Chapter 11: The First Big Break

The morning after the party, Nate woke up to three missed calls from Claire.

That was unusual.

Claire was efficient, calculating—never the type to waste time.

He called her back immediately.

She picked up on the first ring. "Took you long enough."

Nate smirked. "It's early. What's the emergency?"

"You've got an audition," she said. "A big one."

Nate sat up. Now she had his attention.

"For what?"

"Kingmaker."

Nate's pulse quickened. He knew that name.

Kingmaker was one of the most anticipated crime thrillers of the next year—directed by none other than Elliot Grayson.

The same Elliot Grayson he'd met last night.

"I just met him," Nate said.

Claire's voice carried a smile. "Apparently, you impressed him. He wants to see if you can actually act."

"When's the audition?"

"Tomorrow morning. Script is in your email. It's a supporting role, but a damn good one."

Nate exhaled, already shifting into work mode.

"This is your chance, Nate," Claire said. "Land this, and you'll officially be on Hollywood's radar."

The moment Nate got off the phone, he pulled up the script.

His role? Mason Carter.

A young, ambitious enforcer working under the film's antagonist.

Not the lead, but a role with weight.

And if he played it right?

He could steal every scene he was in.

For the next twenty-four hours, Nate locked himself in his apartment.

He studied Mason's lines, his motivations, the tension in each scene.

He practiced in front of a mirror, recording himself, analyzing his expressions, his delivery.

By the time the morning arrived, he wasn't just reciting lines.

He was Mason Carter.

Nate walked into the casting room, feeling the weight of the moment.

Elliot Grayson sat in the center, flanked by two producers and a casting director.

They barely glanced up as he entered.

Good.

Nate didn't need their approval yet.

He'd earn it.

The casting director adjusted her glasses. "Whenever you're ready, Nate."

He took a breath, then stepped into the role.

The scene was tense—Mason Carter, standing before his ruthless boss, justifying his actions after disobeying an order.

Nate let the emotions build—controlled anger, desperation simmering beneath confidence.

He delivered his lines with precision, his voice steady, his eyes sharp.

By the time he finished, the room was silent.

Then—Grayson leaned forward.

"Do that again," he said. "But this time, slow it down. Make me feel the tension in every word."

Nate didn't hesitate.

He repeated the scene, drawing out every pause, making every breath count.

When he finished, Grayson smirked.

"You're good, kid."

That night, as Nate sat in his apartment, his phone rang.

Claire.

He picked up. "Tell me you've got good news."

"You got the part."

Nate closed his eyes, exhaling.

"You officially have your first major Hollywood role."

A slow grin spread across his face.

This was it.

The breakthrough he'd been working toward.

And now?

Nate set his phone down, the weight of Claire's words sinking in.

He got the part.

Not a background extra, not a throwaway role—a real, meaningful character in a major film.

His first true step into Hollywood's elite.

But as quickly as the excitement came, so did the reality.

This wasn't a victory lap.

This was just the beginning.

The next morning, Claire wasted no time.

"We need to move fast," she said over coffee at a small café in West Hollywood. "Now that you're officially in Kingmaker, the industry will start paying attention."

Nate took a sip of his espresso, his mind already running ahead. "What's the game plan?"

"First, we need to shape your image," Claire said. "Right now, you're a nobody. You need buzz, interviews, social media traction. Hollywood isn't just about acting—it's about presence."

"Then let's build it," Nate said without hesitation.

Claire smirked. "I like how you think."

She slid a folder across the table. "Studio press tour starts next month, but before that, I set up a few things. Photoshoots, a couple of networking events. You're also going to need a stylist."

"A stylist?"

She raised a brow. "Welcome to the industry, Nate. This isn't just about talent—it's about selling yourself."

He chuckled. "Guess I better start looking like a star."

A week later, Nate found himself in a high-end Beverly Hills boutique, standing in front of a mirror while a stylist analyzed him.

"Classic but edgy," she murmured, circling him like a sculptor inspecting raw marble. "You've got the face for it. We'll go sharp suits for premieres, casual-but-expensive for press events."

Nate smirked. "Just don't make me look like a mannequin."

She laughed. "Don't worry. You'll look like a leading man."

After an hour of trying on designer outfits, Nate checked his phone.

A new text from Serena Vale.

Serena: You're making moves fast. I like that.

Nate: You're the one who told me to keep up.

Serena: And now I'm wondering if I can keep up with you.

Nate chuckled, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

Serena was watching. Hollywood was watching.

And he wasn't about to slow down.

Two weeks later, Nate arrived at the studio lot for his first day of filming.

It was surreal.

The massive set, the crew moving with precision, the feeling of being part of something real.

He checked the call sheet. His first scene was with Marlon Hayes—a veteran actor who'd been in the industry for decades.

Nate had studied his performances growing up.

Now, they were about to go head-to-head in a scene.

"New blood," Marlon greeted him as they met by the soundstage. "You ready for this?"

Nate grinned. "Always."

The older actor chuckled. "Good answer."

The cameras rolled. The lights blazed.

And as Nate stepped into character, delivering his first lines on a major film set—

He knew.

This was where he was meant to be.