Paisley stepped from the tent, then recoiled. Dominick loomed, his gaze accusatory. "What now?" she snapped.

Dominick's chest ached. "I should be asking you that. I arranged dinner," he gestured toward the luxurious catering trucks. "Why didn't you eat?"

Paisley stared, surprised. "You did this? I thought Sam was treating us."

Dominick’s worry had driven him to this. He’d heard Paisley left the hospital early, rushed to the set, and feared she’d miss dinner. These trucks were supposed to be a discreet way to ensure she ate. He'd skipped his own social engagements to get here. Now, he found everyone else feasting, except Paisley.

Confusion rippled through the crew. Sam glanced at his furious agent, then at a flustered assistant pushing a snack cart. The assistant, oblivious to the brewing storm, focused only on delivering the treats. He’d ordered from three places to get everything done on time. He barely noticed the tense atmosphere, his eyes fixed on Sam's expression, fearing his displeasure. He pushed the cart forward, plastering on a smile. "Snacks, everyone! Sam's treating!"

Silence. No one moved. The assistant, unnerved, spotted Gary and Paisley. "Gary, assistant directors, Ms. Vaires! Samuel Salter's treating you!" His heart pounded. He knew these were big names; who would want his snacks? He hated having to announce Sam's full name, a requirement from Sam and his agent for "brand building."

Gary accepted a cup, pitying the assistant. The assistant directors followed suit.

The assistant approached Paisley, then froze. Dominick stood beside her, frowning. A cold stare from Dominick sent the assistant reeling back. He then saw the luxurious food trucks – far beyond his means.

Sam yanked the assistant aside. "Where are the snacks?"

The assistant pointed. Sam's face went green. "Why are they so cheap?"

The assistant wanted to scream, Because you're cheap! but remained silent.

The agent's voice was icy. "So, you didn't arrange those trucks?" The assistant shook his head. The agent felt like fainting.

"Enough!" she barked, silencing the assistant. The truth dawned on everyone. Dominick, not Sam, had provided the feast, a favor for Paisley. Sam's meager snacks were a pathetic contrast. The crew's mockery was deafening.

Sam’s manager frantically deleted recently posted photos. Sam, pale and defeated, knew Dominick's identity. He felt like an exposed fraud, paralyzed by shame.

Sam's manager scrambled to apologize. "Mr. Vanderbilt, a misunderstanding!"