Chapter 14: The Spotlight Beckons

The final "Cut!" rang out across the set.

And just like that—it was over.

Months of grueling work, late-night rehearsals, and method acting that blurred the line between Nate Whitaker and Elijah Cross—all leading to this moment.

The cast and crew erupted into cheers, clapping each other on the back.

Vincent Roth strode over, his signature smirk in place. "Congratulations, Whitaker. You just made a hell of a film."

Nate exhaled, shaking his hand. "Now let's make sure the world sees it."

Vincent chuckled. "Oh, don't worry. They will."

And he meant it.

Because Roth Studios wasn't just betting on this movie—they were betting on Nate.

This wasn't just a debut.

This was an announcement.

---

Within a week, the buzz had already begun.

"A Star is Born? Insiders Rave About Nate Whitaker's Lead Performance."

"Is Elijah Cross the Next Iconic Antihero?"

"Vincent Roth's Latest Film Could Shake Up the Box Office."

Casting directors, producers, and industry insiders were all whispering the same thing—

Who the hell is Nate Whitaker? And where did he come from?

The answer?

From nowhere.

Which made him all the more intriguing.

And when the first trailer dropped, the internet exploded.

Clips of Nate as Elijah Cross—brutal, unflinching, magnetic—spread like wildfire.

Fans compared him to early Leonardo DiCaprio. Some even called him the next Christian Bale.

And Hollywood?

Hollywood was watching.

---

Nate barely had time to process his rising fame before another text came through.

Serena: Celebrating yet?

Nate: Thinking about it.

Serena: Let me help. The Midnight Lounge. Tonight.

Nate smirked.

Serena didn't do casual invitations.

She was offering him a seat at the table.

A table where only the rich, famous, and powerful played.

And Nate had no intention of turning it down.

---

By the time Nate arrived, the party was in full swing.

A private club—exclusive, elite, untouchable.

The kind of place where deals were made over a $10,000 bottle of whiskey.

Serena sat in a VIP booth, draped in a dress that cost more than most people's rent.

"You clean up well," she murmured as he slid in beside her.

Nate smirked, sipping the drink she handed him. "I had to dress the part."

She leaned in, voice low. "Then it's time to act the part."

Before he could respond, a new voice cut in.

"Mr. Whitaker."

Nate turned—

And met the gaze of Damien Cross.

One of Hollywood's most powerful studio executives.

And one of its most dangerous players.

"You're making quite the name for yourself," Damien mused, swirling his drink. "The industry is always hungry for fresh talent."

Serena's nails traced along Nate's arm. "And fresh talent needs the right allies."

Nate leaned back, studying the man.

This wasn't just a casual meeting.

This was a test.

A test to see if he was just another rising actor—

Or something more.

Nate set down his drink, locking eyes with Damien.

"Then let's talk business."

Serena smirked.

And just like that—

Nate took his first step into Hollywood's most dangerous game.

The Midnight Lounge buzzed with the quiet hum of power.

Deals whispered over glasses of rare whiskey. Careers made—or ruined—by a single conversation.

And Nate was in the center of it all.

Damien Cross watched him with a calculating gaze, the kind of look that measured a man's worth in box office numbers and staying power.

"You're a rising star, Whitaker," Damien said, sipping his drink. "But Hollywood is littered with actors who burned bright and faded faster."

Nate leaned back, unfazed. "I'm not here for fifteen minutes of fame."

Serena smirked beside him, amused. Damien chuckled.

"Good," he said. "Because real power in this town doesn't come from the screen—it comes from the people who own it."

Nate didn't miss the weight of those words.

This was more than just a casual conversation.

Damien was offering him a way in.

But power always came with a price.

And Nate had to decide how much he was willing to pay.

---

Damien slid a business card across the table.

Cross Media Group. Private Invitation.

"A private gathering this weekend," Damien said. "A place where the real players meet. You should be there."

Nate picked up the card, running a thumb over its embossed surface.

"And what exactly happens at these gatherings?"

Damien smirked. "Let's just say… the industry's biggest deals aren't signed in boardrooms. They're made in places like this."

It wasn't just an invitation.

It was a test.

An opportunity to step into Hollywood's inner circle.

But once he stepped in—there was no stepping out.

---

Later that night, as Nate left the lounge, Serena caught his arm.

"Be careful," she murmured.

Nate raised an eyebrow. "You set up this meeting, and now you're warning me?"

Serena sighed, her usual confidence flickering. "Damien Cross is powerful, but he doesn't make offers for free. You play his game, and you'd better be ready to go all in."

Nate studied her. "And you? You're already in the game."

Serena smirked. "I was born in it."

Then she leaned in, lips brushing his ear.

"Just don't lose yourself, Nate."

With that, she walked away, disappearing into the neon-lit night.

Nate stood there for a moment, the business card still in his fingers.

Serena was right.

This wasn't just about a film deal or industry connections.

This was about power. Influence. Control.

And Nate had already made his choice.

He wasn't here to survive Hollywood.

He was here to own it.

Pocketing the card, he walked into the night—toward the next step in his rise to the top.