LOGINOne Year Ago
The Rivera estate was too quiet. Serena stepped out of the sleek black car, her stilettos stabbing into the cobblestone like they had a score to settle. They wobbled when it got stuck in the gap between cobblestone as she walked closer. Reflecting much of her own feelings. She didn’t want to be here. Not tonight. Not ever. Her body still ached from the fourteen hour shoot she’d just wrapped. Makeup clung to her skin like a mask she didn’t have the energy to rip off. And yet, she had come. Because when Robert Rivera said Come home Now, you didn’t ignore the call. Not even if you hated the man on the other end of the line. The mansion’s front doors opened before she could even lift a hand to knock. “Miss Serena,” the butler greeted with a stiff nod. Always too polished. Always too professional. Like everything in this house used to be—before it began to fall apart. "How are you, John?" Serena asked, soft and polite. John never married, choosing to serve the Rivera estate and Rivera name throughout his life. Serena tried to convince him to leave and find a better life for himself. He'd instead told her his life was here in these estate walls and the smell of that garden her mother used to love so much. "I'm good as always, Miss Rivera." John replied. He disregarded her request to call her by her name for years. “Your father is waiting in the study.” Of course he was. Serena nodded at John before pushing in. Her heels echoed sharply through the once-grand halls. She didn’t miss how empty it all felt now. The Rivera legacy might’ve ruled entertainment once along with other names in Industry, but Serena could see the cracks. The quiet layoffs, the missing antiques, the absence of staff. Her father’s empire was bleeding. And this house—this cold, hollow place that used to be her sanctuary—felt more like a tomb now. She paused outside the study for a beat. Smoothed her coat. Lifted her chin. Pushed the exhaustion out of her expression. Then she walked in. Robert Rivera didn’t even look up. One hand cradled a crystal glass, the other flipping lazily through a thick file—financials, most likely. She could practically feel the dollar signs bleeding off the page. “You called,” she said, her voice cool, her body still near the door. “Come sit.” Not a request. A command. She moved slowly, every step toward him peeling something invisible off her skin. She sat down across from him in the leather chair that had been occupied by many men who offered to buy her off him to feel comfortable. He finally looked up. “You look tired.” “Long shoot,” she replied, matching his tone with one of her own. He didn’t care. Not really. So, he turned back to the file. “Any projects lined up?” Serena’s spine tensed. “No,” she said, quietly. And braced for the strike. Not a physical one—though that wasn’t impossible with him—but the verbal kind. The disappointment. The dismissal. The anger that always came when she wasn’t good enough. But it didn’t come. Instead, he smiled. That thin, dangerous kind of smile that made her skin crawl. “Good.” Her heart stuttered. Good? Robert leaned back, like this was a casual conversation and not a chess game he’d already won. “You’ll be acting in this one next.” A ping vibrated from her phone. She looked down—he nodded. Permission to check. The notification opened to an article from Hollywood’s Report. Her eyes scanned the headline. > Lucian Vale's Secret Film Project? Whispers Point to Hollywood’s King and Queen Reuniting on Screen. Hollywood may be on the brink of its next cinematic obsession — and all signs point to Lucian Vale. The notoriously private Vale Studios head has remained out of the public eye for months, but new insider chatter suggests he’s quietly assembling what could be his most ambitious project yet — a sweeping romantic epic rumored to be filmed across three continents, backed by a jaw-dropping production budget, and destined for awards season. What’s caught everyone’s attention, though? The rumored cast. Multiple sources close to the studio have hinted that Aiden Wolfe and Seraphina Devacruax, often referred to as Hollywood’s King and Queen, have both been “in talks” for leading roles in what’s being described as a genre-bending psychological thriller with intense emotional stakes. The two haven’t shared the screen since their electric performance in Chasing Fireworks— and fans have been begging for a reunion ever since. “They’ve both cleared long-standing projects off their slates,” one industry source revealed. “It’s all lining up.” While no official statements have been released, whispers around Vale Studios suggest the script has been completed under tight security, with select readings held behind closed doors in Europe last month. A mysterious director — allegedly someone who “never works with studios” — is also rumored to be attached. Is this just wishful thinking from Hollywood insiders and overzealous fans? Or is Lucian Vale about to drop the biggest passion project the industry has seen in a decade? One thing’s for sure: if Wolfe and Devacruax do reunite under Lucian Vale’s cold-blooded brilliance, it won’t just break the internet — it’ll dominate the box office and awards circuit alike. Stay tuned. Something is brewing. Serena blinked. It couldn’t be real. “This is…” she trailed off. “Going to be the biggest film Hollywood’s seen in the last decade,” her father said. “High budget. International attention. Global press. It'll have the industry talking with Vale Studios backing.” “And?” Her throat felt tight. “What does this have to do with me?” He met her eyes then. And she saw it—the calculation, the hunger, the desperation he tried so hard to bury under expensive suits and neat whiskey pours. “You’re going to marry Lucian Vale.” The world stopped moving. The words echoed in the study like a loaded gun going off. She stared at her father, unable to speak, unable to breathe. And then, like he hadn’t just turned her world upside down, he added— “You’ll replace Seraphina Devacruax in this project.” Her blood turned to ice. “What?” The word tumbled out of her mouth, half laugh, half disbelief. “Why would they replace Seraphina Devacruax? Let alone… with me?” It was absurd. Unhinged. Seraphina was Hollywood royalty—the golden queen, the award-winning, box office darling. Serena was—well, her father’s daughter. A rookie. Blacklisted. Tabloid fodder. “You’re not replacing her because you’re better,” her father said plainly, as if that wasn’t already obvious. “You’re replacing her because of who you’ll belong to.” Her stomach turned. “This project is Lucian’s obsession. It’s his first personal solo production. He’s investing millions into it, overseeing every detail. And he wants control. Total control. Of the vision. Of the story. Of the cast.” Serena stared, pulse thudding. “Then why would he agree to this?” “Because you’ll be his wife.” There it was again. That word. Wife. “You can’t be serious,” she said, voice low. “He doesn’t do anyone's bidding." Serena knew. Getting Lucian Vale to do anything he doesn't want to do, is considered a myth in Hollywood. “Sure he does, because we made a deal.” Her stomach dropped. “What deal?” she asked quietly. Robert finished his drink and stood, walking toward the towering window that overlooked the empty driveway. “A long time ago, when the Rivera name still meant something. I helped his father keep his empire clean. Lucian owes me. And I called in that favor now.” Serena’s throat went dry. “You sold me off like a bargain chip.” "No,” he said simply. “I positioned you to be irreplaceable.” She laughed, sharp and bitter. “You positioned me to be his problem.” Robert turned slowly, eyes like cold steel. “You’ve already been everyone else’s problem, haven’t you? The indie projects, the low ratings, the men you wouldn’t let buy you. You think this industry rewards integrity?” She looked down and said nothing. He walked closer, his voice like poison wrapped in silk. “I am giving you a legacy. A second chance. And this marriage—it will save us both.” Her eyes flashed. “So that’s it. You’re broke.” The silence was answer enough. Her suspicions were right. “And Lucian agreed?” she whispered. “He just—what? Wants a wife to puppet into his perfect picture?” "He has no choice, though I suspect he has his own rules, which is why he called in a meeting between all of us." Serena gulped without a sound. "You could just make him give me the film offer, Dad. I don't need to marry him." Robert Rivera gave her a look. "Lucian Vale is a cold blooded tycoon, Serena. As long as one isn't tied to his family name, he'll show no mercy and spare no kindness. “Although, Lucian agreed because he’s a businessman first. And right now, he has a problem—Hollywood's divas. Seraphina’s team has been playing hardball. Leaking rumors. Demanding producer credits. Lucian’s patience is wearing thin. So when I offered him a solution—a marriage that would fix your career and give him complete casting power—he took it.” Serena felt sick. “I want you to survive in an industry that’s waiting for the Rivera's to disappear completely." Robert’s expression didn’t flinch. “I care about the Rivera name. You want to act? This is your last chance.” Serena stood. She didn’t know when her hands had started shaking. “And what happens if I say no?” Robert smiled faintly. You won’t. His gaze said what his words wouldn't. Her stomach soured. Serena didn’t say another word. But she imagined flipping the heavy crystal glass across the table. Letting it shatter against his perfect plans. She turned on her heel and walked out of the study, heels silent now against the cold marble floor.“You’re doing it wrong again,” Ava said, voice light.Serena lifted an eyebrow. Surprised, but not shocked at her mother in law barging in like this early in the morning. “I’ve been making tea in this exact way for months."“And for months you’ve been murdering the bag.” Ava stepped in, plucked the tea bag out before it could turn the water bitter, and dropped it into the trash with the casual authority of someone who’d won this argument a dozen times. “Tragic loss of flavor.”Serena let out a small and real laugh. “You say that every single time.”“Because every single time I’m right.”Ava slid in beside her, both of them leaning against the counter now, shoulders almost touching. They faced the big window together. The city shone below—restless, indifferent, beautiful in the way only places that don't sleep at night will be. Serena stayed quiet. “Rough one?” Ava asked quietly.Serena blew out a breath through her nose. “Yeah.”Ava nudged her gently with an elbow. “You survived. Tha
Vale Productions didn’t do cozy.The building stabbed up from Sunset Boulevard—cold steel, smoked glass, and the kind of deliberate restraint that cost more than flash ever could. Lucian had the lobby stripped years ago: no posters, no gold-framed headshots, no reassuring wall of awards. He believed prestige should whisper. Anything louder was insecurity wearing a tuxedo.Serena felt the hush the second the elevator doors sealed her in.It wasn’t peaceful quiet. It was surgical. The kind that made your own heartbeat embarrassingly loud. She laced her fingers together hard enough that her nails left pale half-moons in her palms. Across from her Lucian Vale stood like a statue somebody had forgotten to label “caution.” Eyes on the floor numbers and expression unreadable as always. Forty-two floors. An ice age.Neither of them spoke. The afterparty noise still echoed in her skull—drunken laughter, camera shutters like machine-gun fire, Aiden’s palm pressed passively against the small
The thing about power, Isadora Vale had decided a long time ago, was that it wasn’t about who held it. It was about who understood its silence.And tonight, Hollywood was very, very loud.From the balcony of the Devacraux estate, she could see the ballroom below like a living organism—glittering, shifting, predatory. Every move choreographed. Every laugh rehearsed. And at the center of it all: her brother. Lucian Vale.He looked exactly how he always did when things began to unravel—composed, surgical, all clean lines and quiet ruin beneath them. The press would call it control. Isadora knew better. It was survival. She wasn't his sister, not exactly. She was adopted. She never liked him much either. Their sibling relationship was non existent. Yet, she’d flown in from London two days ago after catching wind of the Ravelle biopic mess through one of her associates at Oriel Pictures. She wasn’t supposed to care about American film politics anymore—she’d spent years building a clean l
The terrace felt like a reprieve.Not truly quiet—Hollywood never granted that mercy—but subdued, as if the city's relentless hum had been dialed back just enough to breathe. Faint strains of music drifted from the ballroom, softened into a distant pulse, while the laughter inside mellowed into something bearable, no longer sharp enough to cut.The night air carried a deliberate chill, crisp against the skin.Lucian emerged onto it like a man stepping into a private reckoning.He didn't lean on the railing. No cigarette. No feigned contemplation. He simply stood, posture rigid, jaw locked, hands hanging loose at his sides in a way that betrayed their readiness to clench.Through the glass doors, if he tilted his head just so—past the crowd, the glittering chandeliers, the mirrored illusions—he could still spot her. Serena, seated at that table amid the polite predators. Serena, smiling with the precision of someone mapping every escape route.It should have steadied him.It didn't.He
By noon, the internet had decided who Serena Rivera was.She watched it happen in real time, the way one watches a tide come in—helpless, clinical, faintly fascinated by the violence of it.She didn’t scroll. She didn’t need to. The headlines had weight now. They pressed against her ribs even with the phone face-down on the café table, even as Lucian’s presence anchored the air across from her.He hadn’t touched his coffee.That bothered her more than it should have.“You’re not angry,” she said suddenly.Lucian blinked, just once. “That’s not true.”“No,” Serena said. “You’re… resolved. Angry people react. You’re already ten moves ahead.”He studied her like she’d said something worth filing away. “And you?”She exhaled. “I don’t know yet.”That was the truth. Anger felt too clean for what she was carrying. Hurt felt indulgent. Fear was useless. What she felt was something murkier—like being pushed into a role she’d spent her whole life avoiding, and realizing the script had already
The internet didn’t sleep.By the time Serena woke up, the headlines had already changed shape.Last night, she’d been the ingénue caught in the wrong orbit.This morning, she was a temptress with bad timing.> “Wolfe and Rivera: Midnight Drives or PR Diversions?”“Rivera’s Rise: The New Starlet Who Can’t Stay Out of Trouble.”“Seraphina Silent Amid Rumors—Lucian Vale Seen Leaving Gala Alone.”Her phone wouldn’t stop vibrating. Mentions, tags, half-hearted statements from PR teams who didn’t belong to her. Her name sat just below #LucianVale and #SeraphinaDevacraux, separated only by a thread of outrage.The public didn’t want nuance and didn't care for it. They wanted hierarchy. Seraphina: divine, untouchable, betrayed. Serena: young, ambitious, disposable.A story told before. A script she hadn’t even auditioned for. But one the world will make her a part of nonetheless.She turned her phone facedown on the counter and exhaled, her breath shaky and uneven. Her untouched coffee ste







