Sophie Wilson didn’t care what Grace Wilson thought.
Someone like Grace, who lets herself be used as a pawn, simply ignoring her was enough to infuriate her.
Why bother wasting any extra energy on her?
Charles Seymour sat quietly on the chair, still as cold as ever, but the crew didn’t find him intimidating; instead, they felt a deep sense of sympathy for him.
He must be this cold because he was hurt by the Seymour Family, right?
His mother died of anger, while his father is smitten with the mistress and her son, leaving the legitimate Seymour heir in obscurity.
Isn’t this a case of the cuckoo occupying the nest?
Seeing the sympathy in everyone’s eyes, Julian Campbell chuckled silently to himself.
Rest assured, his little uncle has a strong heart and doesn’t need such useless things as sympathy.
The person needing sympathy the most right now is him, okay? The source of this content ɪs 𝙣𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙡·𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖·𝔫𝔢𝔱
"Julian, remember, you have to interact well with Sophie in a while. Remember, you are lovers! Lovers!" the director loudly reminded Julian from the side.
Julian’s knees went weak, nearly collapsing.
Does the director wish so badly for the second male lead to be replaced due to an accident?
They’ve already filmed more than half; wouldn’t changing actors now exceed the budget?
Dancing with his little aunt in front of his little uncle was tough enough, why must he emphasize their relationship as lovers in the script?
Once wasn’t enough, it had to be twice?
Was he wishing death upon him!
Before even getting on stage, Julian’s legs were already turning to jelly.
"Julian, what are you doing?" The director yelled impatiently.
Normally so dedicated, why was Julian dawdling today?
The incident with Ophelia Wilson had already thrown the filming into disarray, so was Julian’s lack of cooperation supposed to mean something?
"Coming," Julian quickly responded, lowering his head, peeking at Charles Seymour sitting on the chair, contemplating whether he should first express his intentions to his little uncle.
He really didn’t have any improper thoughts about his little aunt!
Charles Seymour’s indifferent voice rang in Julian’s ears, "I’ve read the script."
Julian’s eyes suddenly lit up as he realized.
His little uncle meant he understood the script, right?
So, it’s fine for him to perform?
He should have said so earlier.
He had been on edge for so long!
Almost scared him to death!
"Uncle, then I’m going," Julian said, feeling a weight lifted as he stepped onto the stage.
George Reed, who had been standing silently at the side, covered his face, thinking, ’Julian, you fool, didn’t you notice Charles Seymour’s eyes never left Sophie Wilson when he was talking to you just now?’
Charles saying he read the script doesn’t mean he isn’t jealous!
Handling an artist like Julian, who occasionally acts foolish... as the agent, it’s so exhausting.
The music started, Sophie Wilson spun quickly and elegantly fell backward.
Julian extended his long arm, perfectly encircling Sophie Wilson’s slim waist, holding her steadily.
Their eyes met, tender and affectionate, as if the sweet smell of love was spreading through the air.
The director watched the camera excitedly, clenching his fists slightly, anticipating the subsequent passionate dance, then... his forehead veins popping, the director yelled, "Julian, what are you standing there for? Frozen?"
They were staring at each other for ages, the rhythm of the music had moved on.
With a stiff neck, Julian turned creakily to look at the director, his eyes full of grievance, pitiably on the verge of tears.
"What’s wrong with you?" The director’s furious temper was startlingly dispelled by Julian’s look, he was just too pitiful.