Chapter 14
Franklin sat behind his desk, camera propped up on a stack of fan letters, recording short clips as he unwrapped gifts. "Thank you so much, I love it," he said with a practiced smile, holding up a plush bear, then another box of chocolates. His notifications buzzed nonstop — birthday hashtags climbing the charts.
Still, by the time he glanced at his watch, his shoulders slumped. Almost noon. "I've got to head to set," he muttered, standing up.
The door opened. "Happy birthday to our brightest star!"
Franklin froze mid-step. "Mr. Chris?"
The chairman walked in with a broad grin, a neatly wrapped box in his hands. "A little something for you. Couldn't let the day pass without dropping by personally."
Franklin chuckled awkwardly, accepting the box. "Thank you… I'll, uh, open it on the way, if that's alright."
"Of course, of course. You're the birthday boy." Chris's smile wavered just slightly before he lowered his voice, his tone slick. "And Franklin—make sure to send my regards to Mr. Carter. Remind him I've been keeping everything in order. Maybe… put in a good word for me, hm?" He winked.
Franklin's forced smile tightened. "Right."
Across the room, Sophia's sharp gaze cut between them like a knife. Mason shifted at the door, already sensing her cue.
"That's enough, boss" Sophia interrupted firmly. "He needs to be on set, Mason."
Mason moved instantly, stepping to Franklin's side. "Let's go."
As Franklin was ushered out, Chris's grin stayed fixed, but his eyes betrayed the unease of a man performing on borrowed time.
What only few in the building knew —was when the company almost went bankrupt, Damien had bought it , saved his ass, and by some miracle allowed him keep his position, and what only Chris and Damien did — was that this company was bought under Franklin's name. Not under Damien's name. Under Franklin's.
The boy in front of him had no idea he technically owned every wall around him.And Chris would do anything to keep Damien's favour.
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Franklin leaned back in the car seat, scrolling through his phone. Messages from fans, Sophia, Mason. But none from Damien. He hadn't expected one, not really… yet the quiet disappointment sat heavy in his chest. A few years ago, it wouldn't have mattered. But lately—after Damien's strange tenderness, his rare gentleness—he had foolishly thought maybe things had shifted, even just a little.
"We're here," Mason said, snapping him out of his thoughts as the car rolled to a stop.
Franklin stepped out and headed onto the bustling set. Almost immediately, Isabelle spotted him and hurried over, beaming. "Happy birthday!" she chirped.
"Thanks, Isabelle," he said with a small smile.
His eyes flicked across the lot—Noah was speaking to Adrian, who looked more interested in sneaking glances at him than listening. The crew swarmed around equipment, adjusting lights as a scene was being shot.
Then Noah noticed him. Their gazes locked, and Franklin quickly tried to look away, heat rising at the memory of yesterday. But Noah was already walking toward him.
"Sorry to interrupt," Noah said smoothly, flashing one of those smiles that could disarm anyone. Isabelle's cheeks flushed immediately. He has that effect on people, Franklin thought grimly.
"Mind if I steal him for a moment?" Noah asked, already steering Franklin away.
Franklin followed reluctantly, trailing him into the director's small office. "I'm sorry," he blurted out as soon as the door closed.
Noah raised a brow. "About what?"
"About yesterday."
"You shouldn't be," Noah said easily. "If anything, I should be the one apologizing." He waved it off and opened a drawer. "Here."
Noah handed Franklin a small velvet box. "Go on," he said, a quiet smile tugging at his lips.
Franklin hesitated, then flipped it open. Inside lay a sleek silver chain, a pendant shaped like a crescent moon intertwined with a tiny heart at its center. His chest tightened.
"You like it?" Noah asked, watching his reaction carefully.
Franklin closed the box halfway, shaking his head slightly. "It's beautiful… but I don't think I should take this."
"Why not?" Noah countered smoothly. "It's a present from a friend ."
Franklin met his gaze, his voice firm. "This isn't a 'friendship' kind of gift. A necklace like this…" He exhaled, eyes dropping to the box. "It's wierd."
For a moment, Noah's expression softened into something less guarded. "You're right," he admitted. "It's. I like you, Franklin. Maybe more than a friend. Definitely more than a director should like his actor."
Franklin swallowed, trying to steady himself. "And what happens if I wear this? What do you expect people to think?"
Noah smirked faintly. "I don't care what they think. I just want you to know how I feel."
Franklin's hand tightened around the box. "I can't—"
"I know you have someone," Noah interrupted gently. "The car that came for you yesterday? Clearly not your assistant's. I won't push. But… if we can't be more, then at least let's be friends. That necklace—keep it. Even if you never wear it."
A knock came at the door. "Director Noah, you're needed on set."
Noah straightened, brushing invisible lint off his shirt. "Think about it, Franklin," he said, patting his shoulder lightly before leaving.
Alone, Franklin stared at the closed door, then looked down at the velvet box in his hands. He knew he should set it aside. Yet slowly, almost reluctantly, he slipped it into his pocket.
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The warehouse was dark, flickering lights overhead, crates stacked like jagged shadows. Gunfire echoed, sparks flying as bullets ricocheted off steel.
Franklin ducked behind a rusted pillar, panting, clutching his prop gun. Beside him, Adrian crouched low, playing the role of his longtime partner. Isabelle's character — the terrified daughter and key witness — was curled up in a corner, shaking.
"We've got to get her out of here!" Franklin's voice was sharp, commanding. He peeked out, fired off a few shots, then ducked back. "Cover me while I move her!"
Adrian nodded, lips curling into a smirk the camera caught perfectly. As Franklin surged forward, crouched low, Adrian lifted his gun — but instead of firing at the attackers, he leveled it at the back of Franklin's head.
Franklin froze mid-step, sensing the silence behind him. Slowly, he turned his head, eyes locking on Adrian. The cameras zoomed tight on his expression — confusion first, then dawning horror, then a deep, gut-wrenching betrayal.
"You…" Franklin's voice cracked, disbelief threading through. "What—how could you? It was u the whole time."
Adrian smirked, finger steady on the trigger. "Who else? You never were as sharp as you thought, Cross."
The shot of Franklin's face carried everything — the raw wound of trust shattered, the pain of realizing the man he called brother had sold him out. He didn't need to scream. His silence, the flicker in his eyes, said more than words.
Finally, Franklin let out a shaky laugh — bitter, broken. "I trusted you with my life." His voice rose with fury, sharp as the gunfire still rattling the set. "With her life!" He pointed toward Isabelle, his chest heaving, the emotion so real even she flinched in her corner.
"That was your mistake, I'm sorry. wish it never came to this," He said before shooting.
"Cut!"
Noah stood from his chair, his usual cool composure gone. He was clapping, once, twice, eyes locked on Franklin. "That… That was perfect. Exactly what this scene needed."
Around them, the crew buzzed with awe. Adrian's jaw clenched tight, his eyes darting to Noah — but Noah wasn't looking at him. Only Franklin.
Franklin finally exhaled, lowering the prop gun, but the betrayal still lingered in his expression, like the character hadn't fully left him yet.