Chapter 1025 - Is That… Disdain?

"I can agree to your request," Grandpa said calmly. "But just like you said—it's only one week. Whether or not the film is done by then, I'll have people bring you back. Can you stick to that?"

Laila's heart leaped. Even though her grandfather couldn't see it, she still raised her hand with all the solemnity of a pledge. "I swear! Just one week, not a single day more!"

"No! I won't let Laila stay in that damned place another second!" Janet's voice came faintly through the phone—she still hadn't managed to grab the receiver.

Laila felt a twinge of guilt toward her mother, but when it came to this film, she had her principles. Everything she said about budget earlier… truthfully, that was just to justify herself. She wasn't hurting for money.

What mattered to her was the emotional state of the crew. During her disappearance, everyone in the production experienced the same waves of despair, fear, and anxiety. Now, that energy—those raw emotions—were invaluable. She wanted that atmosphere captured on screen. Whether it came through in performances, cinematography, or just in subtle gestures, she was sure it would give the film a perfect emotional lift.

"I'll trust you one more time," Grandpa said lightly. "But I'll have someone guard you around the clock. You'll accept that, too."

Laila's mouth twitched slightly. She honestly thought such extreme protection was unnecessary. But since it was Grandpa's condition for letting her stay, she could only agree.

"I understand. I'll stay where they can see me at all times."

After a couple more reminders, Grandpa hung up. He had more he wanted to ask, but figured she must be exhausted after escaping danger. In a week, she'd be back in the States—there'd be plenty of time to talk then. No need to delay her rest now.

Janet, however, did not share this philosophy. Seeing her father hang up, she panicked. "Dad, how could you just agree like that?!"

"What else was I supposed to do?" Grandpa pulled out a cigar but, perhaps because his daughter was right there, merely twirled it in his fingers and returned it to the box.

Janet was furious. "She was missing for over half a month! Couldn't you have made her come back sooner?"

Grandpa looked at her coolly. "Come back for what? To look at your unsightly, swollen face?"

"…!" Janet instinctively touched her still-puffy eyes. "I'm her mother—even if I look awful, she'd never mind!"

"So what, then?" Grandpa said mercilessly. "You want her to see you like this, realize how much you worried about her, feel guilty, and then wallow in sadness with you?" He cut to the core. "If you don't want your image in her heart to collapse completely, you'd better take this week to clean yourself up. I don't want her coming home and the two of you sobbing in each other's arms."

He was worried about Laila too—of course, he was—but at the same time, he felt a surge of pride. That's the blood of the Moran family, he thought. Even faced with a crisis that would make most people break down in fear, she kept her head and prioritized her work.

And then he gave his daughter a faint, almost disdainful look—how had he managed to raise someone like her? She didn't hold a candle to her daughter.

Janet caught that glance and nearly exploded. Was that disdain?! That was totally disdain, right?! What kind of father looks at his daughter like that?

She thought he was judging her puffy eyes—but had no idea that Grandpa's thoughts had already wandered to matters of generational talent and skipped right past appearance.

Still, she had to admit… his words had hit home. She'd always wanted to be the radiant, powerful image of "mother" in her daughter's eyes. Letting her see her looking weak and wrecked was… not ideal.

"You could've at least not hung up so fast! I had so much more to say to her!" she muttered, trying to reclaim some dignity.

Of course, Laila would've called her too—how had her father hijacked the phone and then just ended the call? She hadn't even gotten a full sentence in!

Grandpa waved her off impatiently. "Let her rest. Don't bother her. When she comes back in a week, you'll have all the time in the world to talk."

Janet shot him a glare, stomped her foot in frustration, and muttered, "I'm going to tell Grandma the good news myself!" Then she stormed off toward the Buddhist hall at the back of the house.

Laila, blissfully unaware that her phone call had gotten her mom thoroughly scolded, had just finished showering and was now flopping onto her bed.

Her room on set hadn't changed much since she left. Roy had been keeping it clean before he left, and after learning she'd be returning, Xiao Ye had sent someone to tidy it up again and even replaced the bedding.

It couldn't compare to her home in the States, of course, but it was still a million times better than Martin's hellhole.

"Nothing beats your place," she murmured, burying her face into the soft pillow and letting out a happy sigh.

"Don't soak the bed," Roy said as he walked in, carrying a tray of breakfast. What he saw was her wet hair spread over the pillow.

He set the tray down in front of her, then pulled out a hair dryer and began drying her hair.

Laila closed her eyes, enjoying his attentive care. The hum of the dryer was loud, but it didn't dampen her good mood in the slightest.

"I want to take a nap later."

"Mhm. Eat first, then rest."

Laila reached under the pillow and pulled out her script—right where she'd left it. It was covered in her handwritten notes.

"Once I've had a proper rest, help me organize the press interviews. We need to get those people out of here so we can keep filming. I promised Grandpa I'd only stay seven days. Whether we finish or not, I have to go back."

Roy nodded. "I'll take care of it. But… are you sure seven days is enough?"

"As long as Leo can maintain the performance level he had before, we'll be fine." Her only fear was that he'd lose that energy, start missing lines again, or go stiff on camera—if that happened, she would lose her mind.

Roy sighed quietly, looking at her. "Just let me know what you need me to do."

It seemed that now, the only things he could do for her were all the little things.

Laila gently pushed back her now-damp hair, stood up, and cupped his face in her hands so he was looking right at her. "You're my fiancé. I don't plan on being polite to you. So prepare yourself—you're about to have a lot to do."

Seeing her playfully commanding expression, like a little queen, Roy couldn't help but smile. "At your service, my queen."

The truth was, his greatest fear was standing by her side without being of any use. As long as she needed him, he still had a reason to remain right by her.