Owen drove back toward his apartment. It was around one thirty in the afternoon.
When he arrived, he didn't go straight to Jenna's apartment. He stopped by his own first. They had agreed to meet at exactly two, so he still had half an hour to shower, change, and make himself at least somewhat presentable before starting an actual date.
It didn't take him long.
By 1:50 PM he was already ready to leave. He wore a short-sleeved white button-up shirt, black shorts, and matching sneakers. A simple look, almost completely monochromatic. It was about 86°F, peak summer in LA. A dry, constant heat. Outside, the sky was completely clear.
'Everything's ready,' Owen thought as he did one final check.
He had his keys, his phone, his wallet, and the backpack with a few things he'd be bringing for today.
He glanced at the time on his Rolex and, seeing there were still ten minutes left, sat down on one of the kitchen stools.
Owen was extremely punctual. If he said 2:00 PM, then it would be 2:00 PM exactly.
He'd leave at 1:58, walk over, and knock on Jenna's door so that by the time she opened it, it would be two on the dot.
He crossed his arms and eventually drifted into his own thoughts. Specifically about Lights Out.
Sooner rather than later, he'd have to sign with a distributor and go through that entire negotiation process again, one he was already starting to know far too well: marketing campaigns, release strategies, box office percentages, theater counts, progressive expansion versus a wide opening from weekend one.
The last time, with Good Will Hunting, he'd already entered negotiations with a lot of leverage.
Now he had even more. If that was even possible.
First of all, Lights Out already had real interest from major studios before post-production had even fully wrapped. Technically, the heavy marketing push hadn't started yet, but the movie had already been generating attention for months.
The original short film had been the most viral project on Second Take Films. Owen had mentioned it several times in interviews, podcasts, and on social media. He had even talked about the movie during his appearance on Jimmy Kimmel.
Among all the interested parties, there were two names that especially stood out to him.
A24, mainly because of the relationship he had already built with the studio after Paranormal Activity. They understood extremely well how to market horror and, honestly, he genuinely got along with them.
Meetings with A24 never felt overly corporate. Everything felt more creative, closer to the kind of cinema Owen actually liked making.
The second name was Blumhouse. They had lost out on Paranormal Activity back then. Not because their offer had been bad. In fact, at the time, it had been pretty strong.
Blumhouse had been willing to bet heavily on the film, invest a huge amount into marketing, and give Owen a post-theatrical percentage that, coming from a major commercial horror studio, was already far more generous than normal.
The problem was that A24 had simply offered better terms.
Especially regarding the IP.
Blumhouse wanted partial ownership of the rights and also wanted to leave open the possibility of contractually tying him to future installments, spin-offs, or sequels if the franchise exploded.
And considering Owen had financed practically the entire movie himself from scratch, that was the part that made him reject the proposal almost immediately.
Though he didn't hold any resentment over it either.
That would've been ridiculous.
It was business.
No one understood the business of modern commercial horror better than Blumhouse. Jason Blum had practically built an entire empire around producing relatively cheap films with strong concepts and absurdly high returns. Lights Out fit perfectly into that model.
Owen wasn't sentimental about those kinds of decisions. Once negotiations officially began, he would simply accept the best offer.
Though there was one exception.
If both offers ended up being very similar, or if Blumhouse only slightly outbid A24, Owen would probably choose A24 simply because trust already existed between both sides.
He checked the time and finally left the apartment, slinging a backpack over one shoulder.
He crossed the hallway of the building to Jenna's door and, instead of ringing the bell, gave two soft knocks with his knuckles.
Knock, knock.
The door opened a few seconds later.
Jenna appeared adjusting a pair of sunglasses on top of her head while also carrying a black crossbody backpack over one shoulder. She had clearly taken Owen's comment seriously about spending the rest of the day and the night out before coming back the next day.
She was dressed perfectly for the hot weather.
A light white shirt, slightly translucent under the sunlight, worn white denim shorts, and short black boots. She also wore a dark scarf tied around her neck and a small crossbody purse.
The outfit was far more casual than any red carpet or press event where Owen had seen her several times before. No impossible designer dresses or jewelry worth absurd amounts of money.
"You look incredible," Owen said without exaggeration.
Jenna smiled immediately at the compliment.
"Thanks," she replied, clearly pleased.
She looked him up and down for a few seconds before a teasing expression appeared on her face. "You too," she said. "You look relaxed. Like someone who doesn't work eighty hours a week."
Owen let out a small laugh. "Thanks… and you're exaggerating."
Jenna stepped out of the apartment and closed the door behind her as they both started walking toward the elevator.
"I'm not exaggerating," Jenna replied, shaking her head. "I counted them. At least last week. And you've probably had even worse weeks. Close to a hundred hours, honestly."
Owen slightly turned his head toward her while pressing the elevator button.
"You actually counted them?" he asked, somewhere between amused and surprised.
He wasn't the kind of person who kept track of how much he really worked. But eighty hours sounded excessive. The standard workweek was forty hours.
His was double that. More than eleven hours a day every single day of the week. Including Saturday and Sunday.
Jenna nodded casually. "I was curious and bored," she admitted as the elevator doors opened in front of them and they stepped inside. "I wanted to compare them to how many hours I'd worked lately."
"And how many did you do?" Owen asked, leaning lightly against the side wall.
"Fifty-six," she answered.
Owen couldn't stop a small satisfied smile from slipping through.
Jenna immediately looked at him. "Why that little smile?"
"I won," Owen replied as if it were the most logical conclusion in the world.
Jenna stared at him silently for a second before letting out an incredulous laugh. "It's not a competition. I think that's supposed to be concerning."
They both ended up laughing as the elevator doors began to close.
As they left the building, got into the car, and finally headed out, Owen kept thinking about her comment regarding the work hours. He became curious about how Jenna had actually arrived at that number.
"Okay, explain something to me," he said as he merged into traffic. "How exactly did you calculate that?"
Jenna adjusted one leg against the seat and turned slightly toward him as she started explaining, the conversation stretching on a little longer than expected.
Jenna had done the calculation far more meticulously than he imagined.
She counted the hours Owen physically spent at the offices, working from home, interviews, press appearances, events, and even meetings with brands and sponsors.
The calculation for Owen ended up being pretty accurate.
Which made him briefly wonder if he was working too much. He usually treated Sunday as relatively free, meaning those hours were spread across six days. That came out to more than thirteen hours a day between Monday and Saturday.
Completely insane.
Though there was also something important about it. Owen rarely felt like he was working in the traditional sense.
It wasn't that exhaustion didn't exist. But it was work he genuinely enjoyed. The constant adrenaline of watching projects move forward, films getting finished, deals being closed, and everything growing so fast made time feel different.
"By the way," Jenna finally said, changing the subject as she looked out the window, "where exactly are you taking me?"
She turned slightly toward him with a curious look. "You've been suspiciously mysterious about this whole date."
Owen smiled faintly, clearly satisfied that she had finally asked.
"I made a full plan," he replied. "And the first thing you should know is that we're going to Malibu."
Jenna slightly raised her eyebrows.
Malibu was practically one of the most iconic places on the entire California coast.
A luxurious coastal city stretching more than twenty miles along the Pacific, famous for its beaches, surfing, and enormous multimillion-dollar homes hanging over the cliffs.
And since it was relatively close to Hollywood, half the place was filled with actors, musicians, and absurdly wealthy businessmen.
From Los Angeles, it was roughly thirty miles away. On a bad day, traffic could easily make the drive much longer.
But since it was Saturday at two in the afternoon, they'd probably take somewhere between thirty and fifty minutes at most. There was still plenty of traffic from people heading toward the beach for the weekend.
"I didn't know we were having a beach weekend…" Jenna said, clearly surprised.
Then she smiled.
"I like it."
"I'm glad," Owen replied. "And don't worry, I brought sunscreen and all that. I thought of everything."
She watched him for a few more seconds before asking, "Did you rent a house?"
"You'll see soon enough. Don't be impatient," Owen replied.
Jenna smiled, gently shaking her head, and the drive continued.
As the minutes passed, the scenery gradually began to change.
Eventually, the coastline became visible in the distance as they drove along the Pacific Coast Highway, the most iconic route into Malibu.
The atmosphere shifted the moment the ocean appeared. More wind, convertibles, people in shorts, bicycles, and surfboards strapped to the roofs of cars.
It was the perfect stereotypical California summer day.
Completely clear skies, the Pacific shimmering under the sun, and that constant blend of relaxed luxury and beach-town energy.
Owen had already turned off the air conditioning several minutes earlier and rolled down the windows.
Warm wind continuously flowed into the car while the distant sound of the ocean accompanied the traffic.
At a red light, they came to a stop.
Owen casually turned his head and noticed a black Ferrari convertible pulling up right beside them.
The driver looked to be in his early thirties. Completely shaved head, goatee, and dark sunglasses.
The man turned his head too.
They made eye contact.
And Owen, simply incapable of staying quiet in a situation like that, spoke first. "Nice car," he commented in a friendly tone to start a conversation. "How much does one of those cost?"
The man looked at him for barely a second before replying with absurd confidence and arrogance, "More than you can afford, pal… Ferrari."
Without adding another word, the moment the light turned green, the engine roared violently and the Ferrari shot forward.
Owen kept staring for a few seconds as he calmly shifted back into first gear. One of his eyebrows twitched slightly.
Jenna, sitting beside him, couldn't hold it in anymore.
She covered her mouth with one hand trying to hide it, but the laughter was already winning.
"What's so funny?" Owen asked, slightly turning his head toward her.
"Several things," Jenna replied, still trying to control her laughter.
There were multiple layers of comedy to the situation.
First, because it was incredibly rare to see Owen genuinely surprised by a response like that. His expression had been a completely authentic mix of confusion and mild offense.
But the funniest part was the contradiction of the entire scene. That man had clearly not recognized Owen.
Which honestly wasn't that strange. Yes, Owen had millions of followers across YouTube, Instagram, and Twitter. Yes, he had just starred in one of the most talked-about and successful movies of the year.
But that didn't mean literally everyone instantly recognized him on the street the way they would someone like Leonardo DiCaprio or Brad Pitt.
Seeing Owen driving a relatively discreet BMW, the man had probably assumed he was just another wealthy young guy from the city.
Not someone investing more than twenty-five million dollars into his own projects, already earning over fifty million from Good Will Hunting, and whose net worth could realistically approach, or even surpass, one hundred million before the end of the year.
The irony of the situation was pretty obvious.
Owen could buy that Ferrari.
Several of them, actually. And on top of that, he was about to spend nearly half a million dollars on a fully customized Rolls-Royce as a birthday gift for his father.
"You just got humiliated by a crypto salesman," Jenna commented between laughs.
Owen made a slight face. "If I'd brought my Nissan, I would've been the one humiliating him."
For practicality, they had come in the BMW.
It was comfortable, discreet, and perfect for moving around the city without drawing too much attention.
But his Nissan was an entirely different story.
Owen was fairly sure he could destroy that bald guy's Ferrari without too much trouble.
He had recognized the model almost immediately thanks to the knowledge his father had passed down to him, and because the original Owen had actually taken luxury cars pretty seriously.
A Ferrari Portofino M. Probably a 2021 or 2022 model.
The "entry-level" convertible into the Ferrari universe. Expensive, yes. But still the Ferrari designed for relatively mass production and more everyday use within the brand.
His Nissan, on the other hand, was a GT-R NISMO.
A machine built with an almost track-focused mentality.
While Ferrari prioritized luxury, driving feel, and prestige, the GT-R NISMO had been designed for something much simpler and more brutal: destroying lap times.
The Ferrari was incredibly fast. But the NISMO was faster. Much faster.
There was also another detail most people didn't understand and, just from seeing a Ferrari, would automatically assume it was superior.
His Nissan was actually far more exclusive.
The Portofino M had been manufactured in much larger quantities to satisfy Ferrari's global demand.
The GT-R NISMO, meanwhile, had an extremely limited production run. Very few units made it to the United States, and a huge part of the car's appeal was precisely that.
Its engine was also hand-assembled by the takumi, specialized Japanese master craftsmen who practically signed each engine individually.
It was a much rarer car to see, and the funniest part was that it was probably worth more money right now too.
Owen had bought the NISMO for around two hundred and forty thousand dollars the previous year.
But ever since Nissan officially announced the end of production for the R35, the price had started skyrocketing.
Without really meaning to, he had ended up buying an investment.
If he decided to sell it now, he could probably get somewhere between two hundred eighty and three hundred thousand dollars for it easily.
Meanwhile, that Portofino had probably cost somewhere between two hundred twenty and two hundred fifty thousand.
Jenna looked at him, amused, while he remained clearly and ridiculously offended in an absurdly competitive way over a comment from a complete stranger.
"I can't believe you turned this into an actual technical comparison," Jenna said.
Owen pretended not to hear her and continued completely seriously, "And more importantly: I'm not bald."
Jenna burst into laughter again immediately. "Don't celebrate too early," she replied in a solemn tone. "A lot of men start going bald between twenty-five and thirty. If you survive your thirties, then you can relax."
Owen made a slight grimace of disgust. He genuinely did not like hearing that.
"But don't worry," Jenna added playfully while softly resting a hand over his, "I'll still love you either way. Bald or not."
"That's very reassuring," Owen replied sarcastically.
Then he added, "I'll still love you too even if you end up getting alopecia areata like Jada Pinkett Smith."
Jenna immediately hit him lightly in the ribs. Not hard. But definitely enough to perfectly get the message across.
Owen exhaled through his nose, trying not to laugh. 'So you're allowed to joke about bald people and I'm not?' he thought without saying it out loud.
The drive continued between conversation and quiet music playing in the background until they finally started entering one of the most exclusive areas of Malibu.
Jenna began looking around with genuine curiosity.
The houses kept becoming more and more extravagant.
Massive mansions hidden behind enormous gates, perfectly maintained palm trees, luxury cars parked in front of endless driveways, and properties literally built over the cliffs overlooking the Pacific.
Eventually, Owen turned into a private access road.
A few seconds later, a massive black security gate automatically began to open.
The BMW slowly rolled into the property and descended directly into a covered garage.
Jenna looked at the house the moment they entered. "Wow…" she murmured almost automatically.
The place they'd be staying in was enormous. Three full levels facing the ocean.
"It's one of the most expensive rental villas in Malibu," Owen explained while turning off the engine. "It has private beach access, a private movie theater, a gym overlooking the ocean, a spa, a studio…" He paused, trying to remember. "And I'm probably forgetting other stuff."
Jenna kept looking around, clearly impressed, "This couldn't have been cheap. Or easy to get."
Owen nodded slightly. It hadn't been.
Though he had delegated most of the process. He had simply picked the place he wanted and then left all the paperwork in the hands of Larry, his trusted manager.
Larry handled contacting the premium agency, coordinating contracts, security, privacy, and making sure everything was fully prepared for that weekend.
That very morning, Larry had stopped by the Second Take Films offices to hand Owen the keys and explain how the entire smart-home system worked.
The idea was to have absolute privacy from the second they arrived until the moment they left the following day.
"We're doing a full exploration," Owen said as soon as he got out of the car, sounding slightly excited by the sheer scale of the house.
Jenna stepped out of the BMW smiling as she looked around.
It was actually kind of strange.
They had arrived at a multimillion-dollar oceanfront villa carrying nothing but two backpacks.
"I didn't bring clothes. Or a bikini," Jenna suddenly commented.
"Relax," Owen replied, patting the backpack hanging from his shoulder. "I brought everything."
He had prepared clothes for both of them. Nothing excessive.
Just enough for less than forty-eight hours: comfortable clothes, an extra change, beach stuff, and a few other small essentials.
Jenna immediately raised an eyebrow. "Did you steal my clothes without me noticing?"
"No. I bought you new clothes," Owen replied.
Then he pointed at himself. "Another reason to add points to my score."
Jenna smiled despite herself at that and stepped closer to give him a quick kiss.
"Thanks," she said. "And of course it adds points, as long as you picked the clothes and didn't delegate it to Larry."
"Of course I picked them myself," Owen replied with a completely serious expression.
Jenna immediately narrowed her eyes. That made her suspicious.
They spent several minutes exploring the entire house.
They genuinely needed several minutes.
The property was enormous. Every floor seemed to open into another completely different room.
Everything was impeccably clean. Perfectly prepared to receive them.
After exploring a good portion of the villa, Owen finally handed Jenna the bags with the things he had bought.
She started opening them one by one on the massive marble kitchen island. She loved them.
The clothes. The accessories and the bikini.
Owen felt genuinely satisfied watching her reaction. Though he decided to leave out one important detail: Sarah had helped him quite a lot.
He had no idea about sizes, cuts, combinations, or how women's fashion actually worked beyond recognizing general styles.
He could more or less identify the kind of clothes Jenna normally wore. But choosing them correctly was a completely different story.
At around three in the afternoon, they finally started actually enjoying the house.
They changed clothes and headed down toward the private beach.
The place had been perfectly prepared.
There were lounge chairs, large umbrellas, fresh towels, and even a sort of welcome package the agency had left before they arrived: fresh flowers, fruit, and expensive drinks.
They spent hours there, sunbathing, talking, swimming in the ocean, and playing volleyball that Owen had somehow miraculously found somewhere inside the enormous house.
When the sun began lowering over the Pacific, the two of them ended up sitting together watching the sunset paint the entire coastline in orange tones.
They stayed there until close to six.
Eventually, Owen stood up and looked at Jenna. "Time to head back out," he said.
Jenna slightly raised an eyebrow. "Where to?"
"To dinner."
They went back up to the villa, showered, and changed clothes.
Jenna took the opportunity to wear one of the outfits Owen had gifted her earlier that day. After all, it was either that or reusing the clothes she had already worn.
Then they got back into the car and headed toward Nobu Malibu, though Jenna didn't know that yet.
Probably the most famous and exclusive restaurant on the entire Los Angeles coastline.
A place that was practically legendary within Hollywood. Every kind of celebrity went there.
It was considered one of the biggest celebrity sighting spots on the planet.
Which was why Jenna was pretty surprised when she spotted the iconic restaurant in the distance.
"Did you get a reservation?" Jenna asked, genuinely impressed as she looked at the place.
Getting a table there was difficult.
The general reputation was that you needed to book weeks, sometimes months, in advance, and even then it often wasn't enough.
"Yeah," Owen replied with a nod as they walked toward the restaurant's main entrance.
Then he paused briefly before admitting something with a strange expression. "I didn't even know this place existed or that it was this exclusive."
That made Jenna slowly turn her head to look at him strangely.
Owen immediately raised both hands defensively. "I'm not an expert on restaurants or gastronomy," he explained. "I just saw pictures and thought, 'oh, this looks nice by the ocean,' so I got a reservation."
Jenna let out an incredulous laugh.
The moment they reached the main entrance of Nobu Malibu, the camera flashes started almost immediately.
It wasn't unusual. In fact, it was practically part of the place itself.
Several paparazzi constantly waited outside the restaurant for celebrities and, unlike the bald Ferrari guy, they had definitely done their homework.
"Owen! Jenna! Over here!" one of them shouted the second he recognized them.
That immediately made the other photographers turn around too. Flashes started firing one after another.
Owen smiled slightly, amused. 'Over here?' he repeated internally. 'We're not on a red carpet…'
He took Jenna's hand and kept walking toward the entrance without really stopping.
Jenna, also used to those kinds of situations, barely reacted.
She simply kept walking beside him while the cameras continued snapping behind them.
As soon as they entered the restaurant, a host who was clearly already expecting them immediately approached. They weren't taken into the main dining room.
Jenna noticed it instantly.
Instead, they were guided down a side hallway into a completely private enclosed room separated from the rest of the restaurant.
Much quieter and, above all, private.
That privacy came with an extra cost to the dinner. To reserve one of those exclusive private rooms, Nobu required a guaranteed minimum spend of around $3,500.
Dinner began shortly afterward.
Small, extremely elaborate, and expensive dishes started arriving one after another.
As they ate and talked quietly away from the noise of the main dining room, Jenna finally rested a hand on the table and looked at him. "You must've spent a ridiculous amount of money on this date."
Owen took a small sip from his glass before calmly answering, "Yes. But it's worth it."
Between the mansion rental and dinner here, he would end up spending more than twenty thousand dollars.
Jenna smiled despite herself at the answer and softly brushed Owen's hand on the table. "I still feel bad," she admitted. "I'll pay half. Tell me how much it is."
That made Owen smile faintly. He liked that part of her personality.
He knew Jenna wasn't saying it out of fake politeness. She genuinely didn't want to feel like fortunes were being spent because of her.
Still, he shook his head.
"I invited you this time," Owen replied. "Just invite me next time instead. Come up with the plan, handle the logistics, and pay for everything yourself."
Jenna let out a small laugh. "Okay. Deal."
As dinner continued and new dishes kept arriving at the table, Owen realized he couldn't keep postponing it anymore.
"By the way," he finally said.
Jenna, who had just finished a bite, gently wiped her mouth with the napkin before looking at him. "What is it?"
Owen set his glass down on the table. "The Bruno role…"
Then he explained it directly and without circling around the point.
He told her how he viewed the character, that he honestly wasn't very interested in playing him, and that although he completely understood why she wanted him to accept it, he felt it wasn't the right decision for his career.
Jenna listened to everything silently without interrupting him, and when Owen finally finished, she simply nodded once.
Her expression showed no anger. No annoyance.
Which honestly surprised Owen a little. "You're not upset?" he asked.
He had expected at least a little insistence. Some kind of "think about it again" or "it would be fun to do it together."
But Jenna simply shrugged slightly. "It's a decision about your career," she replied calmly. "I think it's fine. I don't really have any reason to be angry."
She meant it sincerely. Because if Owen made a movie and wanted her to act in it, but she didn't like the character or simply didn't want to do it, she wouldn't want him reacting badly or becoming pushy either.
Even so, there was still something there. Because while she didn't sound angry, she did sound slightly quieter.
Owen noticed it immediately.
Jenna lowered her gaze toward her plate for a few seconds before speaking more softly, "We're not going to see each other for months…" she murmured.
Then she tried to lighten the weight of the sentence. "Although… well, there's still time before I leave for Europe."
Owen gently intertwined his hand with hers over the table.
"Do you really think we're going to spend five months without seeing each other?" he asked.
Jenna slightly lifted her eyes. "Wouldn't it be like that…?"
Owen let out a breath. "Of course not. Even if I'm not acting in the show, I'm already planning to travel to Ireland to be with you. I'm not spending five months only seeing you through video calls."
That made Jenna look at him, clearly surprised. "Seriously?"
"Of course."
Owen said it completely naturally, as if he had already made the decision a long time ago.
"It doesn't mean I can't keep working. I can bring things with me and do meetings online…" He paused briefly. "Though I'm not promising I'll stay all five months. But two months? That I can guarantee."
Slowly, Jenna's expression began to change.
The faint sadness she had only seconds ago gradually started fading away.
A smile appeared on her face again.
Owen was even a little surprised that she had assumed they would simply stay apart for months without question.
Maybe she saw him as so constantly consumed by work that she genuinely believed he wouldn't alter his routine for anyone.
Not even for her.
"I could ask for permission for you to visit the set someday," Jenna said, already imagining it. "Just to watch."
"That would be fun," Owen replied.
But then Jenna became slightly more serious again.
"A lot of days you'll basically be alone there…" she said with some concern.
She already knew what his routine during that kind of production would look like.
Five intense months.
Waking up around five in the morning. Then makeup, wardrobe, and rehearsals before filming until seven or eight at night.
From Monday to Friday, they'd probably barely share anything beyond dinner, a few hours talking, and sleeping together.
The only truly free days would be Saturdays and Sundays.
The rest of the time, Owen would spend most of the day alone in Ireland.
Without his family. Without his friends. And far away from the Second Take Films offices.
Yes, he could keep working remotely, do video calls, and stay busy. But physically, he'd still be pretty isolated most of the time.
"Don't worry. I'll survive. It's not that serious," Owen said lightly.
Then he made a small dismissive gesture with his hand. "I'll do some sightseeing. Plus, I can travel to England to visit part of my father's side of the family. Who knows… maybe I'll end up getting ideas for some new project with English roots or something."
Jenna nodded softly. She wasn't sure if he was half joking or completely serious.
With Owen, it was hard to tell sometimes. Because he could absolutely make a comment like that during dinner and then six months later suddenly show up producing a British miniseries or a film.
Still, she liked hearing it.
The conversation continued calmly until dinner finally ended.
Afterward, they returned to the villa.
They spent the rest of the night using the mansion's private movie theater and only the following day, after sunset, did they finally begin the drive back.
As the BMW slowly pulled away from the property, Jenna slightly turned her head to look at the mansion one last time through the rearview mirror.
"How much do you think this house costs?" she asked.
Owen looked at the property for a few more seconds before answering, "Probably more than twenty million."
He wasn't entirely sure.
Then he made a small carefree gesture with his hand. "I wouldn't buy it, though."
That immediately made Jenna turn her head to look at him. "Why not?"
Coming from almost anyone else, it probably would've sounded like someone trying to act important by dismissing a property that was completely impossible for them to afford.
But in Owen's case, he genuinely could afford something like that.
Maybe not entirely in immediate cash yet, but once the Good Will Hunting box office money came in, definitely.
"It's too big," Owen explained. "I just don't really see the point."
Jenna slightly raised an eyebrow. "Too big?"
"Yeah."
Owen briefly glanced at the house through the mirror before continuing, "For something like this to actually make sense, I'd need to have, like, ten kids."
That immediately made Jenna laugh.
Owen continued his completely serious analysis. "I'd probably never even use half the rooms. I'd have entire sections sitting empty for no reason. The private beach is incredible, though. I won't deny that."
Waking up literally facing the Pacific and walking straight down to the sand had something incredibly relaxing about it.
Still, for Owen, it didn't justify a property that size.
You could buy a much smaller house in Malibu, although "smaller" still meant a luxurious property worth somewhere between two and five million dollars, and it would probably end up being far more comfortable to actually live in.
A house where you used every room, where the lights were on because someone genuinely lived there, and where it didn't feel like you were living inside an empty hotel.
Jenna actually agreed with that logic quite a bit.
As impressive as the villa had been, it was still too much space to realistically live in.
Sunday came to an end, and Good Will Hunting officially finished its fifth week in theaters.
Between Monday, July 3rd and Sunday, July 9th, the movie grossed another 56 million dollars worldwide.
Compared to the 87 million from the previous week, the drop had only been around 37%.
An excellent performance. Even extraordinary by Hollywood standards.
Normally, a major commercial production tends to fall somewhere between 45% and 55% week-to-week after its initial release. Any drop below 40% was already considered outstanding audience retention.
Good Will Hunting was doing exactly that.
Word of mouth remained exceptional both domestically and internationally. On review sites like Rotten Tomatoes, the film still held above 90% with both critics and general audiences.
The online conversation didn't seem to be slowing down either.
The movie still felt culturally relevant more than a month after release.
That kind of staying power was usually only achieved by major cultural phenomena or productions that eventually became serious awards-season contenders.
The worldwide box office had already reached 226 million dollars, and there was something about that number that gave Owen a very personal sense of satisfaction.
Even though nobody else could truly understand why.
The movie had now officially surpassed the total box office gross of Good Will Hunting from his original world.
Something that still felt strangely surreal to him. And the best part was that the number would keep growing.
Neon had already informed him that the movie would remain in theaters for a guaranteed minimum of ten weeks.
After that tenth week, they would reevaluate the performance again.
If the hold remained strong, which clearly seemed possible, they would probably extend its theatrical run even further.
That meant there were still at least five more full weeks of revenue left.
At this pace, reaching 300 million worldwide no longer sounded crazy.
The reactions when Good Will Hunting officially crossed 200 million were enormous both in the media and online.
Because it wasn't just a success.
It was the kind of success that shattered narratives deeply embedded within Hollywood.
For years, people had repeated that original dramas no longer sold, that audiences only wanted franchises, superheroes, reboots, live-action remakes, or giant cinematic universes.
While studios like Warner Bros. were spending between 200 and 300 million dollars on movies like The Flash only for them to end up failing both critically and commercially, Owen had arrived with a drama that cost barely 13 million dollars to make. No CGI. No pre-existing IP.
Carried almost entirely by its story, dialogue, and performances, and still dominating the box office.
That led a huge number of people online to start talking about Owen almost like some kind of savior of modern cinema.
To Owen, though, that entire narrative felt a little exaggerated.
He didn't see himself as the future of cinema. Or as someone revolutionizing Hollywood.
Still, he wasn't complaining about all the public conversation surrounding him. It had its advantages. Any future project he touched would automatically receive massive attention and marketing momentum. Though it also brought pressure, far less room to fail on a project.
Owen pushed those thoughts aside and began focusing his attention on one thing: finally locking down the leads for Black Mirror before the end of the week.
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