Franz had just finished the final touches on his recording studio at the western wing of the estate. It took them a few days to complete the assembly of the equipnt, as most of it had been picked up from his old place.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his arm before glancing at the clock on the wall. He decided to take a quick shower and change into a clean set of clothes before eting his manager.
When he ca down to the sitting room, he found Samantha seated on the couch, playing gas on her mobile phone.
"You’re early," he comnted, taking a seat on the couch across from her.
Samantha humd, then asked without looking at him, "Where’s Aria?"
"Still at the company," Franz replied. "Do you need sothing from her?"
Samantha shook her head.
"No," she answered. "It’s just that I haven’t seen her since you two got married."
Franz fell silent. Silence was easier than explanations he wasn’t ready to give.
This ti, Samantha turned to look at him and burst out laughing.
"What? Still can’t believe she married you?"
Franz still said nothing. Instead, he looked away, refusing to et her gaze.
"But as I see it, you have yet to make any progress, Franz. You and Arianne are living together, but you’re no different from housemates."
Franz glanced toward the door before the exchange could stretch further. The person he’d been waiting for had arrived.
He and Samantha stood at the sa ti. Samantha hid her phone behind her, her expression turning nervous.
"Hey, Daryll. It’s been a while," Franz greeted his manager and gestured for him to take a seat.
Daryll nodded and sat on the couch Samantha had occupied earlier.
He had been Franz’s manager for over ten years. He had seen careers rise and collapse faster than contracts could be rewritten.
"Daryll, this is Sam Pemberton, the one I ntioned to you before," Franz said, introducing Samantha to his manager.
"Pleased to et you, Mr. Jason." Samantha shook Daryll’s hand and greeted him politely.
"Ah, yes. I’ve seen your profile, Ms. Pemberton. Unfortunately, I won’t be handling your account. If it’s all right with you, my subordinate will take your case. She should give you a call one of these days to discuss the auditions you might take."
Samantha’s face lit up, and she thanked Daryll repeatedly. She squealed in delight and gave Franz a wide grin.
"You’re cheerful today, Sam. What’s up?"
Everyone turned to see Arianne. Franz stood at once and walked toward her.
"You’re early today," he said before accepting the folders she handed him.
"The eting was adjourned early because of so missing reports," Arianne replied, before Samantha pulled her into a hug.
"Aria! I finally have a manager!" Samantha shared the news with her.
"Oh?" Arianne furrowed her brows in confusion. "What happened to your previous manager?"
Samantha forced herself to calm down and explained the situation.
"Modeling projects barely co to now, Aria. I asked Franz to help transition into acting. Mr. Jason just told I have a new manager. Anyway, I have to go, Aria. I need to make so preparations for the auditions."
Samantha didn’t wait for Arianne or Franz’s reply and left at once.
Arianne could only look at her departing figure. This was the first ti she heard Samantha was planning to retire from modeling and wanted to test the waters in acting.
Daryll, montarily stunned upon seeing Arianne, stood up.
"Noah, this is..."
He didn’t know what the right question to ask was.
Daryll had known for a long ti that Noah Hart’s real identity was that of the son of a conglorate family. He was the Franz Rochefort that the public had been criticizing for weeks.
"Ah..." Franz hesitated, but eventually said, "Daryll, this is Arianne Sumrs, Franz Rochefort’s wife."
Daryll was stunned in place. He stared at Franz for a mont, wondering if he was joking. But seeing there was no hint of deception on Franz’s face, Daryll could only sigh before taking a seat again.
It was one thing to hide Noah’s real identity, but adding another secret would put Franz’s career and reputation at risk.
"I’m sorry, Daryll. I should have inford you much earlier." Franz apologized.
Arianne took the chance and offered Daryll her hand.
"I’m Arianne Sumrs. I know the risks and pressure might affect Noah’s career, but please do not bla him. If there’s anything I can do to lessen the burden on you, don’t hesitate to tell ."
Daryll was taken aback, but in the end, he gave her hand a firm shake.
So this was Arianne Sumrs. He gave Franz a knowing look.
"Thank you for the consideration, Mrs. Rochefort. I’ll keep it in mind," he said evenly.
Arianne nodded, then turned to face her husband.
"I’ll be at my study if you need anything."
But Franz held her wrist and stopped her.
"Would you mind joining our conversation? It should give you an overview of how my work as Noah Hart goes."
Arianne didn’t answer imdiately, but she eventually agreed.
She took a seat next to Franz and turned her phone to silent mode.
Daryll cleared his throat before starting.
"As I ntioned earlier, Ms. Quinn is asking when you plan to return to work. You’ve already lost a few endorsents during your hiatus. So projects were also stalled and reassigned to another actor. Everyone is asking if your injury was career-ending."
Franz touched his right shoulder absentmindedly.
"How serious is your injury?" Arianne asked.
"I tore a few muscles while doing a stunt during the last film," Franz admitted, not wanting to keep secrets from her. "I’ve undergone surgery and am still recuperating. The doctor also told to take therapy to recover faster."
"Is Noah’s body insured?" Arianne asked Daryll. She had heard that popular celebrities insured their faces and parts of their bodies.
Daryll nodded.
"Yes, Noah is insured. It covered his dical expenses. This is actually the first ti he got into an accident," he said, glancing at Franz.
"Noah, you’ll need to step back into the lilight. If you prolong your hiatus, you’ll break the contract with the company."
Arianne fell silent. Numbers, risks, tilines—she arranged them quietly in her head. She ntally noted the issues Daryll raised.
Daryll tapped the edge of the folder he was holding.
"You have six weeks," he said. "After that, I can’t hold the line."
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