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The flight from Paris back to Los Angeles gave Cassius time to breathe. He scrolled through the custom Dior clothing list that had just landed in his inbox.
Three full pages. Every outfit tailored to his exact measurements. Every single one paired with a matching Jennifer Lawrence piece.
Dior was going all-in on the couple marketing angle. He'd tried to keep things low-key, but this was the opposite. If anyone dug deep enough, the truth about him and Jennifer would spill out fast. Another media firestorm waiting to happen.
Cassius rubbed his temples. Relationships were more exhausting than any action sequence.
The plane touched down. He didn't go home. Instead he headed straight to James Gunn's studio where the Guardians post-production team was still polishing VFX.
Gunn sat at the color-grading station, headphones on, staring at Groot's face on the monitor. "Boost the eye gloss by five percent," he told the VFX artist. "He needs that fresh-cry sheen."
"Director, Groot's a tree," the artist muttered.
"Trees have feelings too!" Gunn snapped. "Just do it!"
Cassius walked up. "Gunn."
"Cass!" Gunn spun around, eyes lighting up. "Perfect timing. Check this out."
He pulled up a finished shot. The Guardians crew inside a bar on Knowhere, Groot in the background dancing along to the music—awkward, adorable, pure Groot.
"What do you think?" Gunn asked, hopeful.
"Looks great," Cassius said. The scene felt more human than the version he remembered from his past life. More alive.
"Of course it does. I personally blocked every move," Gunn said, smug. "Internal screening's set for next month. Marvel execs, Disney people—the works."
"Need me there?" Cassius asked.
"Definitely." Gunn lowered his voice. "Word is Interstellar's in final crunch. Nolan wants to drop the same weekend we do. Direct competition."
Cassius raised an eyebrow. "That aggressive?"
"Nolan's always been cocky," Gunn shrugged. "Thinks his movies are art and ours are just popcorn. Plus Warner's pouring extra money in because of you."
Cassius stayed quiet. Nolan had earned the swagger—Inception, The Dark Knight. But Guardians wasn't some lightweight either.
"Then let's go head-to-head," Cassius said, confidence steady. Fast 6's trailers were already dropping in waves. Premiere and global tour locked in. He'd use Fast 6 to build an unbeatable mountain first, then go toe-to-toe with Interstellar on Guardians.
Fast 6's London premiere was set for next Friday. Universal sent the official call—full cast attendance, including Cassius.
Twitter was already buzzing. "Fast Family reunion plus Cassius!" "London premiere—I'm camping out!" "Heard the car lineup is the craziest yet—people spotted the rigs at Leicester Square!"
He landed at Heathrow around ten p.m. Vin Diesel had sent a car. It dropped him at the hotel the crew had taken over.
In the lobby Paul Walker and Michelle Rodriguez were chatting. They both grinned when they saw him.
"Cass! Long time!" Paul pulled him into a hug. "Oscar winner now—do we need an appointment to see you?"
"Cut it out." Cassius punched his shoulder lightly. "How you guys holding up?"
"Same old—driving fast, fighting bad guys, saving the world," Michelle said around an unlit cigarette. She was trying to quit.
Vin stepped out of the elevator in a black leather jacket, bald head gleaming under the lights. "Cass." He bumped fists. "How was Paris? Dior shoot go smooth?"
"Solid. Director was intense though."
"Artists are like that," Vin chuckled. "Rehearsal tomorrow, premiere the day after. London's going big—posters and cars everywhere. Global premiere. Pressure's real."
"Pressure's just fuel," Cassius answered.
He dropped his bags in his room and headed for the shower when his phone rang. Unknown London number.
"Hello?"
"Cassius?" A cool voice with a crisp British accent.
"Yeah. Who's this?"
"Keira Knightley." A pause. "Heard you're in London tomorrow. Got time to meet?"
Cassius froze for a second. Keira Knightley. His first on-screen sex scene had been with her during Green Lantern. Back then her favorability had been high, but nothing ever happened between them. He'd hoped. She'd stayed distant even as the number kept climbing.
"Of course," he said. "When?"
"Tomorrow, three p.m. Coffee shop downstairs from my hotel." She gave him the address.
He hung up still a little stunned. He opened the panel and checked her favorability. Last time he looked it was 91. Now it sat at 94. Up three points. When? They hadn't seen each other since Green Lantern. She'd texted congratulations after the Oscar and he'd replied with a quick thanks. Apparently she'd been holding onto something.
The next afternoon at three he walked into the quiet Kensington café. Classic decor, soft jazz, almost empty. Privacy perfect.
Keira sat in a corner booth wearing a simple beige sweater and jeans, hair in a loose ponytail, no makeup. She looked like any other London girl—except for the exhaustion in her eyes.
"Sit," she said.
Cassius slid in across from her. The waiter brought two lattes.
"Congratulations on the Oscar."
"Thanks."
He studied her. She looked thinner than during Green Lantern. Faint dark circles under her eyes that makeup couldn't fully hide.
"Why'd you reach out?" he asked.
"I live in London," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Forgot I'm British?"
Cassius smacked his forehead. Right. He'd been in America so long it slipped his mind.
"I was out of town when you were filming here," she continued. "Couldn't visit set. But your premiere's in London, so I figured I should say congratulations in person."
She kept it casual, but something felt off.
"How've you been since Green Lantern?" he asked.
"Fine. Did a couple of indie films. Nothing huge." She shrugged. "Not like you—rocket ship straight up. Oscar, Marvel, Dior. You're the hottest Asian face in Hollywood right now."
"Lucky timing."
"Not all luck." Keira looked at him directly. "I saw it on the Green Lantern set. You weren't there to coast. You actually wanted to act. You put in the work."
The compliment landed warm. The café stayed quiet except for the music and occasional clink of cups.
Cassius noticed the tiredness in her face again. "You filming right now?"
"Just wrapped something. Two weeks off." She stirred her coffee. "Not really rest though. Personal stuff to handle."
Her voice stayed vague. Cassius caught it. "Need help?"
Keira met his eyes, expression complicated. "You can't help unless you can make the paparazzi and the creepy fans disappear."
The words were heavy. Cassius frowned. "Someone's harassing you?"
"More than that." She gave a tired laugh. "Stalking. Secret photos. Weird letters. I've moved three times. They still find me. Police say there's no proof of actual harm—just keep logging reports."
She glanced toward the window. Cassius followed her gaze. A plain gray sedan sat across the street, dark tint on the windows.
"That car?" he asked quietly.
"Maybe I'm paranoid," she said, looking back. "But it feels like someone's been following me. I circled the block three times before coming in here today."
Cassius's stomach tightened. He'd heard stories about British tabloids and obsessive fans, but this sounded serious.
"What about your agent?"
"She blocks what she can. It's not enough." Keira rubbed her temples. "Some days I just want to quit. Buy a house in the countryside, grow flowers, get a cat, and never see another person again."
The flat tone couldn't hide the despair underneath.
"Don't say that," Cassius said. He reached across the table and touched the back of her hand lightly. "You're a great actress. You don't deserve to be driven out by these people."
Her hand felt cold. She looked at him, eyes glassy for a second before she pushed it down. "Thanks. I shouldn't be dumping this on you. I came to congratulate you."
She took a deep breath and forced a smile. "When's the Fast 6 premiere?"
"Day after tomorrow. Leicester Square."
"Can I go?" she asked, then laughed at herself. "As a friend, I mean. Is that allowed?"
"Of course," Cassius said. "I'll get you a ticket."
"Deal." She checked her phone. "I should go. I have a—uh, doctor's appointment this afternoon."
She stood up too fast. Cassius stood with her. "I'll walk you out."
"No, I can—"
"I'm walking you," he said firmly.
They stepped outside. London afternoon was gray, rain threatening.
Her car waited at the corner—a low-profile black Range Rover. She reached for the door handle and froze.
"What's wrong?" Cassius asked.
Keira didn't answer. She stared at the window.
Cassius stepped closer. A printed note was stuck to the glass: "I know you went to see him. You shouldn't see other men."
Neat letters. The message made his skin crawl.
Keira's face went white. She ripped the note off with shaking hands, crumpled it into her pocket, and yanked the door open. "I have to go."
"Keira." Cassius caught the door. "This isn't okay. Come back to my hotel."
"No, I—"
"Listen to me," he said, voice steady. "My hotel has solid security. Paparazzi can't get in. Just come crash there for a bit. Clear your head. Then we figure out next steps."
She bit her lip, hesitated, then nodded. "Okay."
Cassius sent her driver home and drove her himself. On the way she stayed silent, staring out the window. In the rearview he spotted the gray sedan again. He took a deliberate detour around Kensington Palace, lost it after two blocks.
They pulled into the hotel underground garage and took the private elevator straight up. His suite was the top-floor one Universal had booked for the leads—huge living room, two bedrooms, study, balcony with a view of the whole city.
"Sit," he said, pouring her a glass of water. "Whatever you need, just say."
Keira sank onto the couch, clutching the glass, fingers still trembling.
"Thank you," she whispered. "Sorry for dragging you into this mess."
"Friends don't apologize for that." Cassius sat across from her. "That note—have you gotten others like it?"
"Plenty," she said, eyes closed. "Letters. Emails. Stuff left at my door. At first it was just 'I love you.' Then it got worse. Said I belonged to him only. Couldn't talk to other men. Couldn't do intimate scenes—"
Her voice got smaller.
Cassius understood. Classic stalker escalation. Already at threat level.
"Did you report it?"
"Three times." She gave a bitter smile. "Police are sympathetic, but without physical harm they can't do much. Suggested I hire bodyguards or leave the country for a while."
"You thought about it?"
"I did. But my parents are here. And if I run, that bastard wins. He'll just get bolder."
Cassius thought for a second. "You still going to the premiere?"
"Yes." Keira lifted her head, eyes suddenly sharp. "If I don't go he'll think he scared me. I'm going. I'm walking in like nothing's wrong. Show everyone I'm fine and won't be bullied."
Cassius felt a surge of respect. Keira looked soft, but there was steel underneath—the British rose toughness.
"Good," he said. "I'll have extra security on you that night. And I'll stay with you the whole time."
She blinked. "You're not worried about the press? They'll spin it."
"Let them." Cassius shrugged. "Compared to someone's safety, gossip is nothing."
Keira stared at him. Her eyes filled again. This time she didn't stop the tears. She grabbed a tissue fast. "Sorry. My emotions are all over the place lately."
"Crying helps," he said, handing her more tissues. "Holding it in just makes it worse."
She wiped her face, took a few deep breaths, and finally calmed down.
"Cass, you know why I asked to see you today?" she asked suddenly.
"Why?"
"Because you're one of the few people who makes me feel safe." Her voice was quiet. "Back on the Green Lantern set you never crossed lines. Never made gross jokes. You respected my boundaries. In Hollywood that's rare."
[Keira Knightley favorability +2 — Current: 96]
The number jumped on the panel.
Keira kept going. "Later when you got huge I thought you'd change. But I watched your interviews, your Oscar speech—you're still you. So when I couldn't take it anymore, you were the first person I thought of."
Something in Cassius's chest tightened.
"Thanks for trusting me."
"Stay here the next few days," he said. "Two bedrooms, plenty of space. After the premiere I'll hook you up with real security and a lawyer who handles these cases. You need pros on this."
Keira nodded. "Okay."
She looked exhausted. Her eyelids started to droop.
"Go sleep," Cassius said, standing. "Bedroom's that way. Fresh sheets."
"Thanks." She stood, took two steps, then turned and hugged him—light, quick. "Really. Thank you."
Then she disappeared into the bedroom and closed the door.
Cassius stood in the living room listening to the London rain outside, thoughts spinning. He pulled out his phone and texted Rob: "Find me the best private security firm in London and a lawyer who specializes in stalking cases. Urgent."
Rob replied fast: "Who's in trouble?"
"Keira Knightley. Stalker situation. Bad."
"On it."
Cassius walked to the balcony. Rain poured harder, London blurred in gray mist. He remembered his own early days in Hollywood—racist directors, shady producers, people trying to exploit him. Back then he had no one to call. Now he could actually help a friend.
His phone buzzed. Vin: "Cass, rehearsal's set for ten a.m. tomorrow at Leicester Square. Universal's upgrading security—big names coming."
Cassius replied: "Got it."
He glanced toward the bedroom. He should probably loop Vin and Paul in about Keira since she'd be at the premiere.
The bedroom door opened. Keira stepped out wearing one of his T-shirts as a sleep shirt, hair loose. She looked more relaxed than before.
"Can't sleep. Mind if we talk?"
"Of course." Cassius came back inside. "What about?"
"Anything." She curled up on the couch. "Tell me about you. Not the work stuff. Just… you."
Cassius thought for a moment. "Busy. Nonstop."
"Shooting, promo, endorsements—sometimes I feel like a spinning top that won't stop."
"But you love it, right?" Keira studied him. "I saw it on set. Your eyes light up when you're acting."
"I do," Cassius admitted with a small smile. "Acting's the only thing I'm good at and actually enjoy."
"I'm jealous," she said softly. "Lately I'm scared of the camera. Every time I see one I wonder if that creep is watching. If he'll lose it because I'm doing a scene with another guy."
Cassius felt the weight of what she was carrying. She was already twisting herself into knots trying to predict a stalker's reactions. That wasn't living.