Raphael watched her from the side and couldn't help asking.
"How long since you had a real meal?"
Kate swallowed a spoonful of congee.
"Since the day I landed in this world."
Raphael blinked.
"A few days?"
"Two full weeks!"
Kate said, "That idiot version of Kate only ate salad, boiled chicken breast, and whole-wheat bread to stay skinny. That stuff tasted worse than what I ate six hundred years ago when I was still human. I literally couldn't swallow it."
Raphael was speechless.
"So what have you been eating?"
Kate thought for a second.
"Hamburgers. Pizza. Hot dogs."
Raphael: "…"
Kate kept eating and suddenly started laughing.
"This is probably the happiest meal I've had since I got here."
Raphael just shook his head.
Kate finished everything, set her fork down, and looked at him.
"Honey."
"Hm?"
"Thank you."
Raphael's mouth curved. "For what?"
Kate didn't even hesitate.
"Thank you for still being here."
They held each other's eyes for a long beat.
Then Kate stood, walked around the table, and stopped right in front of him.
She leaned down, voice low.
"So… what do you want to do next?"
Raphael stared into those deep blue eyes.
"What do you mean?"
Kate bent closer, whispering right against his ear while her hand slid downward.
"I thought I was going to have your baby back in that world. It didn't happen. I'm done waiting…"
Her grip tightened.
Raphael sucked in a sharp breath.
"Kate—"
"I don't care about your other women. Jessica Alba, those two models—none of it matters. In this world I'm just a normal person, but I need you."
She paused.
"And you need me."
Raphael stood instantly and scooped her up in his arms.
Kate wrapped herself around him and kissed him hard.
That night Kate stayed at his apartment.
The next morning sunlight slipped through the curtains.
Raphael opened his eyes.
Kate was still sound asleep beside him, hair fanned across the pillow, breathing even, tiny smile on her lips.
He slipped out quietly and headed to the kitchen.
Fried eggs, bacon, toast, and a glass of warm milk.
Just as he set breakfast on the table, a phone rang in the living room.
Raphael grabbed Kate's cell. Unknown number.
He hesitated, then answered.
"Hello? Mommy?"
A little girl's voice came through.
"You're…"
Raphael froze.
"I'm Lily. I want Mommy."
Raphael took a deep breath.
"Hold on."
He rushed into the bedroom and gently shook Kate awake.
"Kate, your daughter's calling."
Kate blinked sleepily, took the phone.
"Lily?"
She listened for a few seconds and her face changed.
"Okay, Mommy's coming home right now. Stay inside like a good girl."
She hung up and looked at Raphael, clearly torn.
"I have to go."
Raphael nodded.
"I know."
Kate threw off the covers and started dressing fast.
"Lily's home alone. The nanny's off today. I can't leave her."
Raphael watched her.
"Your daughter?"
Kate nodded.
"The body's daughter—Lily Mo Sheen. Michael Sheen's kid."
She paused.
"I know she's not biologically mine, but… she's been calling me Mommy for two weeks. I can't just ignore her."
Raphael smiled softly.
"I get it."
Kate finished dressing, walked to the door, then turned back.
"Raphael, I…"
Raphael cut her off gently.
"No rush. Go take care of your daughter first."
Kate stepped close and kissed his cheek.
"Wait for me."
The door clicked shut.
Raphael stood there a long moment before he finally looked away.
Kate—or Selene—had always carried that strong maternal instinct. He'd seen it in the original movies. Even though the daughter wasn't hers by blood, the bond was real. So watching her drop everything for this little girl didn't surprise him at all.
He cleared the table, took a quick shower, threw on fresh clothes.
By the time he left the apartment it was already ten in the morning.
Raphael pulled out his phone and dialed Jessica.
It rang a couple times before she picked up.
"Rafe? You're back?"
He heard noisy background noise.
"Where are you?"
"On set."
Jessica sounded happy. "Just landed a new role—shooting in Europe the next few days."
Raphael raised an eyebrow.
"What movie?"
"Some artsy romance."
Jessica laughed lightly. "Relax—no kissing scenes, not even fake ones."
Raphael grinned.
"You volunteered for that one, so if reporters ask later, don't say I forced you."
Jessica chuckled.
"Wait for me. Love you."
"Okay."
He hung up and stood on the sidewalk watching traffic roll by.
Jessica wasn't home.
Kate had gone back to her daughter.
Suddenly he realized—he had absolutely nothing on the schedule today.
Then his phone rang again.
Philip.
"Rafe, where are you?"
Raphael gave him the address.
"Wait there. I'm coming to get you—emergency."
Twenty minutes later Philip's car pulled up.
Raphael climbed in.
"What's going on?"
Philip handed him a folder.
"Dior perfume endorsement. Five million for the year. Rush job—shoot's only a day and a half, right here in L.A. Lucky Ari told me you were back on break or we would've missed it."
Raphael flipped through the file.
"Dior perfume? I thought I signed for sunglasses?"
"Yeah, but this is the fragrance line."
Philip explained, "The original male model got injured and bailed. Dior execs held a meeting and decided to test you. Your sunglasses campaign pushed sales up thirty percent year-over-year, so they want to see what you can do for perfume."
Raphael raised an eyebrow.
"Who's the co-star?"
Philip glanced at him.
"Charlize Theron."
Raphael's mind clicked.
Charlize Theron?
The Oscar winner—still a year away from winning it—the South African diamond, Hollywood's ultimate goddess.
He remembered the J'adore Dior ad from his past life.
Even then, past her absolute peak, she still owned the screen.
But now? 2003. Charlize was only twenty-seven—prime of her beauty.
"I'll take it."
Philip nodded.
"Figured you would."
That afternoon at two o'clock Raphael pulled into Warner Bros. Studios in Burbank—Dior and Warner had a long-term partnership, so every L.A. commercial shoot used their stages.
Dior staff were already waiting.
A woman in her thirties came forward.
"Raphael, thank you so much for saving us."
She smiled. "The original male model got hurt and we couldn't find a replacement in time. The higher-ups all agreed to bring you in."
Raphael exchanged polite small talk.
The producer walked him inside while explaining.
"The concept is simple. You play a young artist finishing a painting in the studio. Charlize plays your muse. The whole ad is about subtle tension, soft lighting, pure romance."
Raphael nodded.
"Got it."
They stepped onto the set. It was already dressed: antique-style studio, oil paintings on the walls, art supplies scattered everywhere.
Lights were soft and warm, giving off that lazy, intimate glow.
A few crew members were tweaking equipment. They looked up when Raphael walked in.
He scanned the room. No Charlize.
"Ms. Theron not here yet?" he asked.
The producer checked her watch.
"She should be any minute. She's always on time."
Right then the studio door swung open.
A woman stepped in.
Blonde hair. Pale skin. Blue eyes. Five-foot-ten.
Simple white shirt, black pants, flat shoes—smart choice; at that height heels would've made her tower over Raphael.
No heavy makeup, no jewelry. She just walked in and the whole studio seemed to brighten.
Charlize Theron.
Raphael took one look and thought: the real thing is ten times better than any photo.
Charlize walked over, eyes flicking across his face, then away.
"Hello."
Her tone was cool as water. "I'm Charlize Theron."
Raphael extended his hand.
"Raphael Lee."
Charlize shook it once—barely a touch—then let go.
The feeling was unmistakable: like she was touching something she didn't particularly like.
Raphael frowned. What the hell was that attitude?
He was positive he'd never met her before. No history, no bad blood.
So why the ice?
The producer started running through the ad details. Charlize listened, nodding occasionally, never once looking at Raphael.
Raphael stayed quiet too, focusing on the job.
Until the cameras rolled.
The second the lens was on her, Charlize flipped a switch.
Eyes, expression, body language—everything perfect.
That languid, dreamy vibe poured out of her like it was effortless.
Raphael matched her beat for beat.
He might not have shot perfume ads before, but he knew exactly how to own a camera.
The two of them together looked electric.
The photographer was thrilled, clicking nonstop.
"Perfect! That's the feeling! Charlize, closer! Raphael, look into her eyes!"
They shot for two hours, then broke for a break.
Raphael sat on one side sipping water.
Charlize sat on the other—twenty feet of empty space between them.
The producer walked over and sat next to Raphael.
"Raphael, how's it feeling?"
Raphael nodded.
"Pretty good."
The producer hesitated, then lowered her voice.
"Raphael, there's something I should tell you."
Raphael looked at her.
"What?"
The producer glanced at Charlize, then whispered.
"Charlize's attitude today… it's not about you. It's about that guy… her boyfriend."