Chapter 9
Inside the banquet hall, the air was thick with murmurs of business and politics.
"Heard about the Farrells," Jones Carter asked, his voice calm but carrying the weight of command. "If you need any assistance—"
"I can handle it myself," Damien cut in before he could finish.
"I do hope so, we don't want history repeating itself," Jones said.
Their eyes met briefly—father and son, both unyielding. Then Damien rose smoothly from his chair and walked away before his father could say more.
Out on the terrace, the night breeze tugged at his hair. He took a slow sip from his glass, gaze sweeping over the garden.
There, far off among the lights and laughter, stood Franklin. Awkward, surrounded by Emma and her giggling friends, stiff as a statue but unable to escape their orbit. Damien's jaw flexed.
"She really is obsessed with him," came a familiar voice.
Dianne's hand touched his back lightly.
Damien allowed a faint smile at her words, but his eyes didn't move from Franklin until at last he glanced down at his sister.
"You okay?" she asked, searching his face.
He looked at the drink in his hand, then back toward the horizon. "Why wouldn't I be?"
Dianne sighed softly, her gaze drifting over the estate. "So many memories in this house."
A corner of Damien's mouth lifted. He slipped an arm around her shoulders. "Yeah. Like when you used to sneak your boyfriends in."
Her eyes went wide, and she smacked his chest lightly. "Don't let Vic hear that!"
He chuckled, and she laughed too, the sound mingling with the music inside.
"Time flies," Dianne whispered. She turned to him, cupping his cheek. "My baby brother has grown."
Damien took her hand gently and pushed it away. "That's enough. Stop acting like you haven't seen me in years."
"You should get married," she teased, nudging him. "Have a kid of your own."
He gave a low laugh, but his eyes had already strayed back to the garden—back to Franklin. His gaze lingered, unreadable.
"Are you staying the night?" Dianne asked quietly.
"No." His voice was flat, but his eyes never left Franklin.
"There you are!"
Vic's voice rang out, warm and booming as he approached. He hooked an arm around each of them, smiling wide. "Come on—you two always sneak off. Let's go inside."
And just like that, the moment broke.
----
As the banquet wound down, Emma had made sure she got Franklin number.
She typed quickly as he dictated, saving it with a little heart beside his name. "Now you have to reply if I text you. Promise?"
"Promise," Franklin said with a smile, amused by her determination.
Damien eyes found him.
His eyes fixed on him, dark and unreadable.
Not long after, Damien steered him discreetly out of the mansion.
The car ride home was quiet. Emma's laughter still rang in Franklin's ears, but exhaustion settled heavy in his body. He leaned back, eyes drooping against the hum of the engine. Slowly, sleep claimed him.
Damien glanced sideways. Franklin's head had tilted against the cold glass window. With a small shift, Damien eased him away from it, guiding his head gently until it rested against his shoulder. Franklin stirred but didn't wake.
Damien's gaze softened in the dim light. His fingers twitched, as if tempted to brush through Franklin's hair, but he stilled, keeping perfectly still until the car rolled to a stop.
At the house, the driver opened the door. Damien slipped out smoothly, then leaned down and scooped Franklin into his arms as if he weighed nothing. The actor murmured faintly but didn't stir.
Damien carried him inside, through the silent hall, into the bedroom. He set Franklin carefully onto the bed, pulling the blanket over him. For a moment, he just stood there, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest.
Then Damien straightened, his expression hardening once more.
----
Franklin woke to the shrill buzz of his phone. Blinking against the morning light, he reached instinctively to his side—but the bed was empty.
The screen flashed with Sophia's name. He answered groggily, only to see the dozens of missed calls and unread messages stacked above her current call. His stomach dropped. Among them were urgent texts from Mason: I'm outside. Where are you?
The realization hit like a punch. Today was the first day on set. The day he was supposed to impress Noah Ashford. And he had overslept.
"Shit."
Franklin bolted out of bed, sprinting to the bathroom. He showered at lightning speed, threw on his clothes in a rush, and dashed out the door with barely a glance in the mirror.
Outside, Mason leaned against the car, scrolling his phone with a scowl.
"Why didn't you come in?!" Franklin shouted, yanking the passenger door open.
"They wouldn't let me," Mason snapped, nodding toward the Carter guards stationed by the gate.
Franklin glanced at them—their blank, unflinching stares—and swore under his breath. No time to argue. He dove into the car, slamming the door shut.
"Drive!" he barked.
Mason hit the gas, the tires screeching as they pulled away from the Carter estate, the looming gates shrinking in the rearview mirror.
Franklin leaned back, breathless, heart pounding. His chance to impress Noah was already slipping away.
-----
On set, the crew was restless. Equipment stood ready, cameras waiting, but the air was heavy with impatience.
Noah Ashford sat in his director's chair, one leg crossed over the other, his script resting casually in his lap. His expression was calm, but the faint curl of his lips carried the sharp edge of irritation.
"So, what the holdup," he said coolly, his voice cutting through the murmurs. "We're ready to get into it… but the male lead is missing." Answered one of the crews
Silence spread. A few of the crew glanced at Sophia nervously.
Noah glanced at his watch, then back at the crew. "Five more minutes. If he isn't here, I'll be choosing another lead." His gaze slid to Sophia, cold and deliberate.
"He'll be here," she said quickly, forcing a smile. "Franklin wouldn't miss this."
Noah didn't reply. He simply stood, brushing past her with an air of finality, heading toward the set.
Sophia's smile faltered the moment his back was turned. She fished her phone from her bag and dialed furiously. "Where the hell are you?"
Before Mason could reply, Franklin snatched the phone from his hand in the backseat. "We're here! We can see you!"
Sophia's head snapped up, spotting their car pulling into the lot. She shoved the phone back into her bag and stormed toward them.
The second Franklin stepped out, she grabbed his wrist, practically dragging him. "I'm sorry, I woke—"
"Later," she hissed, cutting him off. "Go in there before you lose your role!"
Franklin didn't need to be told twice. He sprinted past her, heart hammering, into the blinding lights of the set.