"Is it the playground scene today?" Zoe asked.
"Yeah," Landon said, "the scene where the little girl first appears."
His phone vibrated in his pocket.
He took it out and glanced at it; it was a text from Tracy: "Statement sent.
Stabilized for now. Focus on work."
Tracy was just that simple, direct, and efficient.
There was another unread message from Rachel: "Britney is very sorry. She said she didn't expect this. I told her not to say anything else."
Landon replied: "Protect her. And protect yourself."
He put down his phone and closed his eyes, letting Zoe work on his face.
But he knew that beneath this thin layer of concealment, the real storm was just beginning.
The most ironic part was that the cause of this storm was a well-intentioned recommendation from Britney and a frantic counterattack from Justin—the same Justin whose infidelity he had anonymously exposed with photos, and who was now Ran biting like a mad dog.
That was the entertainment industry for you. You never knew which direction the next attack would come from.
Zoe finished her work. "All done."
Landon opened his eyes and looked at himself in the mirror. Perfect makeup, perfect expression.
He stood up and headed to the set.
In the distance, director Ron Howard was discussing something with Russell Crowe.
Jennifer Connelly stood to the side reading the script; when she looked up and saw him, she gave him a smile.
There was inquiry and concern in that smile, but more than anything, there was waiting—waiting for his explanation tonight.
Landon smiled back and then walked to his position.
The Assistant Director came over to explain the blocking; he listened intently, nodding occasionally.
Everything seemed normal. Perfectly normal.
Only he knew that beneath that perfect facade, a crack had appeared.
It wasn't a large crack, just a tiny, almost invisible line. But once a crack appeared, it would grow on its own.
Bruce watched Landon's retreating back as he walked onto the set from the car, admiring his young boss.
He had seen too many young people like this—talented and ambitious, yet easily impulsive.
And then one day, something beyond their control would happen, and everything would start to crumble.
Yet his new boss acted as if these things had no impact at all.
He lit a cigarette and rolled down the car window.
The smoke rose slowly in the April air and then dissipated.
On set, Landon took the script and began to recite his lines silently.
In the world outside, rumors about him and Britney were breeding, spreading, and mutating.
And he had to sit here, playing an imaginary character of a 1950s mathematician.
It was absurd. But this was the life he had chosen.
Or rather, this was the life that had chosen him.
That night's filming dragged on longer than expected.
A scene between Charles and Nash in the rain was reshot several times.
It was a rare night scene.
By the time Landon finally finished removing his makeup, changed back into his own clothes, and walked off the set, it was already 11 PM.
The April night breeze in New York carried a chill, blowing away the fatigue and suppression that had accumulated in the studio all day.
Bruce's car was waiting quietly in its usual spot.
When Landon got into the back seat, he noticed Zoe wasn't there.
She had gone back to the hotel early to handle work; Landon had sent her back to gather media-related information.
"Straight back to the hotel?" Bruce asked.
"Yeah." Landon sat back in his seat and closed his eyes.
The car drove into the night.
There was no new message from Tracy, meaning the situation had temporarily stabilized.
The hallway of the hotel suite was covered in thick carpet, and Landon walked to the room.
When Landon swiped his card and entered, only a floor lamp was on in the living room, its dim yellow glow outlining Jennifer's silhouette curled up on the sofa.
She was wearing a white hotel bathrobe, holding an open script in her hand, but her gaze was fixed on the void in the distance.
Hearing the door, she turned her head.
There was no smile on her face, but she didn't question him about the media either.
"Did filming go smoothly?" she asked, her voice devoid of emotion.
"It dragged on for a long time," Landon took off his coat. "Ron wasn't quite satisfied with the rain effect, so we reshot it many times."
He walked to the kitchen island to pour a glass of water, using the movement to avoid her gaze.
Through the refraction of the glass, he saw Jennifer put down the script and stand up from the sofa.
"I'll go run the water," she said, her tone natural. "Take a bath today and relax."
The sound of a faucet turning on came from the bathroom, the rushing water hitting the ceramic tub.
Standing in the center of the living room, Landon felt a heavy fatigue wash over his entire body.
He went into the bedroom, took off his shirt and trousers, and changed into a robe.
The bathroom door was ajar, and steam seeped through the crack, carrying the scent of lavender bath oil.
The moment he pushed the door open, warm mist billowed out.
Only a wall lamp was on in the bathroom, its light softened by the steam into a hazy glow.
Jennifer was already soaking in the large bathtub, her back to the door.
The surface of the water was covered in a layer of fine white foam, like a snowy field shrouded in mist.
The mist was dense, making his vision somewhat blurry.
Amidst this swirling mist, the silhouette in the bathtub exuded a hazy and distant charm.
Her dark hair was dampened by the steam, the deep-colored locks draped over her right shoulder, shimmering with a satin-like luster under the warm yellow light.
The fullness and firmness found only at the peak of youth presented a relaxed grace under the water's buoyancy.
The lines of her back were as smooth as rolling hills, her shoulder blades trembling slightly with her steady breathing, like the folded wings of some sleeping creature.
Her fair skin softened in the light and steam, a very faint pink surfacing like peach petals accidentally brushed with morning dew.
A few damp strands of hair clung to the side of her neck, making the back of her neck look as white as freshly fallen snow, dazzlingly translucent.
Droplets of water slid slowly down the rounded line of her shoulders, winding all the way until they finally fell into the depths hidden by foam, vanishing without a sound.
Landon swallowed hard in his dry throat.
He only caught a glimpse of a flickering, undulating silhouette between the ripples and foam, with no further details.
The warm, humid air was thick with the scent of lavender mixed with the aroma of her own skin, so dense it was almost suffocating.
Jennifer lifted her arm from the water.
Her movement was very slow, as if the water offered infinite resistance.
Her arms were long, her skin slightly flushed from the hot water; droplets rolled down her smooth skin, lingering for a moment at the crook of her elbow before continuing their descent.
She seemed to be merely observing how the droplets fell from her arm, or perhaps performing some silent ritual.
She didn't look back.
She didn't ask about Justin's interview, didn't ask about Britney, and didn't ask about the rumors that were breeding and spreading.
She just soaked quietly in the hot water, her back to him, like a puzzle refusing to be read.
Landon took off his robe, hung it on the hook behind the door, and stepped into the tub.
The hot water instantly enveloped him, making him shiver slightly from the heat.
Landon sat down behind Jennifer; he would wrap his arms around her from behind, and Jennifer naturally leaned back into his embrace.