scheduled papers.

A day before the premiere ceremony of A Time to Kill, there were several things he had to take care of. He continued his rigid and steady development of comic drafts while a small, select group handled the rest. The level of detail and Billy's relentless work ethic put pressure on the six-person team trying to keep up with him, but they couldn't manage, giving the young man a headache.

The first thing he did was read some books recommended by the director. Among them were Paradise Lost by John Milton—a subtle masterpiece of biblical reinterpretations, violent and grotesque from different angles—and Andrew Neiderman's novel, on which the screenplay was based. The idea was to shape himself for the role. He had to become a vain lawyer. It hadn't been easy to go to the best law firm in Los Angeles and talk with them for a while, seeking out the best and most highly paid criminal attorney to mentor him. He had done something similar before, but that time, John Grisham's script was structured from different angles—not from the perspective of vanity, but rather from decorum and decency.

The Devil's Advocate was the setting where the lawyer he needed would prevail—one without scruples, a liar, built to deceive. Because through deception, he could find his strongest points.

—Your next role is more intense than I thought. —Monica commented as she watched him study. Normally, he read the scripts and waited for the producers to hand him the role. He would immerse himself a little, but that was it. However, now he was truly studying. Everything had changed since the Titanic. She thought that something had hooked him into cinema, feeling a growing desire to scrutinize acting more closely.

—This is a defining moment. I need another performance that measures up, something that raises the bar. A little more complicated than just acting. I need two films where I stand out, without distractions. This is the next one. I already have a ship; now I need a courtroom drama with a powerful performance… Unfortunately, in A Time to Kill, there weren't any strong scenes for me. Don't get me wrong—it's a good movie, and I did a solid job, but it lacked force. Maybe I got too emotional with it. It needed something different, that intensity… A pressure that would push me toward a great role. I need passion, and I want to achieve it. I need arrogance from the start—one that's masked with nobility and naïveté, only to shatter under the weight of his decisions and his strength. —Billy said, pulling Monica into his arms and holding her tightly.

—But let's not talk about you. I find it curious that you haven't been asking for roles or focusing on your next project. —he asked, noticing she had been rather quiet.

—I didn't like my last role… I mean, I did, but now I'm worried that in the coming days, I'll want to dedicate myself to fashion. At least for an extra two months, then I'll commit to another movie. Though I'd prefer a series—something simple, where I can relax. Traveling somewhere else to film is a hassle. —Monica said, stretching her arms, a bit nervous. For now, she felt somewhat constrained by Billy's growing success. The independence she had always wanted for herself made her wonder if, given his rising stardom, it would be better to set her career aside.

Actors' filming schedules usually lasted around two months, at most. But if she considered the entire production timeline, it could take three to five months. With some touch-ups here and there, for example, L.A. Confidential had started filming in October 1995 and wrapped in February 1996—a five-month process, carefully structured to hit theaters the following year in February. It was designed to make an impact. Meanwhile, Gattaca was set for release in June 1997—the start of the season.

—You don't have to pressure yourself. Take all the time you need to go step by step. Watch some series, but nothing overwhelming. I'll help you with this and your next project if it's weighing on you. —Billy reassured her.

—Yes, but… What I mean is, I don't want a job. I want a family. I want a child. I want children… without marriage. Just something to hold onto. —Monica admitted timidly. That was it—a surge of fear over how things were supposed to unfold. She was being driven by impulse.

Billy tried to keep his expression neutral. Now, with Monica sitting on his lap and the script in his hand, he felt cornered. What a difficult decision—this was what they would call a breaking point. It was even more complicated than marriage. With marriage, a prenup would take care of things, but now… Now, he was completely failing to see how this could turn into a major challenge.

—I don't think I'm ready to have kids. —Billy admitted, creating a distance between them that hadn't been there before. The look in her eyes—a woman hurt—was enough to reject the idea without saying much. She didn't respond, but she shifted uncomfortably to the side, trying not to let it show.

—It's normal. Don't worry. —Monica said now. Billy noticed the crimson polish on her nails, trembling slightly, but she pulled her hand back, rubbing it lightly. She was nervous now. She muttered an apology before heading to the kitchen.

—I'll get something to eat. —

…

In the days ahead, full immersion into the role would be necessary. The obvious thing was to step into that world and embody the image. He needed to build strength as a lawyer, something different to fill in the gaps. Sometimes, the way people hid from themselves—and everyone else—was what mattered most.

—I need strength. I need something beyond mere utility. —he told himself.

What could he do when tomorrow, he had to get ready for the premiere? This was how he was—pushing problems further down the line, avoiding responsibility, his abrasive and dazed way of refusing to face things. Because when someone tries to deny something, the way they deny it doesn't always lead to the best decision.

Like a plant that dries up from lack of water, breaking apart into brittle, yellowed, withered, brown, and lifeless fragments.

It starts with a slow death. A slow death, built on the illusion of love. Was love really that hard? What happened to couples? He felt fondness, he felt desire, he felt admiration—but love? He doubted he felt that. The cynicism in his life always brushed against that feeling with a touch of pain. Never truly feeling supported, still young, his insatiable hunger made love seem almost unfair.

But now, it was different.

He focused on his role. On his role. To become the man who would take on the challenge before him. That was the only thing that mattered—improving for his part. What happened to the people around him?

Fine. He needed anger, controlled force, the steady evolution of a man who turned a deaf ear—because he was a lawyer. If he pulled it off, nothing else would matter. He just wanted people to see the transformation. Weak at home, strong in his work and social interactions. That dichotomy was what made a case compelling. With his wife, he was vulnerable; with everyone else, he was strong. Not cruel—strong, with distinction.

—Dinner's ready. The housekeeper left a few things. The chefs did an excellent job. We have some vacuum-sealed marinated meats and fresh vegetables we can use. —Monica said, though her voice carried sadness.

—I'll be there in a second. Give me ten minutes. —Billy replied.

Seizing the moment in his favor, he was just a short while away from fully developing his character.

...