“Hey, baby.”
Brett walked into the living room, his robe loosely tied, and bent down to press a gentle kiss to Eva’s forehead.
“Good morning, honey,” Eva replied softly.
She was curled comfortably on the sofa, relaxed and unbothered, her presence warm and inviting in the quiet morning light.
Brett settled near her feet, making himself at home as he absentmindedly traced slow patterns along her legs while scrolling through his phone.
“Have you and the girls picked out your outfits for dinner yet?” he asked casually.
“Mr. Manson is hosting us this Sunday.”
“We already have new outfits,” Eva said, tilting her head with a faint, knowing smile.
She stretched one leg toward him playfully, teasing in her own lighthearted way.
“We haven’t even worn them yet.”
Brett glanced up at her, a small smirk forming.
“Last night wasn’t enough for you?” he teased lightly, his tone warm rather than sharp.
Eva let out a soft laugh, leaning back into the moment.
“Maybe not,” she murmured, half joking, half daring him.
That single sentence was enough.
Brett’s attention snapped fully to her.
With a sharp motion, he let his phone slip from his hand, landing on the couch with a soft thud, forgotten.
One leg folded over it as he shifted, turning fully toward her.
His hand slid along her thigh, pulling her onto his lap, while the other rose to her neck, thumb brushing her skin with slow, deliberate intent.
The air between them thickened, charged with each heartbeat echoing the unspoken promise that morning would not remain innocent for long.
Just then, Fiona stepped out of her room, eyes sweeping the living room.
“Hi. Mom, Dad.”
Their hands, still entangled moments ago, fell apart as if by instinct.
“Where are you going, all dressed up?” Brett asked, curiosity laced with surprise.
Eva smiled, a hint of pride in her voice.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you she’s one of StarTalents’ actresses.”
Brett’s eyes widened, his mouth falling open.
“Huh… that’s strange.” His gaze sharpened as it landed on Fiona.
“Did Mr. Manson arrange all of this?”
“No,” Fiona replied calmly, shrugging slightly.
“My agency did. So basically, I’m no longer with them.”
Brett let out a short, scoffing laugh.
“It’s for the best. Your agency was already dying anyway.”
Fiona turned to leave, deciding not to linger on the conversation.
But just as she stepped forward, Brett’s voice froze her in place.
“On Sunday, we’re having dinner with Mr. Manson,” Brett said, his tone deceptively calm, but the edge beneath it cut sharp.
“He’ll be discussing the engagement date. Make sure you’re ready. And if you don’t have anything prepared, let your mother know now.”
The words sank into Fiona like cold steel.
Engagement date.
Her breath caught faintly at the thought, the phrase echoing in her mind long after it was spoken.
Her fingers curled slowly at her side, nails pressing into her palm—sharp enough to ground her, not enough to calm the sudden storm rising within her.
Prepared?
Ready?
The questions repeated in silence, heavier each time.
How could anyone ever be ready for this?
For a moment, she stood completely still lost in thought, as everything around her seemed to fade into a distant blur.
“Fiona… Fiona!” Brett’s voice cut through the air, sharp and insistent, echoing like a command she couldn’t ignore. Visit g.com for the full chapter.
“Sure, Dad,” she said firmly.
She turned without looking back—once, not even once.
No words followed.
No hesitation remained.
She stepped out with steady resolve, each stride measured and deliberate, as though sheer determination alone could outrun the uneasy weight pressing against her chest.
She boarded the Metro A Line in Pasadena, the doors sealing shut with a muted hiss as the train jolted forward toward Downtown Los Angeles.
She sank into her seat, jaw tight, fingers clenched in her lap.
“Such an annoying jerk,” she muttered under her breath.
“How dare he not inform me about the dinner.”
A sharp sigh slipped past her lips.
“Who does he think he is, some Greek god?”
Her hand threaded through her hair in frustration, nails scraping lightly against her scalp.
“We just saw each other the other day at the company, you bastard.”
The irritation clung to her like static until the train slowed.
7th Street/Metro Center.
She rose with the crowd and transferred to the E Line.
As the city unfolded around her, brighter lights and wider skies stretching into the distance, Fiona’s anger slowly dulled but never truly disappeared.
It lingered beneath her skin like a quiet storm refusing to pass.
By the time the train rolled into Downtown Santa Monica, her frustration still clung to her.
Yet underneath it, something else had begun to stir, a faint, unsettling feeling that the day ahead would not be ordinary.
The doors slid open.
Fiona stepped out.
The hum of the departing train echoed in her ears as she moved through the station, the sound fading like a distant memory.
She reached into her bag, pulling out her phone, her fingers tightening slightly as she dialed Hazel.
No response.
Her pulse dropped sharply.
Stepping out of the station, she crossed toward the tiled road, sunlight scattering across the patterned ground beneath her feet.
A bus hissed sharply to a stop ahead.
The doors swung open.
“From StarTalents Media, right?” a voice called, sharp and expectant.
Fiona nodded.
“Yeah.”
“Hazel said to pick you up. Hop in.”
She stepped onto the bus, eyes scanning the interior.
Four girls, not much older than her, sat clustered together, whispering behind cold, indifferent gazes.
Three boys lounged elsewhere, their expressions aloof, almost untouchable.
Instinctively, she claimed the empty seat nearest the door, heart hammering in her chest.
The boy who had spoken to her leaned forward, extending a hand.
“You’re Fiona, right?”
She shook it, masking her nerves with a polite smile.
“Yeah, hi.”
“I’m Jacob,” he said smoothly.
“Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” she replied, trying to steady her voice.
He tilted his head, curious.
“Is this your first gig or have you done other work before?”
“Yeah this is my first. I just got contracted,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Jacob’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile.
“Ah, so you’re a rookie,” he said, the words carrying a hint of teasing not unkind, but sharp enough to make her pulse skip.
The bus shuddered to a sudden stop, sending a ripple of quiet through the other passengers.
They all stepped down, and Fiona’s eyes scanned her surroundings.
A hand waved insistently at her, Hazel.
“Alright, we’ll catch up later,” Jacob called, giving her a small wave.
“Yeah bye,” Fiona replied, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she walked toward Hazel.
She walked toward her, each step measured, nerves tightening in her chest.
“You’re a bit late,” Hazel’s voice cut through the air, grumpy and sharp, leaving no room for excuses.
Fiona straightened, forcing herself to meet Hazel’s gaze, feeling the weight of expectation press down on her like the midday sun.
“Pardon me, my parents’ partly made me late,” she sighed, teeth clenched.
“Can you believe that bastard set a damn dinner with my parents just to discuss his engagement date?”
“Isn’t it your engagement too?” Hazel asked, genuinely confused.
“Absolutely not, he’s marrying himself!” Fiona snapped, the words spilling out like fire.
“We made a deal, and now he’s going behind my back!” she muttered, her voice sharp, trembling with anger.
Hazel lifted a hand, motioning for her to stop.
“No! Don’t tell me to calm down, don’t tell me to be cool!” Fiona shouted, throwing her hands in the air.
“I f*cking hate this shit, snitches like this!” Her fingers curled into fists, her frustration burning hotter with every heartbeat.
“Who are you calling a snitch?” Manson’s voice came from behind, calm but edged with warning.
Fiona inhaled sharply and spun on her heel to face him, eyes blazing, sharp, unyielding, refusing to be intimidated.
“You are a terrible person,” she snapped, pointing straight at him, then at herself as if to emphasize the injustice of it all.
“We had a deal.”
Manson didn’t so much as flinch.
His posture remained perfectly composed, almost infuriatingly calm.
His voice followed, smooth and measured.
“The deal still stands. I didn’t break it.”
Fiona let out a scoff, heat surging through her chest.
“Didn’t break it? Then what do you call informing my parents about the engagement date without telling me?”
A faint pause.
Manson tilted his head slightly, as if genuinely entertained by the accusation.
“The deal,” he said evenly, “was to keep the engagement private. Not to consult you on every decision I make.”
His eyes sharpened just a fraction.
“Or do you want me to report to you, Miss Fiona?”
Silence snapped between them.
Fiona’s lips pressed into a tight line, rage flickering across her expression like a flame refusing to die.
Manson stepped back half a pace, voice lowering calm, taunting in its certainty.
“You don’t need to be scared,” he said softly.
“The engagement will go far better than you could ever imagine.”
“You—” she began, but he cut her off with a sharp, sarcastic edge.
“We have a deal. I haven’t forgotten,” he said, dismissing her words with ease.
Then, as if switching gears, he turned to Hazel.
“Hazel, how many days is this commercial going to take?”
“Today and tomorrow,” Hazel replied, steady.
“Then I’ll have the talent managers secure a good hotel nearby,” Manson said, his eyes flicking briefly to Fiona.
“You’re busy enough we can’t have you multitasking, and we wouldn’t want our new rookie to feel uncomfortable.”
Fiona’s jaw clenched, but she said nothing.
Every word from him was a calculated push, and she could feel herself on the edge but she wasn’t backing down.