Franz had been leaving for work for over a week, leaving the twins mostly in Arianne and Aunt Estella’s company.
Arianne pulled the curtains open to allow the sunlight to illuminate her study one early morning. A slight breeze blew into the room; the season was about to change.
The window remained open as Arianne crossed the room, the curtains shifting slightly as she passed. The study was quiet at this hour, the kind of stillness that only existed before the twins woke and the house adjusted around them.
She set her phone down beside the desk and checked the ti once before sitting. The day had already been divided into blocks in her head—school preparation, transport, and etings she would need to attend alone. Nothing unexpected. Nothing that required adjustnt yet.
Franz had already left for work while the twins were still asleep in their room. This allowed Arianne to review the docunts she had yet to check. A particular folder on her table imdiately caught her attention.
Gio was the only one with direct access to this room, aside from her. He left it here before heading to the Rochefort Group to deliver the reports she had just finished reviewing.
Arianne took a seat behind her desk and opened it. The contents were docunts unrelated to the Rochefort Group—nothing confidential, more like a mandatory monthly report that occasionally reached her office.
The calendar on her laptop pinged with a new notification, indicating new entries.
Arianne opened the calendar and saw several changes on Franz’s schedule for the next two weeks: script readings, dical consultations, and press interviews.
The entries were color-coded, each marked with a location, a contact na, and a set duration. Nothing overlapped. The gaps between them were thinner than before.
She scrolled, then stopped. The buffer was already shrinking. A few schedules ended too close to the next. One delay would be enough.
She checked the weekend and left it open on the screen. Franz wasn’t free.
Arianne noted that only she could accompany the twins on their educational trip this coming weekend.
She rested her palm briefly on the desk, then withdrew it. The screen remained lit in front of her, the weekend still visible. The room hadn’t changed. The light hadn’t shifted. Only the space between the entries felt tighter than it had a mont ago.
She closed the folder and slid it back into place. The chair creaked softly as she stood. Outside the study, the house was still quiet. The twins hadn’t woken yet.
anwhile, Noah arrived just in ti for the script reading of the dical TV series. The director and the producer of the series were familiar to him, as he’d worked with them in the past.
Director Yang had waited explicitly for Noah’s return before starting the series. Noah was his first choice when he began conceptualizing the project.
The remaining cast arrived one after another. So Noah recognized, but others he t for the first ti. He greeted them politely, keeping the conversation short.
The script reading started.
The table was already set. Scripts waited in front of each chair. Water bottles stood where they’d been placed earlier. Soone adjusted the blinds. The room dimd slightly and stayed that way.
As the reading continued, stage directions slipped into the conversation. Blocking ca up when it needed to. So scenes were ant to run longer. No one lingered on it.
Noah listened without saying a word, while the rest of the cast threw questions occasionally to clarify details. The longer the reading continued, the demands of the series beca harder to ignore.
His role demanded long-standing scenes, repeated takes, and physical acting that wasn’t technically a stunt—but wasn’t passive either.
Still, he didn’t complain or refuse the role. Noah noted the issues instead.
The script reading took a break after two hours of nonstop discussion. Noah stepped out of the room to check his phone and noticed the calendar had been updated. A particular schedule set over the weekend caught his attention.
He frowned. It was sothing he was supposed to handle, but now he couldn’t commit to it.
Monica approached him and handed him a bottle of water. She then inford him of the photoshoots scheduled for the next day.
Noah noticed how many ti blocks the photoshoot had taken up in his calendar.
"Would it be possible to ask if we can finish the photoshoot early?" he asked his assistant.
Monica blinked, then looked back at the calendar.
"It’s not for us to decide that, Noah," she reminded him. "But I’m sure they won’t mind as long as the photographer is satisfied with the output."
Noah nodded and didn’t ask further.
"The dia has also picked up the news about the dical TV series you’re going to star in," Monica continued. "We’re receiving questions through your social accounts already. They’re worried your injury hasn’t fully healed. Sir Daryll is working on a statent to address it."
Noah’s shoulder injury wasn’t a secret, but he hadn’t expected it to cost him several brand endorsents and projects all at once. Directors and producers had hesitated to offer him roles, opting instead for actors with greater physical stability.
The script reading resud, taking most of his afternoon. When the eting finally adjourned, it was already four in the afternoon. Noah still had another eting to attend.
Monica gave him a few minutes to rest.
The corridor outside the room was already busy. Assistants moved between doors carrying tablets and printed notes. Voices overlapped briefly, then separated again as people returned to their tasks, while the other actors took their leave.
He straightened when soone passed too close.
Noah leaned against the wall long enough to scroll through the notifications that had accumulated during the reading. Most were reminders or confirmations—a few required acknowledgnt. None asked whether the timing worked.
The room cleared quickly.
Updates continued to arrive as he gathered his things. Rehearsal tis. Location details. A revised call sheet.
Noah checked the next entry once, then headed toward the exit.
User Comments
0 comments from readers