….
Hollywood had never been short of dark, unconventional truths.
Beneath the glamour, the studio system was built on ambition, moral compromise, and intense isolation.
Having worked on sets for years in his previous life, Alex knew that behind every polished public persona lay a complex web of personal baggage.
But hearing the raw details of Julie’s chaotic, rebellious youth—far removed from the polished superstar she would one day become—was still a stark reminder of the cost of growing up under the town’s spotlight.
Industry rumors usually carried an edge of truth, but seeing the real emotional weight behind them was different.
Julie watched his expression closely, looking for a reaction.
Seeing his steady, quiet focus, a faint, provocative smirk touched her lips.
“So, Alex,” she said softly, tilting her head.
“Did my little history lesson scare you off?
More interesting than small talk at the bar, isn’t it?”
Her tone was light, almost like she was sharing a late-night prank rather than the painful realities of a broken home.
Alex let out a quiet breath, stepping closer to keep his voice private.
“Anji…
why tell me all of this?
We’ve known each other for less than an hour in a room full of strangers.”
He paused, glancing subtly across the terrace toward Jon Voight, who was still holding court near the main salon.
“Aren’t you worried I’d walk over and hand him every word you just said?”
She rolled her eyes, her posture turning cold.
“Go right ahead,” she scoffed, her voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper.
“You think he cares?
You think he’d freeze up and look horrified like you did?”
She mimicked his serious expression with a sarcastic flick of her hand.
“No, Alex.
You’re completely missing the point.” She stepped closer, her tone bitter.
“Jon Voight’s world consists of scripts, awards, and keeping his public profile clean.
My brother James and I were just accessories he remembered to bring out when he needed to look like a family man.”
Her words came fast, carrying years of built-up resentment.
“As long as it doesn’t leak to the press, he doesn’t spend five seconds worrying about what happens in my life.
Handling a real issue would just be an inconvenient mess for his publicist.”
Her breathing was slightly uneven, her eyes burning with raw, suppressed anger.
Alex listened quietly, sensing the deep loneliness behind her armor.
Many young actors who grew up around the industry carried those same scars—seeking control and independence in any way they could find it.
Instead of pressing her further or offering empty advice, Alex pulled out his car keys.
“It’s getting late,” Alex said gently.
“How about I give you a ride home?”
Julie narrowed her eyes, studying his face with sharp suspicion.
“Are you trying to leverage my mess to get into my apartment?”
“Not at all, Angie,” Alex replied calmly, maintaining a polished, gentlemanly composure.
“It’s late, and I doubt you want to wait around for your father’s driver.”
Julie glanced back at the crowded terrace, grimaced at the thought of riding back with her father, and finally nodded. This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
“Fine.
I’ll take the ride.”
“Wait right here for a minute.”
Julie watched as Alex straightened his lapels, walked smoothly over to Jon Voight, and exchanged a few quiet, polite words.
The veteran actor gave a short, agreeable nod before returning to his conversation.
Alex walked back to the shaded corner with a faint smile.
“All set, Miss Jolie.
Please allow me to escort you back in a rented Aston Martin.”
Julie stared at him as they walked toward the driveway.
“What did you actually say to him?”
“I kept it simple,” Alex said smoothly.
“I told him you had a headache and offered to drive you home so he wouldn’t have to break up his meeting.
Naturally, to keep up appearances in front of his peers, he agreed.”
Julie shook her head, a dry, sarcastic smirk returning to her lips.
“Are all you British guys this polished at managing people?”
“It’s not hypocrisy, my dear,” Alex smiled, opening the passenger door for her with practiced ease.
“It’s simply clean diplomacy.
Let’s get you home.”
….
-Krazybro