It was strange how quickly an entire year could disappear.
Twelve months ago, I had walked through the doors of Zion Entertainment carrying nothing more than a clipboard, a notebook, and enough nervous energy to power the entire building.
Now…
This place had become my second home.
The familiar rhythm of phones ringing, keyboards clicking, assistants hurrying through hallways with scripts tucked beneath their arms, and producers arguing over release dates had become part of my everyday life.
Somehow…
Without realizing it…
I had become part of that rhythm too.
— A polished brass nameplate sat neatly outside my office.
Lauria Talent Development Manager Direct Report: Timothy Zion The title still felt surreal every time I read it.
The internship had ended months ago.
So had my role as Clara’s assistant.
Now, I handled Timothy’s daily schedule, script evaluations, media appearances, contract coordination, and communication with directors alongside Clara.
She still oversaw everything, but gradually…
She had begun trusting me with more responsibility.
Sometimes…
More than I trusted myself.
— My office reflected that growth.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the sprawling Zion Entertainment studio lot below.
Production trucks rolled between sound stages.
Crew members carried lighting equipment from one set to another.
Costume designers hurried across the courtyard with garment bags over their shoulders.
Hollywood never slowed down.
Inside, however…
Everything felt peaceful.
One wall displayed framed posters from films Timothy had completed over the past year.
Eclipse.
The Critics’ Choice Award winner.
Then…
The Astronaut’s Promise.
The little screenplay everyone had underestimated.
The film that proved emotional storytelling could still captivate worldwide audiences.
It had become both a commercial success and a critical phenomenon.
Critics praised its restraint.
Audiences praised its heart.
And Timothy…
Timothy had delivered the performance of his career.
He had won nearly every major acting award that season.
Best Actor.
Outstanding Performance.
Critics’ Choice.
Golden Globe.
Academy Award nomination.
Every acceptance speech had sounded almost identical.
“Stories like this exist because people believe in them.” He never mentioned my name publicly.
He didn’t need to.
Knowing I’d helped place that script into his hands was enough.
— I looked away from the posters and returned to the stack of scripts waiting on my desk.
Three romantic comedies.
One political thriller.
Two historical dramas.
A science-fiction epic.
Another superhero franchise.
Hollywood loved sending Timothy everything.
Choosing the right project had become more difficult than finding one.
I highlighted several notes inside a psychological drama before reaching for my coffee.
Cold.
Again.
I smiled to myself.
That made…
I checked the empty cups.
…my second forgotten coffee of the morning.
Some habits never changed.
— My phone vibrated softly against the desk.
A notification appeared across the screen.
Timothy Zion I frowned slightly.
He rarely texted during rehearsals.
Curious, I opened the message.
«Hey.
I’m outside.
Can I come in?» A small smile found my lips before I could stop it.
Simple.
Direct.
Very…
Timothy.
I typed a quick reply.
«Sure.» I barely placed the phone back on the desk before two gentle knocks echoed against the office door.
Always two knocks.
Always patient.
Even after an entire year together professionally…
He never entered without permission.
“Come in.” The door opened slowly.
Timothy stepped inside, quietly closing it behind him.
Today’s rehearsal had clearly been casual.
No expensive tailored suit.
No designer jacket prepared for photographers.
Just black jeans, white sneakers, and an oversized charcoal hoodie.
His dark hair looked slightly messy, as though he’d repeatedly run his fingers through it while practicing scenes.
Honestly…
He looked less like Hollywood’s biggest movie star…
And more like an ordinary twenty-eight-year-old man.
I preferred this version.
It seemed easier for him to breathe.
— “Morning.” “Morning.” He walked toward my desk with his usual calm confidence.
No entourage.
No assistants.
No makeup artists following behind him.
Just…
Timothy.
He stopped beside my desk and reached into his hoodie pocket.
Without saying a word…
He placed a small folded ticket stub in front of me.
I looked down.
Private Screening The Astronaut’s Promise Yesterday evening.
The invitation had been exclusive.
Cast.
Crew.
Studio executives.
Nothing more.
I looked back up.
“You kept this?” He nodded.
“I wanted you to have it.” My eyebrows lifted.
“Why?” His smile appeared slowly.
“Because…” He glanced toward the framed movie poster hanging on my wall.
“…this started here.” He tapped the screenplay stacked beside my computer.
“No.” He corrected himself softly.
“It started with you.” My chest tightened unexpectedly.
I didn’t know what to say.
— Before I could respond…
He reached into his hoodie pocket again.
This time…
He carefully removed something much smaller.
Metal caught the sunlight streaming through the windows.
A medal.
Silver.
Elegant.
Simple.
I recognized it immediately.
The Critics’ Choice Award medallion presented alongside the Best Actor trophy.
Engraved on the back were the words: Timothy Zion Best Actor The Astronaut’s Promise He placed it gently beside the ticket.
I stared at it in disbelief.
“…Timothy.” He simply watched me.
“This belongs in your office.” “No.” I immediately shook my head.
“It belongs to you.” “It does.” He smiled softly.
“But I wouldn’t have earned it.” His eyes met mine.
“If you hadn’t believed in that script first.” Silence settled between us.
Not uncomfortable.
Just…
Heavy.
With gratitude.
— Trying to lighten the moment, I smiled.
“Why don’t you sit, sir?” His expression immediately softened into quiet amusement.
“Sir?” “You’ll always be ‘sir’ during office hours.” He chuckled.
A genuine one.
“I’ve been trying to change that for a year.” “And I’ve been winning for a year.” “I noticed.” Instead of taking the chair opposite my desk—the one reserved for meetings…
He quietly pulled the chair beside mine.
Close enough that our shoulders would almost touch.
Not inappropriate.
Just…
Comfortably familiar.
He sat down.
The medal remained resting between us.
— “I’ll make some fresh coffee.” I stood from my chair.
“You probably haven’t eaten either.” Before I could take even a single step…
Warm fingers gently wrapped around my wrist.
I froze.
The touch wasn’t forceful.
It didn’t need to be.
Timothy had never been rough with anyone.
Especially not me.
Slowly…
I looked down at his hand.
Then…
At his face.
His expression had changed.
The easy smile was gone.
In its place remained something quieter.
More vulnerable.
The office suddenly felt impossibly still.
Outside the windows, crews continued filming another movie.
Phones rang somewhere beyond my office.
Someone laughed in the hallway.
Life continued as normal.
Yet inside this room…
Time seemed to pause.
He slowly released a quiet breath.
“…The coffee can wait.” His voice was barely above a whisper.
“There was something…” He hesitated.
Something Timothy Zion almost never did.
“…I wanted to tell you.” For the first time since I’d met him…
Hollywood’s most composed actor looked genuinely nervous.
And somehow…
That frightened me far more than any dramatic confession ever could.