Chapter 3
Franklin stood in front of the mirror, buttoning his white shirt with deliberate care. He smoothed the fabric down, tucking it neatly into tailored trousers, and combed his dark hair back until it gleamed. A slim gold chain rested lightly against his throat, a stone earring glinting at his ear.
A final touch of perfume misted across his skin, sharp and elegant. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, his chest tight with something he didn't want to name.
It felt ridiculous—like a teenager sneaking out for his first date.
But this wasn't a date. It was work. It was everything he had dreamed of since he was young actor. Director Noah Ashford.
When he stepped out of the bathroom, Damien was awake. He sat against the headboard, laptop balanced on his knees, his dark hair falling slightly into his eyes.
The faint frown that crossed his face when he looked up was sharp enough to cut.
"Are you trying to suffocate yourself?" Damien's voice was low, clipped. "The cologne is choking me from here."
Franklin's throat tightened. He cleared it softly, forcing his steps steady as he moved toward the table by the bed. His car keys lay there—Mason couldn't pick him up today, so he'd drive himself and meet his assistant at the studio.
But as he stretched out his hand, Damien's fingers closed around his wrist.
The grip was firm, unyielding.
"Damien—"
Before he could say more, Damien tugged him closer and crushed their mouths together. The kiss was rough, demanding, leaving no space for resistance. Damien's hand slid beneath his shirt, cold palm against heated skin, claiming territory already his.
And, as always, Franklin gave in.
His chest heaved, his breath short, his body betraying him like it always did in Damien's arms.
Then—suddenly—Damien stopped.
He pulled back just far enough to look at him. Really look.
Franklin froze, heart racing. Damien's thumb brushed across his cheek, gentle, almost reverent. Their eyes locked, dark against hazel, and for a suspended moment the world narrowed to nothing but that gaze.
It unsettled Franklin more than the roughness ever could.
Because for once, Damien looked at him not like a possession, but like… something more.
Franklin's chest clenched painfully. He didn't know what to do with that look.
The sharp buzz of Damien's phone shattered the silence.
The spell broke.
Damien let him go, answering the call with effortless calm. His tone shifted into the clipped efficiency of business, his eyes already back on the glowing laptop screen.
Franklin straightened his clothes with shaking hands. He picked up the car keys, pausing only once at the doorway. He looked back, but Damien didn't glance up—his voice low, smooth, speaking into the phone as if Franklin hadn't just been in his arms.
Biting the inside of his cheek, Franklin left.
The heavy door shut behind him with a click.
For a moment, Damien's gaze flicked toward it, the faintest shadow crossing his expression. Then, with a slow blink, he turned back to the laptop, his fingers steady on the keys.
As if nothing had happened.
---
The car hummed along the road, but Franklin's mind wasn't in the present.
He kept replaying it—Damien's eyes.
Five years together, and not once had Damien looked at him like that. Not once had there been anything soft in that gaze. Until this morning. Until the way Damien's thumb had brushed his cheek, slow, deliberate, almost tender.
It unsettled him more than the roughness ever did.
His fingers tightened around the steering wheel. When the contract first started, he had been different. Back then, Franklin had still been naive enough to believe he could turn a physical arrangement into something real.
He used to wait for Damien to come home, dinners prepared, his best smile ready. He had tried to be the perfect boyfriend, tried to make Damien see him as more than a body to be claimed.
But Damien had warned him, cold and sharp: "This will never be more. You're not worthy of me."
And Franklin had believed him. Because Damien was right. Someone like him could never be more than a kept man for someone like Damien Carter.
He exhaled shakily, dragging himself back to the present as he parked the car.
Mason rushed up the moment he stepped out. "Director Noah is in the office," he said quickly. "I checked. He's with the chairman of Orion Pictures now. Franklin, this is it—you finally got it."
Franklin's throat tightened. Mason knew. Mason had always known how badly Franklin had wanted this chance. How many auditions he had gone to, how many times he had walked out rejected, waiting for Noah Ashford to notice him.
And now, finally…
They entered the towering glass building of Orion Pictures. The lobby buzzed with life—assistants carrying scripts, phones ringing, staff hurrying down corridors. They walked up to the receptionist, a young lady, who smiled at them, "Director Noah is waiting for you," she said, "You can take the elevator up,".
Franklin's steps were quick, almost too quick, Mason trailing after him.
When they entered the elevator, Franklin leaned back against the mirrored wall and exhaled, his chest heaving.
"Calm down, you already got the role," Mason said, adjusting his coat for him. But then his eyes narrowed. He coughed lightly, tugging at Franklin's collar.
The red mark on his neck was glaring in the reflection.
Without a word, Mason pulled out a scarf, wrapping it neatly around Franklin's throat in a fashionable way.
Franklin didn't protest. He just stood still, letting Mason fix what Damien had left behind.
The elevator dinged. The doors slid open.
Franklin stepped out first.
Through the glass window of the office ahead, he saw him.
Director Noah Ashford.
His back was to them, brown hair pulled into a neat ponytail, broad shoulders set straight as he spoke with the chairman. His hand moved when he gestured, every motion refined, confident, commanding.
Franklin stopped. For a moment, he simply stood there, staring, the breath caught in his throat.
Years ago, Noah's words had saved him. Talent may be born, but greatness is made from pain and persistence. He had lived by those words when he had nothing else.
Now, the man who had been his inspiration was just a few steps away.
Mason nudged him lightly, breaking the spell. "Go on," he whispered.
Franklin inhaled, squared his shoulders, and walked forward.