’So this is what Star Entertainment looks like from the inside,’ he thought. ’This is what I own a piece of.’

The realization landed with far more weight than any financial statement ever had. Numbers on paper were abstract. This wasn’t. This was people. Work. Systems layered on top of systems. An entire machine dedicated to producing stories that reached screens across the world.

And part of it belonged to him.

He exhaled slowly, then turned toward the elevator bank.

He entered the elevator and rode upward in silence.

When the doors opened, he stepped into a corridor noticeably quieter than the floors below, the executive level, where the pace remained fast but the noise had been stripped away, leaving only the pressure of larger decisions.

The manager’s office sat at the far end of the hall. Glass-walled conference rooms lined both sides, their interiors occupied by muted conversations and glowing presentation screens.

As Stan stepped forward, another man exited the elevator beside him.

Mid-twenties. Well-fitted suit. Portfolio case held with the careful precision of someone who had repacked it three separate times to make sure everything sat exactly where it should. The posture alone marked him immediately: interview candidate.

The man glanced down the corridor to orient himself, then looked at Stan.

He looked once. Then again.

Recognition crossed the man’s face slowly, not with the excitement of spotting a celebrity, but with the confusion of seeing someone familiar in a place they didn’t belong

"The interview rooms are on the left," the man said, nodding helpfully down the hall. "Manager’s office is straight ahead, if that’s where you’re trying to go."

"I know," Stan replied. "Thank you."

The man nodded politely. Stan continued down the corridor without slowing.

Behind him, the suited man paused at the junction and watched his retreating figure with a faint furrow in his brow.

He had graduated from Peak University eighteen months earlier. Being a theatre art student himself, he’d followed the campus forum drama, the viral short films, the Lamborghini clips, the defamation case, all of it.

Stan Harrison’s face had appeared on his phone often enough that recognition came instantly.

But the context refused to fit.

Ghost Signal had performed extraordinarily well, over three million views and still climbing, and the quote from Star Entertainment’s reviewer had circulated widely enough through industry spaces to attract attention.

The conclusion came easily. Stan Harrison had probably mistaken online momentum for actual industry access. It happened often enough.

Talented people got attention, confused visibility with leverage, and started walking into company offices believing momentum alone could open doors.

’He must be heading to the managers office to use that as leverage for employment...’

The man released a quiet, almost sympathetic sigh.

’Good luck to him, I guess’ he thought sincerely.

Then he turned left toward the interview room while Stan Harrison continued straight toward the office at the end of the hall.

He opened the door without wasting time

The office was well-appointed without being ostentatious, a large desk positioned to face the entrance, floor-to-ceiling windows stretching behind it and overlooking Velaris City’s media district, shelves lining one wall with industry awards and neatly organized production files. The space projected authority.

Vivian Reeves was standing.

Not casually, not like someone who had simply risen when she heard his footsteps.

She stood in the center of the room with deliberate stillness, as though she had decided exactly how this moment would unfold and had held herself in place ever since the elevator doors opened.

She was dressed professionally, structured blazer, hair tied back neatly, but the composure that had always defined her felt different today. Not absent but strained. Like something heavy was resting beneath it, and every ounce of discipline she possessed was being used to keep it contained.

When Stan closed the door behind him and looked at her, Vivian Reeves lowered herself to her knees.

Both knees touched the floor in one clean motion. Her hands rested in her lap, spine straight, posture flawless, the stance of someone who had accepted what needed to be done and chosen to do it properly rather than halfway.

Then she looked up at him and inhaled once before speaking.

"I’m sorry."

Her voice remained steady. That, too, was intentional. She had clearly decided there would be no tears, no dramatics, no attempts to soften the moment with charm or vulnerability. Just the truth, spoken plainly.

"I’m sorry for everything I did to you. The dormitory. The bodyguards. The playground. The expulsion attempts. All of it." She held his gaze without flinching. "I was arrogant. Petty. I treated you like you were beneath me because I had power and no one had ever forced me to set it down." A brief pause. "That’s not an excuse. It’s simply the truth, and I’m ashamed of it."

Silence settled between them.

"I’m also sorry for slacking off here," she continued. "You gave me a second chance at this position when you had absolutely no reason to, and I treated that chance like it was guaranteed. That was stupid. It won’t happen again."

The room fell quiet once more.

Stan stood there, looking at Vivian kneeling on the floor of her own office, the same office she had nearly lost twice, the same position she had once wielded like a weapon, and felt the cold satisfaction of a reckoning arriving exactly when it was supposed to.

He remembered the playground.

The circle of bodyguards.

Her voice carrying across the crowd.

’Kneel down. Apologize. Then maybe I’ll forgive you.’

She had said those words to him in front of hundreds of people.

And now here she was.

He let the silence linger for several seconds longer than necessary, not out of cruelty, but because some moments required their full weight to be understood completely. 𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦

Then he walked to the chair in front of her desk and sat down.

***

A/N:

What do you guys think of the story so far please?