pleaded.

She didn't respond right away. Instead, she leaned forward, wrapping her arms around me and pressing her face into my chest.

I held her tightly, my hand running through her hair as I tried to keep myself together.

"I don't want to do this," she whispered, her voice muffled against my shirt. "I don't want to leave. But I think I have to."

"You don't," I said, my voice breaking. "Please, Madz. Don't do this. We can fix it. I'll do whatever it takes."

She pulled back slightly, her hands cupping my face as she kissed me.

It wasn't a soft, gentle kiss. It was desperate, full of love and heartbreak. I kissed her back, pouring everything I had into that moment, hoping it would be enough to keep her here.

When she finally pulled away, her forehead rested against mine, and tears streamed down both of our faces.

"I've never loved anyone like I love you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I have to protect myself. I can't keep breaking my own heart."

"You're not breaking it," I said, my hands gripping her waist as if I could anchor her to me. "We can fix this. I'll prove to you that she doesn't matter."

She smiled sadly, leaning in to kiss me again, this time softer, more lingering. When she pulled away, she rested her hand against my cheek.

"I'll always love you, Y/n."

I closed my eyes, unable to stop the tears that fell. "Madz..."

She stood slowly, her hand slipping from my face as she grabbed her bag. I followed her to the door, every step feeling like a knife to my chest.

As she turned to leave, she looked at me one last time, her eyes filled with love and pain. "Goodbye, Y/n."

And then she was gone. The door closed behind her, and I sank to the floor, my back against the wall as the weight of her absence crushed me.

.  .  .

𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕

The faint aroma of cookies filled the air as I leaned against the counter, watching Alba move effortlessly around the kitchen.

She hummed softly, her hair loosely tied back, flour dusting her cheeks. I couldn't help but smile at the sight.

"You know," I teased, crossing my arms, "I think you like baking more than eating the cookies."

She glanced at me, one eyebrow raised. "You're not wrong. But lucky for you, I don't mind sharing."

"Lucky for me?" I echoed, stepping forward to wrap my arms around her waist from behind. "I think you mean lucky for you. Who else would taste-test your creations with such dedication?"

She laughed, leaning back against me. "Hmm, I think Dylan would be happy to take that title. The man eats like a vacuum."

"Fair," I admitted, pressing a kiss to her temple. "But I'm your favorite, right?"

"You're tolerable," she teased, turning to kiss my cheek.

A knock at the door broke our playful banter. Alba frowned, pulling away slightly. "Are we expecting anyone?"

"Nope."

"I'll get it," she said, brushing her hands on a towel as she walked toward the door.

I stayed in the kitchen, flipping through my phone idly until I heard Alba's voice, soft but surprised. "Y/n? Oh my God, are you okay?"

My head snapped up, and I moved toward the hallway just as Alba stepped aside to let Y/n in. The sight of her froze me in place.

Y/n stood there, her face streaked with tears, her eyes red and puffy. She looked utterly broken, clutching her arms as though holding herself together. The moment she crossed the threshold, her gaze locked on me.

"Chris..." Her voice cracked, and in the next instant, she was