Chapter 89

Summer’s POV

Brandon’s eyebrow shot up at my comment about avoiding special treatment, a controlled half-smile playing at his lips. "Is my wife trying to champion the cause of pure meritocracy to avoid nepotism accusations?"

I shot him a mock-irritated glare, sensing the playful undertone in his voice. "You know exactly what I mean, Brandon. I want to stand on my own feet."

He softened, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze with a quiet sigh. "Rest assured, for now, our private life remains just that—private. No one even knows about our relationship yet."

My chest tightened at the reminder. Keeping our marriage a secret had been my decision—one Brandon had respected—but hearing him acknowledge our 'private status' made me feel a strange tug of conflict. I caught James’s eyes in the rearview mirror for a fleeting second.

"Well, except for James," I pointed out quietly.

Brandon’s gaze snapped to the mirror, his eyes sharpening into a silent reminder of professional boundaries. James instantly stiffened, his posture becoming perfectly rigid. I could sense the assistant's inner struggle at being caught in our marital dynamics once again.

James cleared his throat, choosing his words with practiced diplomacy. "Actually, Mrs. Stark, in my professional capacity, I am exceptionally discreet. You can consider me an extension of the office—practically invisible when necessary!"

I looked at Brandon in surprise before a laugh bubbled out of me. James had a unique way of owning his "situational invisibility" without a hint of embarrassment. "Alright," I grinned, "I’ll take your word for it."

The car glided into Stark Entertainment’s underground garage, pulling into Brandon’s private spot. James hurried out to open the door, his professional mask firmly back in place.

"Sir, Producer Quinn reached out again," James reported urgently as we stepped out. "Miss Victoria Taylor is expressing significant frustration regarding the wait time."

Brandon’s lips thinned into a hard line. "Let her wait. Patience is part of the profession."

I was surprised. "She’s actually losing her composure?" This didn't sound like the Victoria I knew. My sister was usually a master of image control, meticulously maintaining a graceful persona in public while saving her true temperament for behind closed doors.

"It’s standard behavior for talent who feel their time is undervalued," James explained diplomatically. "Especially when they are forced to wait."

Brandon turned to James. "And the script we prepared?"

"As instructed, sir. It’s for the historical espionage drama. She’s being considered for the antagonist—the one whose story ends quite tragically."

"And Director Thomas? I assume he still has reservations?"

James nodded. "He is making his preferences known, sir."

"Find a diplomatic way to address his concerns," Brandon directed before turning to me. "Let’s go upstairs. I want to show you around—you’ll be a vital part of this world soon."

Brandon led me through the sleek, modern corridors of Stark Entertainment, eventually bringing me to a high-tech monitoring suite. Multiple screens displayed various areas of the building, including Studio One.

"The observation room," Brandon explained. "It allows us to monitor production flow without interfering on the floor."

On one of the screens, Victoria was sitting in a waiting lounge, her body language radiating irritation. Even through the silent feed, I could tell she was seething. Her manager sat beside her, nervously checking his watch every few seconds.

"I can't believe this," Victoria’s voice came through the audio feed, sharp with indignation. "I have been waiting for over an hour!"

I winced. This was the raw, unfiltered Victoria—the version only our family knew.

"Let's leave," she announced suddenly, standing up. "This role is mine regardless. I don't need to be treated like an extra."

Her manager jumped up, catching her arm. "Victoria, please! Stark Entertainment is the industry leader. The role might be essentially yours, but we cannot burn bridges. They are likely just delayed—let’s wait a little longer."

A secretary entered the room just as Victoria was about to retort. "Miss Taylor? Mr. Wilson is ready for you in Studio One."

Victoria instantly switched on her "public persona," though the tension around her eyes remained. Her manager discreetly produced an envelope as they prepared to leave. "A small token of our appreciation for your assistance," he said smoothly to the secretary.

"That won't be necessary," the woman replied coolly. "I am simply following the schedule. Mr. Wilson is from headquarters, and his time is very limited."

Victoria’s smile remained fixed, but I could see the fury behind her eyes. "Of course. Lead the way."

I turned to Brandon. "She has no idea that 'Mr. Wilson' is just your proxy, does she?"

Brandon shook his head, a cold, calculating smile playing at his lips. "Not a clue."

On another screen, Victoria entered the vast space of Studio One. James—now acting as the executive 'Mr. Wilson'—sat with the producer and a director’s assistant.

"Miss Taylor," the producer said without looking up. "I trust you’ve reviewed the script Mr. Wilson sent over? Let’s get started."

Victoria glanced at James, who merely gestured for her to proceed. I saw a flash of panic across my sister's face.

"She hasn't read it," I realized aloud.

"Of course not," Brandon noted. "She expects the world to adapt to her name, not her talent."

On screen, Victoria began to stall. "I... well..."

"Miss Taylor," James interrupted, sounding disappointed. "Are you unprepared? Mr. Stark personally asked me to oversee this casting to ensure we find the right fit for such a significant investment."

Victoria’s face drained of color. "Mr. Stark? Brandon Stark is personally involved?"

"Naturally," James confirmed. "While the antagonist is the second female lead, it is a substantial role that requires immense range. Given your recent... public challenges, I assumed you would appreciate this opportunity."

Victoria’s expression shifted through shock and panic before settling into a desperate calculation. "I... I’ve been a bit under the weather," she said, her voice suddenly trembling with a fragile quality. "I apologize."

"If you're unwell, perhaps we should reschedule with another candidate," James suggested smoothly. "Director Thomas already has a few other names in mind—"

"No!" Victoria cut him off. "I just need thirty minutes to prepare. Please!"

I watched as she summoned tears to the edge of her lashes—a perfect display of vulnerability. She truly was an actress, just not in the professional way she thought.

"Thirty minutes," James conceded.

Victoria nodded, turning frantically to her manager. "The script! Where is it?"

The manager’s panicked expression said it all—they hadn't even brought the materials. Victoria turned back to James, her voice strained. "Mr. Wilson... could I possibly borrow your copy? I was in such a rush this morning that I must have left mine in the car..."

"Unbelievable," I muttered, watching the disaster unfold. The show was just beginning.