Chapter 10
The conference room was buzzing when Franklin pushed the door open. A long table stretched across the center, lined with scripts, coffee cups, and sharp eyes that turned on him the moment he stepped inside.
He froze for half a beat, every muscle tight.
At the far end, Noah Ashford sat like a king at court, his script open, his gaze sharp. He didn't say a word—just tapped his pen against the page in slow rhythm, his silence louder than any reprimand.
Sophia gave Franklin a shove from behind, forcing him forward. He mumbled an apology and slid into an empty chair.
But before he could even catch his breath, someone scoffed.
"Well, well. The great Franklin Eddie graces us with his presence," a smooth voice drawled.
Franklin turned his head. Across the table sat Adrian Cole—the supporting male lead. He was sharp-featured, with perfectly styled dark hair, and an arrogance that clung to him like cologne. Adrian's script was already highlighted in multiple colors, neatly tabbed with sticky notes.
Unlike Franklin, Adrian looked ready.
"That enough," Noah said quietly. The room stilled immediately. He lifted his eyes from the page, locking on Franklin. "Let get into it, we don't have all day."
Franklin opened his script, throat dry. His first line blurred slightly on the page.
Adrian leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
----
The film follows Detective Elias Cross (played by Franklin Eddie), a celebrated investigator whose brilliant mind is shadowed by the trauma of his younger brother's unsolved murder. His life takes a turn when powerful tycoon Victor Langston is brutally killed.
The only witness — Langston's daughter, Clara Langston (played by Isabelle Hart) — knows fragments of the truth, but her life is in constant danger. Assigned to protect her while unraveling the case, Elias finds himself caught between duty, vulnerability, and an obsession with uncovering the truth.
At his side is his longtime partner, Detective Marcus Hale (played by Adrian Cole) — sharp, loyal on the surface, but secretly working against him. Every lead Elias follows is turned inside out, every piece of evidence bent just enough to cloud the case, until the truth begins to slip away.
The deeper Elias digs, the more he realizes he isn't just protecting Clara from faceless enemies — he's protecting her from the very people he trusts most.
----
The tension at the table was thick. Franklin slid into his seat, catching Noah's sharp gaze, but before he could open his script, a warm voice reached him.
"Franklin."
He turned and found Isabelle Hart smiling at him, elegance radiating even in the casual setting. One of the most beloved actresses in the industry, Isabelle had worked with him before, and her warmth now steadied him.
"Scene One," Noah said, his voice clipped. "Elias Cross."
Franklin drew in a breath, slipping into character with ease. When he spoke, the room hushed:
"Another body in the alley. Another father who won't come home tonight. They want me to close the file, but I can't. Not this one."
His voice carried the weight of Detective Elias — steady, grave, textured with something that felt real.
Adrian leaned forward smoothly, picking up his cue as Marcus Hale:
"Relax, Elias. You're chasing ghosts. Sometimes the truth isn't worth the mess it makes."
The reading went on, until the end.
----
A few days later, Damien's visits had lessened. Franklin told himself this was a good thing. Things could go back to normal — the way they were before Damien started acting like… something else. It had probably all been for Emma anyway. His niece still texted Franklin constantly, tagging him in posts, sending him memes and little updates. Talking with her was oddly fun. She was a bright, delighted soul.
"We're here," Mason said, pulling the car into the studio lot.
Franklin stepped out, slipped his sunglasses on, and walked toward the set. Isabelle spotted him first, waving.
"Hey," she said warmly, patting the empty chair beside her. "Sit."
He smiled, ready to take the seat — but a crew girl hurried up, breathless.
"Mr. Eddie, Director Noah wants to see you."
Franklin blinked. Him? Personally? He'd never been called by him before.
He followed the girl through the hall to the director's quarters. She stopped at the door, gave a polite nod, and left him there.
He knocked.
"Come in," Noah's voice answered.
Franklin stepped inside. Noah was behind his desk, coat draped over the chair, shirt half unbuttoned, reading glasses balanced on his nose. A script lay open in his hands. He didn't look up.
"Sit," Noah said simply.
Franklin sat, stiff, like the air itself had weight pressing him down. The room was quiet, filled only with the soft rustle of paper. Finally, Noah lifted his gaze.
"Sorry about that," he said, setting the script aside.
"No problem," Franklin replied, waving a hand too quickly.
Noah's mouth curved — the faintest smile, but it felt like a rare phenomenon. "I called you here to get your opinion on something."
"My… opinion?" Franklin asked, startled.
"You're the male lead," Noah said. He rose, walked around the table, and perched casually on the edge, close enough that Franklin had to force his eyes to the script Noah held out instead of the open line of skin at his collar.
Franklin took it. His fingers brushed paper, not skin, but his pulse jumped anyway.
"Some scenes are highlighted," Noah explained, straightening and moving back to his chair. "I'm considering cutting them. I want your feedback."
Franklin nodded quickly. "I'll go through them and get back to you as soon as possible."
"Good."
He rose, ready to leave, and Noah's smile deepened just a touch.
When the door clicked shut, Noah's hand drifted to his drawer. He slid it open, pulled out a thick envelope, and spilled its contents across the desk.
Photographs.
Franklin stepping out of a sleek black car beside Damien Carter.
Franklin walking out of Damien's house.
Franklin, head down, following Damien into a boutique.
Noah leaned back, studying the images with cool detachment, then picked one up and tapped his finger against Franklin's face. His smile was sharper now.