Chapter 3 — The Meeting
The noise hit her before anything else did.
Alex stepped out through the arrivals gate and into a wall of sound — her name, chanted, shouted, half-sung by a crowd she hadn't expected and wasn't sure she'd earned. Signs bobbed above heads: her face printed in a dozen different photoshoots, one that simply read WELCOME HOME ALEX in handwriting that had clearly taken someone hours.
She stopped walking for a second, just to take it in. Thirteen years, and this was what Florelia had been doing with her memory the whole time she'd assumed it had forgotten her.
A team from Royalstar had already fallen into step around them — bodyguards on either side, someone murmuring logistics into an earpiece. Alex slid her sunglasses off, more out of instinct than plan, and let herself smile at the nearest cluster of fans. A few photos. A wave. It felt strange in her chest, gratitude tangled up with something closer to grief, and she didn't have time to sort out which one was winning before she was ushered into a waiting car.
Fidelia collapsed into the seat beside her the second the door shut. "We are very far from New Bell," she said, staring out the window at the skyline sliding past.
"I'll say." Alex leaned her head back against the seat. The city outside looked nothing like the one she remembered — sharper somehow, glass and steel where she still half-expected the low tiled roofs of her childhood. "This doesn't look anything like what's in my head."
Ten hours of flying and thirteen years of distance had apparently rebuilt the entire skyline without asking her opinion.
The hotel, when they arrived, made even Fidelia go quiet for a moment. Minimalist to the point of severity, all clean lines and expensive restraint, it looked like the kind of place designed specifically to make guests feel slightly out of their depth. Their rooms turned out to be an entire apartment, laid out for two, and Fidelia wandered through it running a hand along every surface like she needed to confirm it was real.
"They really went out of their way for you," she said finally.
"I have a feeling Royalstar overestimated my worth."
"There's no such thing as coincidence in this business, baby girl. I'm an excellent agent who only wants the best for her artist." Fidelia said it with a completely straight face, ruined half a second later by the grin she couldn't hold back, and Alex laughed for what felt like the first time all day.
They spent that evening preparing instead of exploring, both of them too aware of the ten o'clock meeting waiting for them the next morning to risk being anything less than sharp for it.
The Royalstar building occupied an entire block, and the tenth floor — where the meeting was scheduled — looked like something built for a species more comfortable with being watched than Alex currently felt. Glass walls everywhere, meeting rooms visible from every angle, the whole floor designed so that anyone inside could see and be seen at the same time.
She'd dressed carefully: a black skirt, white shirt, boots, a long red coat over the top of it, her hair pulled into a ponytail loose enough to look effortless and tight enough that she'd checked it twice in the elevator mirror. Fidelia, beside her, had gone for a tailored red suit and a laptop she carried like a shield.
Three people waited for them inside the glass conference room. A woman rose first, offering her hand before either Alex or Fidelia had fully crossed the threshold.
"Thank you for coming so quickly, Miss Michell. I'm Leila Jensen, vice president of Royalstar."
"Alex Michell. This is Fidelia Rodriguez, my manager." Alex shook her hand, taking in the woman in front of her — short hair, a presence that filled the room without needing to raise its voice. Leila looked exactly like someone used to being the most powerful person in whatever space she occupied.
"We've spoken on the phone a few times," Leila said, glancing at Fidelia with something like approval. "A very good agent."
"Thank you for the consideration," Fidelia said. "It's not every day a vice president handles a contract personally."
"I'll admit I have a personal interest here." Leila's smile widened. "I'm a fan of Miss Michell's work. I'm the one who put her name forward for a role in our next film. And, for what it's worth — I'm an Ocean Eyes myself."
Ocean Eyes. Alex hadn't expected to hear her own fandom's name spoken back to her by a company vice president, and something about it landed harder than she expected.
"Can we get started on the contracts?" one of the men asked, his voice pitched just low enough to suggest he'd rather not have said anything at all.
"Apologies. This is Owen, our director of the film division, and Harris, who runs fashion and modeling." Leila gestured to each in turn.
Harris spoke first, laying out the terms of the modeling contract in a clean, businesslike rhythm — five years, exclusive representation across Florelia and internationally, an apartment and a car included as part of the package. Alex had already reviewed the terms with Fidelia days ago and found nothing in them worth arguing over. The signature took less than a minute. Harris left the room satisfied, and the conversation shifted.
"Now for the second contract," Leila said, folding her hands on the table.
"I have to admit I'm curious," Fidelia said. "You've kept this one unusually quiet. I couldn't even prepare her properly."
"It's a secret project. We're announcing it publicly tomorrow, and shooting begins in two months." Leila's tone stayed even, but there was something almost giddy underneath it. "Owen can walk you through the role."
Owen had just started sliding scripts across the table when the door opened without a knock, and a man walked in like he already knew he didn't need one.
He crossed the room and dropped into the seat beside Alex like he'd been expecting to sit there all along.
"Sorry I'm late. I think I'm just in time for the part about me."
Alex's mouth went dry before her brain had fully processed who was sitting next to her. She'd seen that face in a dozen films, in interviews she'd watched more times than she'd ever admit out loud. Ethan. The Ethan. Sitting close enough now that she could see the small details no camera had ever quite captured — the exact black of his eyes, the way one side of his mouth lifted just slightly higher than the other when he wasn't performing anything at all.
She kept her expression neutral through sheer force of will, looking anywhere in the room except directly at him, and reached for the script on the table like it might steady her hands, grateful for something to look at that wasn't the man now leaning back in his chair beside her, watching her read with an attention that felt entirely too personal for a business meeting.
She turned the first page without really seeing it, aware of him beside her in a way she hadn't been aware of anyone in longer than she could remember. It wasn't just that he was handsome — Florelia had no shortage of handsome men, and she'd built a career around standing next to plenty of them without her pulse doing anything unusual. It was the stillness of him, the sense that he was watching the room the way she watched a room, cataloguing exits and angles out of habit rather than interest. She recognized that particular kind of vigilance. She just hadn't expected to find it in a man whose entire public image ran on effortless charm.
Fidelia, beside her, had gone very quiet in the specific way she went quiet whenever she'd noticed something worth filing away for later. Alex made a mental note to have words with her about it the second they were alone.
"Shall we go through the details?" Owen asked, sliding the rest of the script across the table, apparently unbothered by whatever silent current had just passed between the two of them.
Alex nodded, forced her attention down to the page, and started reading.