Chapter 47 – Tom Cruise Wants to Stir Trouble
Los Angeles — 119 North La Brea Avenue.
Inside the boutique, the air carried a blend of fine leather and expensive perfume. Soft lighting shimmered across hand-stitched suit fabrics, reflecting the unmistakable sheen of money.
William stood before a full-length mirror while two attendants carefully adjusted the shoulder line of his jacket.
The suit—an Italian-inspired cut with subtle modern tailoring—accentuated his unusually powerful build. It sharpened his posture, erased the last traces of youthful softness, and added an unmistakable aura of rising Hollywood authority.
He no longer looked like a talented newcomer.
He looked like someone climbing.
"Galina, what do you think?"
William tilted his head slightly toward the lounge area where Galina sat.
After the earlier misunderstanding, Rahimi had been more than happy to take on both of them as clients. After all, it wasn't every day that a designer encountered a pair with that combination of striking looks and exceptional physique.
Galina lifted her head stiffly and offered a very practical assessment:
"Mr. Blake, it won't restrict your range of motion. If there's an emergency, you'll still be able to execute tactical maneuvers."
William couldn't help laughing.
Asking a bodyguard to critique haute couture had clearly been unfair.
"I meant aesthetically, Galina. We're attending a high-society gala. We're there to build connections, not clear rooms."
He gestured toward an evening gown an attendant had brought forward.
"Go try that one. It's for you. If you're playing my date, you can't exactly walk in wearing body armor."
---
Half an hour later, when they stepped out of the boutique, Galina was still slightly dazed by the length of the receipt.
The tailoring was exquisite. The fabrics were among the finest available.
But for someone who had only ever seen Western luxury through training manuals and surveillance photographs, seeing the numbers in person was… different.
Sobering.
William slid into his somewhat out-of-place Chevrolet and watched the upscale streets roll by through the windshield.
In this world, clothes are your first business card.
Your second is your car.
He personally believed tools were meant to be functional, not flashy.
But for what he intended to build—
Appearances mattered.
He would need a new car.
---
Ten days passed quickly.
The night of the charity gala arrived.
But in a smoke-filled office somewhere in the San Fernando Valley, the mood was far from celebratory.
José leaned back in a wide leather chair, lazily flipping open and shut a solid gold lighter.
Across from him, Anthony flipped impatiently through several industry reports.
"Boss… something's not right."
Anthony frowned.
"The distributors in the Valley are keeping their mouths shut," he said. "But I tracked down the factory handling the VHS duplication for that kid William's studio. He's still pumping out new tapes nonstop. High production quality. Strong market response. The stores can't keep them on shelves."
José exhaled a slow ring of smoke. His voice was hoarse.
"I made it clear, didn't I? No girls from the Valley were to work for him. Are you telling me someone's defying me?"
"That's exactly the problem." Anthony tapped the table. "I checked with the clubs we control. None of their girls have been shooting lately. And I compared faces from his latest releases—different batch entirely. Not ours."
José's eyes turned cold.
In Los Angeles, supply lines like that were printing presses.
If William had found a new pipeline—one outside their control—that meant money was slipping straight through José's fingers.
"You're saying he found fresher girls? More obedient ones?" José sneered.
"Possibly out-of-town runaways. College girls chasing Hollywood dreams. If we can figure out where he's sourcing them…"
Greed flickered in Anthony's eyes.
José thought for a moment before speaking.
"Send someone smart. A girl who knows how to play naïve. Have her approach William. Say she wants an audition. Feel him out. Don't spook him."
His voice dropped.
"I want to know who's backing him."
---
At the same time — Beverly Hilton Hotel, Beverly Hills.
Neon lights turned the hotel entrance into daylight. Camera flashes exploded along both sides of the red carpet.
William stepped out of the car and offered his arm to Galina.
Tonight, she wore a deep violet backless evening gown. The tailored fabric hugged her tall frame perfectly, highlighting her sculpted physique. Her cold, restrained aura—tinged with something dangerous—made her stand out among the painted, glittering actresses nearby.
The difference was simple:
They performed allure.
She radiated it.
"Relax," William murmured softly. "Just follow my lead."
"William! You made it."
A warm voice cut through the noise. Steven Hirsch strode over in a tuxedo, giving William an approving once-over before turning to Galina.
"And this stunning lady is…?"
"My private assistant—and my date for the evening," William said smoothly. "Abigail."
Galina was not a name one brought to certain rooms.
Abigail was.
Proper. Anglo. Unquestionable.
William then gestured toward Hirsch.
"This is Steven Hirsch. My partner."
"Good evening, Miss Abigail," Hirsch said with gentlemanly charm, offering a slight bow.
Galina inclined her head and replied in flawless British English:
"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hirsch."
Hirsch raised an eyebrow slightly. "British?"
Galina nodded, remembering William's instructions.
The lie was effortless.
The three of them entered the ballroom together.
Crystal chandeliers cast warm golden light across polished marble floors. Politicians, studio executives, financiers, and celebrities mingled beneath the hum of polite ambition.
But not long after they entered, William spotted a familiar figure.
Compact frame. Blinding smile. Hollywood's current golden boy.
Tom Cruise.
Cruise stood with a glass of champagne, surrounded by producers. When he noticed William approaching, his gaze lingered on Galina for a full three seconds.
Then he smiled.
A competitive smile.
"Hey, William, my friend."
Cruise stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough to make it personal.
"Gotta say—you've got consistent taste. But if I remember correctly, last time I saw you, it was that proud Australian actress by your side."
His eyes flicked briefly toward Galina.
"That didn't take long. Upgrade? Or just efficient turnover?"