CHAPTER 2

But here, in this company, with this assignment, I had a shot. A real one. And I wasn't about to let anything ruin it. Not the weight of my father's name, not the gossip, and certainly not my own insecurities.

This was my chance to prove that I wasn't just Cedric's daughter. I was Carmen. Capable. Determined. And ready to show the world I could succeed on my own terms.

In my small one-bedroom apartment, everything was simple but cozy—not exactly what people would imagine for the daughter of a millionaire. There were no marble floors, no extravagant chandeliers, just a space that felt like mine. And that was enough.

This apartment wasn't about luxury; it was about independence. For the first time in my life, I had a place of my own, a haven of peace where I could just be me. No expectations, no judgment.

After a long day at work, I decided to unwind. I ran a warm bath, the scent of lavender filling the air as steam curled gently around the bathroom. Slipping into the tub, I let the water envelop me, soothing the tension in my muscles.

But my mind refused to rest. Instead, it cycled through tomorrow's plans. I mentally walked through the shoot, rehearsing every detail, every contingency. I had to ensure everything went perfectly. There was no room for error—not on this assignment.

Relax, Carmen. You've got this. Just breathe, I told myself, the words playing in my head like a mantra.

I leaned back, closing my eyes, willing the tension to melt away. The warmth of the water and the quiet hum of my thoughts lulled me into a fragile calm. For the first time that day, I felt a sliver of peace.

"And cut!" the director called out, his voice laced with a mix of exhaustion and determination. "Take five, everyone."

It was our tenth take, but it felt more like the hundredth—or the millionth. And still, we hadn't nailed the perfect shot. The tension on set was palpable, a simmering undercurrent of frustration that threatened to boil over at any moment.

I checked my watch. Mr. Black would be here soon, and I didn't have anything remotely impressive to show him yet. The thought gnawed at me, tightening the knot of anxiety in my stomach.

The video was supposed to be simple: a model applying lotion—specifically B'n'B Lotion. I couldn't help but roll my eyes every time I thought of the name. What genius came up with that? I wondered, my irritation momentarily distracting me from the chaos around me.

Was Syrus serious when they approved this name? B'n'B sounded more like a cozy bed-and-breakfast than a luxury skincare product. But, of course, it wasn't my place to question the name. My job was to sell the product, no matter how ridiculous its branding.

And right now, I wasn't even close to doing that. The lighting was off, the model's movements felt awkward, and the product application looked anything but luxurious.

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. Focus, Carmen. Solve the problem.

"Alright, everyone," I said, clapping my hands to get the crew's attention. "Let's regroup. We'll tweak the angles and adjust the lighting. We're getting this right before Mr. Black gets here."

The team groaned but got to work. I couldn't afford for things to go south—not today. Not with Mr. Black arriving to evaluate my first major project.

Top of Form

After another five grueling takes, we finally got the first part right. It wasn't perfect, but it was the best we'd managed so far. A flicker of relief passed through me—at least we had something presentable.

But the second part? That was a whole other nightmare.

We had to focus on the name, B'n'B Lotion, and no matter what angle we tried, it just wasn't working. The name felt clunky, uninspired, and downright hard to sell. It lacked the elegance or allure a skincare product needed.

"This name really sucks," I muttered under my breath, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

Just as we were about to roll for the next take, something shifted.

The bustling chatter of the crew lowered to murmurs, and then to hushed whispers. The air in the room seemed to tighten, the energy shifting from hectic to tense in an instant.

I froze, my gut already telling me what had changed. Slowly, I turned around, my pulse quickening.

Sure enough, there they were.

Mr. Black stood at the edge of the set, tall and commanding as always, his sharp eyes scanning the room. But it wasn't just him.

Beside him was Tony Syrus—the director of Syrus Ltd. himself.

My heart sank. I hadn't been expecting him. Mr. Syrus rarely made appearances at shoots like these, and the fact that he was here now wasn't exactly comforting.

"Great," I thought, forcing a steadying breath. As if I didn't have enough pressure already.

Their presence sent a ripple of unease through the room. Everyone moved a little faster, straightened a little taller, their efforts redoubling to look productive.

I adjusted my posture, grabbed my clipboard, and made my way over to greet them. My mind raced as I approached, trying to recall every detail of the project plan. I needed to be confident, prepared, and above all, professional.

Because if there was one thing I couldn't afford, it was to let them see me falter.

"Good morning, Mr. Black. Mr. Syrus," I greeted them, surprised at how calm my voice sounded. Inside, my heart pounded so hard it felt like it wanted to leap out of my chest and make a run for it.

"Good morning," they replied in unison, their voices carrying the authority of men who expected nothing less than perfection.

Mr. Black wasted no time. "How's everything so far?" he asked, his tone sharp but measured.

I swallowed hard but kept my composure. "The first part is solid," I said, "but we've hit a bit of a setback with the second part. The name isn't translating well visually."

His brows furrowed slightly, but he didn't say much. "Let's see it," he said briskly.

I nodded and quickly gave the order for another take from the start. The crew scrambled to reset, the tension on set rising as the camera began to roll.

When the take was done, Mr. Black watched in silence, his expression unreadable. He turned to Mr. Syrus, and the two stepped aside to speak privately.

I stayed where I was, my clipboard clutched tightly in my hands. But even from a distance, I could feel the tension between them. Their conversation was terse, their body language stiff.

I caught fragments of Mr. Syrus's raised voice. "...if you can't work with it, then maybe you don't know how to do your job." His tone was cutting, and it stung even though it wasn't directed at me.

Mr. Black's disappointment was evident, though he tried to mask it. His shoulders slumped ever so slightly, his usual confidence dimmed.

A wave of unease washed over me. If Mr. Syrus pulled out, it wouldn't just be the loss of a client—it would be a blow to our company's reputation. And I couldn't stand by and let that happen.