Chapter 59 – The Cake from the Far East
Inside Nicole, that untamed wildness she had never quite subdued was howling.
She wanted nothing more than to drag this man—who had just dominated the entire room—into the nearest office, lock the door, pin him against the desk, and claim him in the most primal way possible. It wasn't merely desire.
It was worship turned into possession.
Across the aisle, Mariah Carey rested her chin lightly on her hand, studying William with unmistakable interest.
As a reigning diva of the music world, she might not fully grasp the intricate power struggles of the film industry—but she possessed an almost animal instinct for star aura.
What William had displayed moments ago—his fearless dismissal of old hierarchies, his absolute command of presence—had genuinely shaken her.
A ripple stirred in her heart.
This new friend of hers was far more formidable than she had anticipated.
There was something intoxicating about a man who seemed intent on bending an era to his will. It awakened in her a strong curiosity—a desire to probe deeper, to understand what kind of soul could sustain such ambition.
Beside her, Catherine Zeta-Jones was staring at William with something that surpassed admiration.
It bordered on devotion.
She was not yet the Oscar darling she would later become. But her actor's instinct told her she had just witnessed more than a film screening.
She had witnessed a coronation.
She understood that Before I Go to Sleep was destined to become a landmark in cinema history—and that William was the one carving names into stone.
When she looked at him, her gaze was fervent, almost reverent. As if following him—even into an abyss—would be a privilege rather than a sacrifice.
It took considerable effort for William to extricate himself from the enthusiastic crowd of crew members who had surrounded him.
At last, only his core team remained—Katya, a few key staffers, and the three women orbiting him with very different intentions.
Just then, Courtney—now officially William's chief secretary—approached in elegant high heels. She leaned in slightly and whispered something close to his ear, her breath brushing his skin.
To outsiders, the gesture looked intimate.
The air instantly thickened.
Catherine's eyes flashed with barely restrained jealousy; her fingers tightened unconsciously around her clutch.
Nicole's softened expression cooled at once. She arched a delicate brow, like a swan guarding its territory.
Only Mariah maintained her diva composure, though curiosity flickered unmistakably in her eyes. She watched William closely, trying to decode what this petite secretary could possibly be telling him.
"Boss," Courtney murmured quietly, "Miss Voss just sent word. She'd like to conduct an in-depth interview about your speech tonight—the one that shook the room. Your schedule is currently open. Should I arrange it?"
William's brow lifted slightly.
A sharp glint crossed his eyes.
He had spoken with exhilarating boldness on stage—but he also knew the truth: without mainstream media amplification, his ideas would echo only within tonight's walls.
They would not penetrate Hollywood's fortified upper echelon.
And now, a reporter from E!—often dubbed Hollywood's gossip mouthpiece—was offering him a platform.
This wasn't merely an interview.
It was a megaphone.
William understood opportunity when it presented itself.
Of course, there was also mutual benefit at play.
The previous wave of gossip surrounding Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman had generated considerable heat, and that publicity had, in turn, lifted Before I Go to Sleep into the public eye.
So yes—this was a valuable opportunity.
"Set it up," William said decisively, a faint smile of control curving at his lips. "Find a location. I'll head over as soon as I'm done here."
Courtney nodded with quiet efficiency and turned on her heel, her poised silhouette disappearing down the corridor—leaving behind three women who each found her presence increasingly… intrusive.
From across the shifting crowd, William caught sight of Miss Voss. Their eyes met briefly. No words were exchanged, yet everything was understood.
Then he turned his attention back to what he considered his true core circle.
"Katya," he said casually, stepping beside her, tone steady, "when is your father available next? Arrange a meeting. I have some business I'd like to discuss with him privately."
Katya lifted a brow.
It was only a glance—but layered with complicated emotion.
William noticed.
He understood her feelings. But he also understood something more important: in games of absolute power, romance is fragile—thin as cicada wings, torn apart by the slightest storm.
And 1991 was approaching.
In his mind, the next great upheaval was already forming—the collapse of the Soviet Union.
With his current capital and standing, entering that arena directly would be fantasy. But Katya's father was different. Any Russian who had managed to thrive in America during this era carried Siberian ambition in his blood.
William did not believe for a second that Katya's father lacked connections in Moscow.
When the red colossus fell, oligarchs would rise from the ruins like steel-framed weeds—consuming the state's flesh piece by piece.
William's thinking was cold, efficient.
Through Katya's father, he intended to carve out a share of that bleeding cake.
He wanted to bind himself—and Katya's family—to the same war chariot, secured by interests too large to betray.
As long as that business machine kept turning, Katya would remain his most stable and unbreakable card.
It was a gamble worthy of dancing on a blade's edge—no less dangerous than reshaping Hollywood itself.
But William's gaze did not waver.
Because in this labyrinth of power, Katya's position was simply too crucial.
"You suddenly want to see that stubborn old fossil?" Katya tilted her head, sounding half-amused, half-wary.
She stepped slightly closer, lowering her voice. "You can meet him. But I'll be there."
She had her own calculations.
She knew her father too well—a mafia patriarch steeped in vodka and gunpowder.
He had always intended for his only daughter to return and inherit the family empire—bloody, profitable, and merciless.
Katya despised that destiny.
She had no interest in counting bloodstained cash. Her ambition lay on Wall Street, in Hollywood, in the construction of a commercial empire built with capital and intellect—not violence.
What she feared was simple:
Two equally ambitious men sitting in private, reaching some unspoken "alliance"—and deciding her future without her.
She refused to be traded like a political marriage.
She intended to become a power broker in her own right—not a sheltered princess beneath a mafia umbrella.