Y/n’s manager, a woman in her forties with a sharp bob and an even sharper smile, gives her arm a final, reassuring squeeze before the driver opens the door.

A young assistant with a clipboard materializes, her smile professional and practiced.

Inside, the Orchid Room is a spacious conference area. A long, polished table dominates the center, surrounded by high-backed chairs. Sunlight streams through floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating a small group already seated.

At the head of the table, deep in conversation with a producer, is a man whose profile is instantly recognizable. Sahir Akbari. His posture is relaxed, but there’s an undeniable magnetism, an easy confidence that seems to take up space without trying.

And then, Y/n’s gaze lands on the woman sitting to his left.

Tori Pierce is laughing at something the director has just said, her head thrown back slightly. The sunlight catches the rich, dark brown of her hair, which falls in loose waves over her shoulders. She’s wearing a simple cream-colored blouse, and when she shifts, reaching for a glass of water, the fabric pulls just enough to hint at the edge of a tattoo on her ribs. Her laughter is bright, unguarded, and seems to light up her whole face.