The questions came at them like a tidal wave.
"Raphael, first time headlining a low-budget flick like this—what's the difference from the big studio movies?"
"Jessica, what's it like working with Raphael?"
"Are you two actually dating or what?"
Raphael and Jessica handled it like pros.
"Felt great," Raphael said smoothly. "Mark's a solid producer, Bill's a killer director, and the whole crew was total professionals."
"Working with him was awesome," Jessica added, flashing that megawatt smile. "Raphael's super focused—opposite him, the scenes just flow."
"As for us?" Raphael grinned at the last one. "We're really close. As for exactly what that means… you guys figure it out."
The reporters got nothing concrete. They scribbled polite filler in their notebooks and moved on.
The premiere kicked off for real.
Lights dropped. The screen glowed.
Raphael and Jessica sat front row, fingers laced tight.
Behind them the fans packed the seats—mostly teens, mostly girls.
From the opening credits they were already screaming. By the time the rain-soaked dance sequence hit, the roof nearly blew off the theater.
Mark Platt sat right beside Raphael, soaking in every shriek. His grin got wider and wider.
He leaned over. "Congrats, Rafe."
Raphael nodded back, smiling. "Same to you, man."
Ninety minutes later the credits rolled.
Lights came up. Thunderous applause.
Fans jumped to their feet. A few girls were straight-up crying.
Universal had played it smart—filled the house with exactly the right crowd. Those teenage girls lost their minds the second Raphael and Jessica started moving together in the rain. Pure hormone overload.
The cast took the stage for bows and got another wall of screams.
Afterward, outside Grauman's Theatre, the studio had questionnaires ready. Staffers grabbed people as they left.
"Rate the movie—A is the highest."
Pens flew. Checkboxes got smashed.
That night the numbers came back.
Ninety-three percent A-grade.
Mark stood there holding the report, hands actually shaking.
"Ninety-three… Jesus…"
He looked at Raphael. "You know what this means?"
Raphael lounged on the couch, totally relaxed. "Means we get to sit back and count money."
Mark threw his head back and laughed. "Damn right we're about to get rich!"
Three days later—Monday, September 23—the opening weekend numbers dropped right on schedule.
North America: forty million.
A straight-up box-office smash for a ten-million-dollar movie.
Raphael was eating breakfast at the Malibu house when Ari's text hit his phone. Jessica's fork clattered onto the table.
"How much?"
He turned the screen so she could see. "Forty million. Exactly forty-one point three seven."
Jessica stared for three full seconds.
Then she screamed.
"AAAAAAAH!"
She launched herself across the table, arms locking around his neck, planting kisses everywhere.
"Forty million! Opening weekend champ! We topped the box office?"
Raphael could barely breathe through the hug. "Yeah—yes—okay, ease up, babe, you're gonna kill me!"
She let go but the smile never dimmed. "Rafe, this is my first number-one opening!"
"I know, sweetheart. You're about to blow up."
Jessica had been a hot young name before. After this weekend she was officially Hollywood's new It girl.
She dove in for another kiss, knowing exactly who she had to thank.
The critics surprised them even more.
Jessica grabbed the stack of papers from the mailbox and read them out loud, one by one, laughing the whole time.
Los Angeles Times: "The chemistry between Raphael Lee and Jessica Alba is damn near perfect—their love practically spills off the screen. Any normal person can see what's really going on between them."
Hollywood Reporter was even blunter: "This isn't acting. This is real emotion. They aren't playing lovers—they are lovers."
Variety zeroed in on the dancing: "Their duet is flawless. Even the harshest choreographer couldn't find a flaw. That kind of sync doesn't come from a couple months of rehearsal. That's raw talent and real chemistry."
Jessica read every line, cracking up after each one.
"Rafe, did you see? They're saying it's real!"
Raphael watched her from the couch, smile never leaving his face. "I saw."
"They literally called us lovers!"
"Mm-hmm."
"You're not even excited?"
He laughed. "Why would I be? They're just stating facts."
Jessica gave him that honey-sweet grin, eyes sparkling like she'd been dipped in sugar.
The good news kept rolling in.
Every site and Universal's own projections said the same thing: worldwide box office wouldn't dip below two hundred million.
Original timeline had barely cracked a hundred. Raphael and Jessica had just taken the movie to a whole new level.
Mark called minutes later.
"Rafe, Universal reached out."
Raphael leaned back. "What'd Ron Meyer say?"
"They want to buy out every ancillary right—sequels, DVD, home video, TV, streaming, games, the works."
Raphael raised an eyebrow. "Price?"
"Fifty million."
Mark's voice crackled with excitement. "Exactly the number you floated. Your sixty percent gets you thirty million."
Raphael nodded. "Do it. You and Ari handle the paperwork—I trust you guys."
Mark paused. "You're not even coming in to negotiate?"
"Nah. Lazy."
Raphael yawned. "Just get it done."
Mark gave a dry chuckle, probably wondering how a Hollywood star could be this blasé about thirty million dollars. If he knew Raphael's real net worth right now, the guy wouldn't sleep for a week.
"Alright, I'll close it."
Jessica scooted closer the second he hung up. "Thirty million?"
"Yep."
"You're just letting them handle it?"
Raphael looked at her. "Why not?"
She frowned, genuinely puzzled. "Feels like… you don't even care about money anymore."
He burst out laughing. "I let the pros do their job. My only job is making sure nobody runs off with the check."
He didn't tell her about the quiet British bookmaker he'd turned into his personal ATM. Or the Marvel acquisition still cooking in the background.
He had a bigger plan: stop Fox from ever making Fantastic Four.
From day one he'd slotted the property into Marvel's Phase Two—not as an opener, but as a killer launch piece.
Two years until Fox would even start shooting. Plenty of time.
In Raphael's version, the Invisible Woman could only be Jessica Alba. Kate Mara looked like a middle-schooler. Vanessa Kirby would be thirty-six—way too mature, looks and body both off.
Whatever Marvel had been in his last life, this Marvel belonged to him.
---
Three days later his phone rang again.
Mark Platt.
"Rafe, it's done."
Raphael was on the couch; Jessica sprawled across his lap flipping through a magazine.
"What'd they say?"
"Universal accepted everything—fifty million for all ancillary rights. Contracts are drafted."
Mark sounded proud as hell. "When can you swing by to sign?"
"Give me a couple days. I'll bring Philip."
"Cool. Call when you're on the way."
He'd barely hung up when Ari rang through.
"Rafe, you hear about the Universal deal?"
"Just did."
"Good. One more thing—Pirates of the Caribbean side just checked in."
Raphael sat up a little straighter. "Start date?"
"October ninth. They want you in early for sword training and set acclimation."
Raphael almost laughed out loud. Sword training? After everything he'd pulled from the dream worlds?
But he couldn't say that.
"Got it. I'll be ready."
Ari gave a few more instructions and hung up.
Jessica peeked over the magazine. "Leaving soon?"
"Not yet. October."
Raphael looked down at her. "Gonna miss me?"
"Duh."
He leaned in and kissed her softly. "We've still got time. No rush."
Two days later he drove over to Philip's office.
It wasn't an "office" anymore. Since Raphael Lee Productions officially launched, Philip had rented an entire floor of a sleek Century City building.
A polished brass plaque gleamed by the door. A blonde receptionist lit up the second Raphael walked in.
"Mr. Lee!"
He nodded. "Philip in?"
"He's interviewing new hires." She pointed down the hall. "Last office on the right."
Raphael headed that way.
The door stood half-open. Philip's voice drifted out.
"I saw your résumé—UCLA grad, right field, two years at Warner…"
Philip paused. "But tell me—why do you actually want to work here?"
A young guy answered, eager. "Because this company has real upside. Raphael Lee is the fastest-rising star in Hollywood. Following him feels like a no-brainer."
Philip chuckled. "Honest answer?"
"One hundred percent."
"I like honest. Head home—we'll let you know within the week."
The kid stood, walked out, spotted Raphael, and froze for a second before giving a quick nod.
Raphael smiled. "Good luck."
The guy practically floated away.
Raphael pushed the door open and dropped into the chair across from Philip.
"Interviews?"
Philip leaned back. "Yeah. Company's growing—we need bodies."
He eyed Raphael. "What brings you by?"
Raphael didn't answer right away. He just took in the office—the floor-to-ceiling windows, the big walnut desk, framed certificates on the walls, even a fancy espresso machine in the corner.
Life was moving fast. And he was just getting started.