"Get down!"

Anne-Marie barely had time to register the shout before she ducked, narrowly avoiding the fake bullet that whizzed past her. Without missing a beat, she sprinted toward the car parked just a few paces away, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. The sting of cold air bit at her lungs as she dodged more pretend bullets, each one making her heart race as if they were real. Behind her, the cameramen struggled to keep up, their heavy equipment slowing them down.

This was her life—the life of a stuntwoman. It was a relentless, grueling existence filled with more risks than anyone outside the industry could imagine. Every day was a new battle against the impossible, whether it was being set on fire, leaping from one towering building to another, or orchestrating a spectacular car crash. Anne-Marie faced these challenges head-on, and today was no different. Her world was full of monsters, some digital, some real, but she fought them all, driven by something deeper than adrenaline.

More gunshots echoed around her, and she pushed herself harder, her focus locked on the car ahead. The men chasing her were close—too close. One of them, taking his role a little too seriously, closed in on her just as she reached for the car door. She barely had time to react before something hard slammed into the back of her head.

Pain exploded behind her eyes, and Anne-Marie staggered, her hand slipping off the door handle as her legs buckled beneath her. She leaned heavily against the car for support, her vision swimming with bright spots. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth, and she could feel it trickling down the back of her neck, warm and sticky. Slowly, she turned to face the man who had struck her, his eyes wide with shock as he realized what he had done.

"Why is she stopping?" The director's irritated whisper cut through the haze of pain. "How can she stop now?"

"It looks like she's been hurt, sir," one of the crew members replied hesitantly.

"I can see that, but she has to keep going! This is the passion we've been waiting for. She should take advantage of the situation! Gosh, I'm about to lose my mind. Where on earth did you hire such an unprofessional dimwit?"

Dimwit? The word pierced through Anne-Marie's pain like a knife. How could he say that when she was literally bleeding? Didn't they care at all? She clenched her teeth, fighting back the wave of dizziness that threatened to pull her under.

"Anne-Marie," the assistant director's voice was softer but no less insistent. She turned slowly, her vision still blurred. "Anne-Marie, keep up with the acting. Get into the car," he urged, pointing toward it as if that was all she needed to do.

Was he serious? She could barely stand, let alone continue the scene. But as she looked around, she saw the crew's eyes fixed on her, waiting for her to move. The lead actress stood off to the side, wrapped snugly in a fur coat, watching her struggle with a detached sort of interest. Anne-Marie's heart sank.

She took a deep, shaky breath, the pain in her head throbbing in time with her pulse. For seventeen long years, this was how she had lived—on the edge, taking whatever jobs she could find just to survive. It wasn't glamorous. It wasn't easy. But it was the only way she knew to keep going, to keep her head above water. She couldn't afford to lose this job, not when so much depended on her. Not when Abel's life depended on her.

How much longer would she have to endure this? How many more times would she have to put her body on the line just to afford a meal? The tears welled up in her eyes, hot and bitter, but she blinked them back. She couldn't afford to cry. Not now.

She couldn't give up. She had come too far, fought too hard. She had to push through the pain, just like she always did.
You've got this, Anne-Marie,she reminded herself, taking another deep breath.
You can do anything.

Those were the words that had carried her through countless trials, and they would carry her through this one, too. With a grim determination, she gripped the door handle, pulling it open and climbing into the car. She wasn't about to waste the rolling tapes, not when she had so much on the line.

"Good girl," the director's triumphant voice reached her ears as she started the car. Everyone was watching with bated breath, the cameras following her every move as she accelerated toward the slide. The men chasing her kept up their act, the one who had hit her included, though his steps faltered with guilt.

Anne-Marie kept the car steady, the speedometer climbing steadily until she hit the slide. The car lifted off the ground, sailing through the air before crashing back down with a deafening thud. Smoke filled the air, and for seven agonizing seconds, there was nothing but silence.

"And cut!" the director yelled.

It was over. The scene was a success.

Anne-Marie could barely hear the cheers from outside as the health team rushed toward the car. Her head was spinning, her vision still blurred, but she managed a weak smile as they helped her out. She had done it. She had made it through, just like always.

"Anne-Marie!" Nathaniel's familiar voice called out to her. She looked up to see the small man with frizzy blonde hair and a scruffy beard hurrying toward her, concern etched into his features. He was the one who had gotten her the job, the one who had believed in her when no one else would.

"Is it over?" Anne-Marie's voice was faint as the nurses led her to a bench and began tending to her wounds. She could feel the blood matting her hair, the pain sharp and relentless, but she tried to focus on Nathaniel's face, to find some comfort in his presence.

"Yes, it's over," Nathaniel said, his voice full of warmth. "And you did so well, as always."

"Really?" Anne-Marie glanced around, trying to see past the pain and exhaustion. The crew was buzzing with energy, celebrating the successful shoot. But her eyes were drawn to the lead actress, standing in the center of the attention, soaking up all the praise. The woman hadn't done much of anything, and yet she was the one everyone fawned over. It made Anne-Marie's heart ache.

"Don't feel sad," Nathaniel said gently, reading her thoughts as he always did. "You know stunt doubles never get any credit."

Anne-Marie pressed her lips together, the truth of his words settling over her like a heavy blanket. She knew the rules, knew what she had signed up for. But that didn't stop the longing in her heart, the wish to one day be the one in the spotlight, to have her hard work acknowledged, even just for a moment.

"It's already bad enough that I got you this job, considering you're below age limit," Nathaniel added, his voice tinged with worry. "If the authorities find out, we could be in serious trouble. Please don't make me feel worse than I already do."

Anne-Marie nodded, understanding the weight of what he was saying. "I know. I'm grateful, Nathaniel, really."

"Here's your payment," he said, handing her a white envelope. "Get home safely, and please, get that wound checked out at the hospital. You might have a concussion."

Anne-Marie took the envelope, her fingers brushing against his in a silent gesture of thanks. She watched him walk away, his figure blending into the hustle of the crew. She opened the envelope, just to make sure—because in this world, trust was a luxury. Satisfied that the money was all there, she felt a small sense of relief.

"Ouch," she winced as the nurse dabbed at the wound on her head, the sting sharp and immediate.

"Sorry," the nurse murmured, her tone kind but firm. Anne-Marie's gaze drifted back to the crew, watching them celebrate. There was talk of an after-party, a chance to unwind after a successful day. But there wouldn't be an invitation for her. There never was for stunt doubles. She couldn't help but feel a pang of loneliness, of longing for something more.

"I'm heading to the hospital," the nurse said, interrupting her thoughts. "Would you like to come with me?"

The hospital? No way. Anne-Marie knew she couldn't afford that. Hospitals meant bills, and she didn't have insurance. The money she had just earned was precious—it needed to go toward her brother's chemo treatments, not her own injuries. She waved off the offer with a polite smile.

"No, I'm fine," she lied, pushing down the pain. "It's just a scratch. I've got tough muscles—it'll heal before you know it."

The nurse didn't look convinced, but Anne-Marie didn't give her a chance to argue. She stood up, her legs wobbling slightly beneath her.

"Thanks for the offer, though," she added, slipping the envelope into her jeans pocket. "But I need to get out of these expensive clothes before I'm asked to pay for them."

"Anne-Marie—" the nurse started, but Anne-Marie was already walking away.

"Thanks, Candice," she called over her shoulder, heading toward the crew's bus. She needed to change, to get back to her own clothes, her own reality.

A few minutes later, Anne-Marie emerged from the crew bus, dressed in her worn jeans and a faded hoodie. She hopped on her bicycle, the envelope of cash tucked safely away, and began the long ride home. The familiar rhythm of pedaling helped to clear her mind, each rotation of the wheels a small reminder that she was still in control, still moving forward despite everything.

As she rode, the pain in her head throbbed in time with her heartbeat, but she pushed it aside, focusing instead on the road ahead. The streets were quiet, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the pavement. She knew the route by heart, every crack and pothole, every turn and dip. This was her escape, her chance to let go of the day's burdens, even if only for a little while.

Yhup!! Hope you enjoyed this chapter!!
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