Rhys Hawthorne arrived too quickly.
Their marital home was bought when Julian Fordham’s career was just beginning, and there wasn’t a dedicated helipad at home.
Julian’s main mode of transportation was by car, and Victoria Monroe never imagined Rhys would come looking for her by helicopter.
When he appeared, she was frantically trying to compose herself.
The tears had long dried; she hadn’t removed her makeup when the incident occurred, so her eye makeup was definitely ruined.
Rhys wasn’t Julian; he’d seen all her awkward states before.
The first instinct of a once-strong over-the-hill actress was to get up and run.
"Victoria Monroe!" Rhys’s deep voice floated over on the sea breeze, tinged with a hint of concern.
"Don’t move, let me see you."
Victoria stopped in her tracks, rigidly extended her hand in a stopping gesture and said, "Wait, don’t come over."
Rhys halted three steps away, staring at her back.
In this cold weather, she was still wearing the thin silk blouse she had worn at dinner, without a jacket.
Victoria, with her back to him, awkwardly replied, "My eye makeup is messed up."
He considered everything, even that she might be contemplating something drastic, but he didn’t expect it was just her eye makeup being ruined.
Victoria also felt that her remark was a bit out of place and added, "You know, I’m still a celebrity after all, even if I’m past my prime, but I still have a bit of an image to maintain."
"Understood." Rhys’s voice returned to its usual calm.
The next second, a black coat was draped over her shoulders.
It still carried his body warmth, along with his signature sandalwood scent.
For a moment, Victoria felt as if she’d fallen into Rhys’s embrace; she pulled the coat down, intending to return it.
Turning around, she saw Rhys standing there in a neatly tailored white shirt, his expression hidden in the dim light, looking at her downcast.
A nearby streetlamp cast its glow, and her entire face was illuminated right under it.
In the instant their eyes met, before she could read the man’s expression, Victoria’s hands acted faster than her mind, raising to cover Rhys’s eyes, "Don’t look!"
Rhys was slightly stunned, seemingly caught off guard by Victoria, who usually kept her distance from men, taking the initiative to approach him.
He blinked, his long lashes fluttering in the palm of Victoria’s hand like butterfly wings, inducing a tingling sensation.
Her hand was small; this he already knew.
Nervously, her palm was a little damp, with a faint scent of rose.
Not the scent of perfume, nor essential oil.
Like the fragrance of the flower itself, very clean, yet alluring.
His prominent Adam’s apple moved slightly, his voice a bit hoarse, "Alright, I won’t look, but you’re pregnant, it’s easy to catch a cold."
The mention of her pregnancy cut sharply into Victoria’s heart.
Seeing her silence, he added, "If a pregnant woman falls ill, medication is inconvenient, for both you and the baby..."
Victoria abruptly interrupted him: "In just over ten days, he’ll be gone."
Rhys hesitated, "You mean..."
Victoria didn’t answer his question, instead pulling a ribbon from her shirt’s bow and tying it over Rhys’s eyes.
The silk fabric was soft, like the cool touch of her fingertips brushing his cheek inadvertently.
He humbly cooperated, bending down, instantly closing the distance between them.
His sharply defined face appeared abruptly before her; she could even feel his light breathing falling onto her forehead.
She swiftly tied a bow at the back of his head, "Sorry, I need two minutes of your time."
As she spoke, she draped the coat back over Rhys and returned to her car.
She had left in such a rush that she hadn’t brought anything besides a phone, let alone makeup for a touch-up.
Looking at herself in the mirror, she saw her mascara running, and the dark smudges beneath her eyes.
She was grateful she hadn’t applied smoky eyeshadow, avoiding a more disastrous scene.
Carefully, she used two wet wipes to remove the residual makeup from her face.
Though her complexion appeared pale and weak, it was better than moments ago, akin to a crash scene.
She glanced toward the distance where the man, tied with her ribbon, stood, his silhouette elongated by the streetlamp.
He hadn’t peeked, hadn’t even moved an inch.
It seemed she had judged him with suspicion, mistrusting the noble.
Rhys heard the voice behind him, "I’m ready."
Only then did he remove the white ribbon from his eyes, clenched it in his hand, and turned to walk toward her.
He saw her little head pulling back into the car.
He opened the passenger door and sat inside. Victoria, consumed by her sadness, hadn’t felt the cold.
But now, it was as if all sensations rushed back, coldness surged from her limbs.
Victoria rubbed her cold hands, "What was it you mentioned over the phone, something to discuss with me?"
"Regarding the sequel’s project, I’ve contacted a producer willing to invest a hundred million to shoot this series."
"How much?" Victoria, who had been lounging lazily, instantly sat up straight.
In the current film industry downturn, not to mention big screens, most have turned to produce low-budget online series costing just a few tens of thousands each.
Today’s TV series quality varies greatly, and even tens of millions is considered a huge investment, so when he said a hundred million, it truly shocked Victoria.
Rhys sat upright, repeating, "A hundred million."
Victoria furrowed her brow, knowing well that nothing comes so easily, "He didn’t ask for other demands? Like specifying the lead actors?"
"The flow from ’Minister’ is evident; he’s a businessman, and there’s a limit to promoting someone. The leads won’t change, while other roles need auditions by the director and producer later."
Rhys paused and added, "You know this industry well, investors will always squeeze in people they back. Especially with a sequel to a hit show, everyone wants a piece. So once the project’s announced, it will attract more capital; a hundred million is just the base funding."
Victoria sighed in relief, "As long as funding is secured, and we aren’t being replaced, then there’s no big issue."
She glanced at the helicopter parked not far away, someone who could casually fly in Kenton. Her mind drifted to Julian Fordham’s words.
"To you, whether it’s one hundred million or three hundred million isn’t really significant, is it?"
"No." Rhys’s eyes held hers tightly, seemingly piercing through her, his voice calm and steady, "This series is very important to me."
His gaze was concentrated, his eyes like a deep, bottomless ocean, almost pulling her in.
It seemed to conceal an intense, repressed emotion that Victoria couldn’t discern. Follow current novels on novᴇlfire.net
Once unleashed, it’d be like an unstoppable volcanic eruption.
Victoria instinctively averted her gaze, not daring to meet his eyes, as she heard his measured voice, "Ms. Monroe, interested in climbing to the top with me once more?"
That familiar address stirred numerous memories on set, evoking a longing within her.
She was meant to be a wildflower in an open field, growing freely, swaying wildly with the wind, not being housed in a greenhouse, meticulously nurtured by a gardener.
She wanted to return, even to the wilderness, to once more hear the exhilarating beat of her heart driven by the gusts.
Victoria looked at his outstretched hand, clean and slender, the black prayer beads hanging from his wrist starkly contrasting with his fair skin.
Her fingertips trembled with hesitation.
Yet he was the perfect gentleman, not rushing, patiently waiting for her to make up her mind.
Until after a moment of hesitation, she finally reached out and took his hand, licking her lips with a bit of uncertainty, "Rhys, here’s to a pleasant collaboration."
His hand, unlike her slightly sweaty one, was warm and dry.
It felt like a comforting haven, and as he clasped it gently, warmth enveloped her hand softly.
While looking at their intertwined fingers, she heard his deep voice next to her ear, "Ms. Monroe, welcome to my world."