All Chapters of Billionaire Producer's Secret Wife: Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

The drive back from dinner should have been uneventful. Instead, Serena spent most of it staring out the passenger window and becoming increasingly annoyed by the fact that she was aware of Lucian. Not looking at him. Aware of him. The distinction felt important somehow. The city slid past outside in streaks of gold and white. Los Angeles at night always looked better from a distance. The closer one got, the more visible the cracks became. Lucian drove with one hand resting loosely against the steering wheel. He wasn't speaking and neither was she, which should have felt awkward. It didn't. The silence between them had changed somewhere along the way. Once, it had been contractual. A mutual understanding between two people who shared circumstances rather than intimacy. Then it had become familiar. Now— Serena wasn't entirely sure what it was. Only that she found herself listening for the sound of his breathing whenever the car stopped at a red light. Which seemed unhe

Aiden Wolfe hated boardrooms.This was ironic because he owned three.Technically four.Five if one counted the production company in London that existed primarily for tax purposes and occasionally produced films.The point remained.Aiden hated boardrooms.They smelled like compromise.And compromise was usually just fear wearing expensive clothing.Unfortunately, Hollywood loved fear.Which was why he currently found himself sitting at the head of a polished walnut table while seven executives attempted to explain why they were nervous.Again.Across from him, a nervous studio president adjusted his tie.Then adjusted it again.Aiden wondered if the man knew he did that whenever he lied.Probably not.Most people didn't know their tells.Which made life significantly easier."We're simply discussing optics."There it was.The word.Optics.Hollywood's favorite religion.Aiden immediately stopped listening.Not visibly.Years of interviews had taught him how to appear attentive while

Seraphina Devacraux was very good at being underestimated by men in Hollywood. This was one of the more irritating things about her.Not for Seraphina.For everyone else.Particularly Vivian.Because Vivian had spent most of her adult life watching intelligent people make profoundly stupid mistakes after deciding Seraphina was harmless.The mistake was understandable.She was beautiful.Soft-spoken.Elegant.Careful.She rarely raised her voice.Rarely argued.Rarely seemed interested in winning.People saw kindness and confused it with passivity.Saw grace and confused it with weakness.Saw restraint and assumed absence.Then they found out.Usually too late.Vivian knew all this because she was currently standing in Seraphina's kitchen at nine in the morning watching her arrange flowers.Flowers.While half of Hollywood was imploding.The contrast felt offensive."You're making me nervous."Seraphina didn't look up."You're always nervous.""That's because I know you.""Unfortunate

The problem with being famous was that people assumed your life stopped when scandals started. As though Serena spent her days dramatically staring out windows waiting for the next headline. In reality, she still had a six a.m. call time. Which felt deeply unfair. By seven-thirty she was standing beneath artificial rain while three production assistants argued about lighting. By eight Damien Keene had informed an Oscar winner that she was acting with all the emotional depth of decorative wallpaper. By eight-fifteen the Oscar winner was crying in her trailer. By eight-thirty Damien had fixed the scene. The man was a menace. Serena respected him enormously. "Again." Damien's voice echoed through the soundstage. Patient. Dangerous. The combination that made directors legendary. Or homicidal. Sometimes both. Serena adjusted her grip on the prop sword in her hand. The Ravielle set sprawled around them in controlled chaos. Ancient stone corridors constr

Vivian Glass had spent so much of her life around famous people that she no longer found fame particularly interesting.Power interested her.Power was real.Power was the thing that remained after the cameras left.After the applause died.After the public moved on to newer scandals.Fame was weather.Power was architecture.And Vivian had spent twenty years studying the architecture of Hollywood.Long enough to know where the cracks were.Long enough to know which structures were load-bearing.Long enough to know exactly how much damage could be done when one finally collapsed.Which was why she found herself sitting across from Luca Rossi with a headache steadily building behind her eyes.The private dining room sat on the top floor of a members-only club in West Hollywood. The room was beautiful in the way only expensive places could be: understated, deliberate, old money pretending it had nothing to prove. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city below. Los Angeles stretched