The set of The Mask felt like a runaway amusement park.
Chuck Russell stared at the monitor, brow furrowed—but he couldn't stop himself from smiling.
Onscreen, Jim Carrey bounced between barking like a dog and breaking into an Elvis impression. He was pure rubber, stretching and snapping back at will. Cameron didn't get swept away by his chaos. She was sharp, like a clever lion tamer—one well-timed eye roll, one improvised quip, and she'd yank the scene right back on track.
"Cut!" Chuck called out, laughing. "Jim, if you keep this up, the VFX team's gonna run out of money."
Jim dropped the crazy faces and shot Cameron a wink. Cameron stuck her tongue out at him.
For that moment, it didn't feel like acting at all—it felt like play.
Bandit walked over with two iced coffees, handed one to Link, and leaned in, his voice low and excited.
"Link, New Line just called. They saw the rough cut. Marketing budget's up another three million."
Link took a sip. The ice clinked crisply against the cup.
"Tell them to spend it carefully."
Bandit blinked, about to ask more, when Martha—the assistant—came rushing in like she was being chased by a ghost. Her face was drained of color, and she clutched a tabloid in her hand.
"Link… you need to see this."
She slapped the paper down on the table.
Front page. A sneaky paparazzi shot from a brutal angle—Link and Cameron walking out of a restaurant together. Soft lighting. Intimate vibes. The kind of photo that suggested everything without proving anything.
The headline was even louder:
"A 'Private Audition' for a Palme d'Or Producer? Hollywood's New Sweetheart and the Fast Track to Fame!"
Below it, in smaller print:
"Insiders claim a Asian-American producer spent big to buy out the negatives—an obvious case of guilt."
"Bang!"
Bandit's coffee hit the floor and exploded. The noise on set vanished, like someone hit mute. A makeup artist froze mid-powder. A grip's light swayed slightly. Every single pair of eyes turned their way.
Chuck's face darkened. He wasn't worried about the gossip itself—he was worried about what it might do to his lead actress's head.
Link felt his temple throb. He picked up the paper, read it from start to finish, expression blank. Then he walked over to Cameron and handed it to her.
Cameron froze. The color drained from her face inch by inch. Her fingers clenched so tight her knuckles turned white. She bit her lip, clearly wanting to say something—but no words came out.
"Link…" Bandit's voice shook. "This is definitely Harvey. That bastard Harvey. We should sue them. Right now. Lawyer up."
Link watched Cameron, watched the light fade from her eyes. Thirty seconds passed. He didn't say a word.
Then, finally, he smiled softly.
"Sue them?" He shook his head. "Why would we?"
Bandit stared at him.
"Since when is dating illegal in Hollywood?" Link said calmly. "A single producer can't pursue a single actress?"
The words landed like a stone dropped into water.
Cameron's heart thumped hard—then suddenly burned. A spark she couldn't suppress flashed in her eyes, and her lips almost curved into a smile. Almost. She quickly lowered her head, letting her hair fall forward as she pretended to straighten the newspaper in her hands.
Link had already picked up his phone and dialed.
Bandit was losing his mind. "Link! What the hell are you doing?!"
"Sarah." The call connected. Link's voice was steady, each word firm like a nail driven home. "I've got an exclusive. Want it?"
On the other end, Sarah Jenkins instantly perked up. "Talk to me."
"Front page," Link said. "I've even got the headline—'Hollywood's New Power Couple.'"
"What?" Sarah almost missed it.
Link turned toward Cameron. His smile held a quiet, unshakable resolve.
"I won't deny the photos. I won't deny buying the negatives. I'll only say one thing."
He paused. Everyone on set held their breath.
"I'm pursuing her."
In that instant, Cameron's ears burned red, her heart lit like someone had struck a match inside her chest.
She looked up and met Link's gaze—then hurriedly turned away. But she couldn't stop the faint curve at the corner of her lips.
Link went on, voice smooth and certain.
"Tomorrow, every newspaper in Hollywood—
is going to turn into my love letter."