Zack had already glimpsed the ruthless calction behind her sweet facade from that recording. He didn’t dare refuse and signed the contract.
Instantly, a smile spread across Ynda’s face. “I’ll be counting on you to look out for Ian from now on,” she said smoothly.
This TV series was a huge project this year. While it was partly designed to push some stars, tens of millions had been sunk into the production.
At this point, the die was cast. No matter how ufortable Zack felt, with his weakness exposed, he wasn’t about to rock the boat.
Ynda and Ian got into her car–a $600,000 Porsche, a wedding gift from Samuel two years
ago.
“Where do you live?” asked Ynda.
Ian replied, “Willow Lane.”
Ynda frowned. Willow Lane had no nice parts–just run–down houses, once called a slum. It was close to downtown, but the area was a mess.
Ynda fell silent. She realized she didn’t know much about her studio’s only talent—or much about Megan’s marriage.
After what felt like forever, she said, “I’ll drive you home. You start filming in three days. I’ll help you get settled at first–find you roles, line up ads. Once your career takes off, Megan will
take over.”
Ian nodded. “Okay.”
The car pulled into Willow Lane and stopped where he lived. She looked at the alley–gloomy even in daylight–and felt a weird, uneasy twist in her gut.
Ian pulled on a mask and a hat and then got out
Ynda followed him out. “I’ming with you,” she said tersely,
Ian stood still, his back ramrod straight.
Ynda pressed, “I need to know you better. You’re my only client right now–I’m pouring all my time into you. If we sign more peopleter, we’ll probably barely see each other.” She was dead set on building up the studio.
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Ian looked down, tugged his mask a little higher, and started walking.
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Ynda followed behind. Unlike downtown’s busy bustle, the streets here were potholed, with trash heaped in corners.
They stopped at his ce. The door decorations were faded, but the area was clean. The lock was old. He pulled out his key and unlocked it.
Inside, there was a tiny yard with a punching bag–covered in dents, like he used it a lot to blow off steam. The house itself was maybe 600 square feet, simple but neat.
Ian took off his hat and mask and headed to the narrow kitchen. He washed the only cup had over and over–even running boiling water over it before finally pouring some water inside. <fn8102> This content belongs to </fn8102>
he
Ynda stood in the living room, eyeing his tall, good–looking frame, and let out a soft sigh.
She felt like that the second he took off that mask, the entire room came to life. In this rundown space, he stood out like a vibrant bloom–sharp, proud, and cool.
Ian walked out of the kitchen and set the cup of water down in front of Ynda, who was perched on the narrow couch. “Here,” he said, his eyes casting down.
Ynda nced around, fighting a small smile. “No girlfriend right now, Ian?”
Ian shook his head. “Nope.”
“Good. If you do get one, tell me first. Your face will draw fans easy, but more fans mean more rules,” Ynda said.
Her slender fingers curled around the ss, but she didn’t take a sip. She was here with a purpose. “You live by yourself?” she asked.
“My mom’s in the hospital. She’s sick.”
“Megan says you’ve been keeping the studio afloat these past two years. You must’ve made some good money–so why haven’t you moved to a better ce?”
“Hospital bills aren’t cheap,” Ian said, his eyshes flickering. For once, his obedience had a hint of stubborn defiance.
“What about your dad?” Ynda pressed.
She didn’t want to be noisy, but as his agent, she had to ask–better to prep him now than let the gossip sites tear him apartter. After all, a talent’s entire life was exposed under the spotlight.
Ian nced past her at the punching bag outside and whispered, “Dunno.”
“School records? Any skeletons I should know about?” she kept asking.
Ian stayed quiet, his lips pressing into a thin line.
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Ynda picked up the cup and took a small sip. “When you hit it big, the tabloids will dig up every little thing. I need to n ahead so we aren’t blindsided.”
Ian swallowed hard, and after a long pause, his voice came out rough. “I was at Beloris University, but something went down. It wasn’t my fault, I swear. I don’t even get it…”
“If it’s not on you, I’ll fix it. Rest up today, and be on set in three days. I’ll rush to line up endorsements for you,” Ynda smiled. “Call me if anything personales up. Ian, I need you to step up a little, okay?”
She then stood, grabbing her bag off the nearby table. A subtle fragrance clung to her—not from perfume–softly filling the cramped room.
She pped a hand on his shoulder. “We gotta trust each other. If you’re hiding something, tell meter. But do it before you’re famous.”
“Got <i>it</i>.”
Ynda pulled her hand back, catching a glimpse of a pink flush at the tips of his ears. She frowned, “If you’re not feeling good, tell me too.”
Ian remained silent, simply standing to see her out.
Ynda drove off, but as she turned out of the alley, she spotted a luxury car pulling in.
The license te looked familiar, but she couldn’t ce where she’d seen it. ncing in the rearview mirror, she saw it stop right at Ian’s front door.
A middle–aged guy got out. From a distance, his build looked familiar–like Dn, the one who rarely came home.
Ynda had married into the Sinir family for two years and had barely seen him. But he had constantly showed up at charity events–she’d seen him in the papers plenty of times.
Word was he sponsored hundreds of students, was a shrewd businessman, and even had connections in government circles. That was why Charles steered clear of divorce drama.
But Charles was all smooth surface with a wild streak underneath. He might torch his entire reputation for the right woman. The problem was, the one he’d risk everything for hadn’te back yet.
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