Chapter 15: The Gates of Power

The invitation burned a hole in Nate's pocket for days.

He knew what it meant.

Damien Cross wasn't just testing him—he was giving him a choice.

Stay in the industry's spotlight, where talent alone dictated his success… or step into Hollywood's inner sanctum, where real power was controlled behind closed doors.

Nate had already made up his mind.

If he wanted to go beyond just being a rising star, he had to be more than just an actor.

So when Saturday night arrived, he slipped into his sharpest suit and stepped into the waiting black car sent for him.

There was no turning back now.

---

The car wove through Los Angeles, eventually pulling up to a sprawling mansion in the Hollywood Hills.

Not just any mansion—this was Cross Estate.

A place where only the elite were invited.

The moment Nate stepped inside, he felt it.

The weight of power.

Men in tailored suits, women draped in wealth, all speaking in hushed tones—deals, alliances, whispers of control.

And at the center of it all, standing at the top of a grand staircase—

Damien Cross.

He raised his glass in greeting, smirking.

"Welcome to the real Hollywood, Whitaker."

Nate took a slow breath, absorbing everything.

This wasn't a party.

This was where careers were made… and destroyed.

---

Serena was already inside, leaning against the bar, watching him.

"Didn't think you'd show," she murmured as he approached.

Nate smirked. "And miss the chance to see what's behind the curtain?"

She chuckled, sipping her drink. "Then let me give you some advice—tonight isn't about who you are. It's about who you align yourself with."

Her gaze flickered to a group of men deep in conversation—producers, studio heads, people who controlled the industry.

Then to another circle—investors, billionaires, silent partners funding Hollywood's biggest projects.

And finally, to the actors and actresses, the ones who had already traded something to be here.

"This is a chessboard, Nate," Serena murmured. "And every piece is dangerous."

Nate studied the room, pulse steady.

He wasn't afraid.

He was ready.

---

As the night deepened, Damien finally pulled Nate aside into a quieter lounge.

"You impressed me, Whitaker," Damien said, pouring two drinks. "Most actors don't get this far. They get used, then discarded."

Nate took his glass, meeting his gaze. "I don't plan on being disposable."

Damien chuckled. "Good. Because I have a proposition."

He leaned in, voice lowering.

"The next few years will determine who owns this town. I'm building something bigger than just a studio. I want people with vision—people who understand power."

Nate's grip tightened around his glass.

This wasn't just about films anymore.

This was a move toward something bigger.

"Are you in, Whitaker?" Damien asked, watching him closely.

Nate took a slow sip of his drink.

Then he set the glass down.

And smiled.

"I'm all in."

Damien smirked.

"Then let's get started."

The deal was sealed with a handshake.

A simple gesture—but one that changed everything.

Nate had stepped beyond the world of auditions and red carpets.

He was now playing a different game.

A game where talent was just a tool, and power was the real currency.

Damien Cross sat back, swirling his drink. "Smart move, Whitaker. But power comes with a price."

Nate leaned forward, unfazed. "And what's the price?"

Damien smirked. "You'll see soon enough."

---

Two days later, Nate got a call.

Vincent Roth.

"Got a problem, kid," Vincent said. "Your name's getting big. Too big. And some people don't like that."

Nate frowned. "Who?"

"Harvey Delacroix."

The name sent a ripple through Nate's mind.

A veteran actor. A legend. The kind of guy who didn't like new blood threatening his throne.

"He's been whispering in some ears, saying you're just a lucky pretty boy," Vincent continued. "And he's trying to get you cut from the marketing push for the movie."

Nate's jaw clenched. "That won't happen."

Vincent sighed. "That's the right attitude. But in Hollywood, things don't always go the fair way. You want to survive here? You don't just fight back. You crush the people in your way."

Nate's grip tightened around his phone.

Harvey wanted to play dirty?

Fine.

Nate wasn't just here to act.

He was here to win.

---

Nate didn't waste time.

He called Serena.

"I need dirt on Harvey Delacroix," he said.

Serena chuckled. "You don't hesitate, do you?"

"Not when someone's trying to bury me."

There was a pause. Then Serena said, "Meet me in an hour."

---

Serena led Nate to a private penthouse.

Inside, she handed him a thick folder.

"Harvey's got skeletons," she murmured. "And you're about to rattle them."

Nate opened the folder—and grinned.

Harvey wasn't just an aging star.

He was a liability.

Scandals. Affairs. Drug habits. Things the studios wouldn't tolerate.

Nate exhaled, closing the folder.

He had everything he needed.

Now, he just had to make his move.

---

The next morning, Nate arranged a private meeting.

Harvey Delacroix walked in, smug and confident.

"Kid," he said, smirking. "I heard you wanted to talk."

Nate slid the folder across the table. "I think you'll want to read this first."

Harvey's face darkened as he flipped through the pages.

The smirk disappeared.

"You little—"

Nate leaned in, voice calm. Deadly.

"I don't like enemies, Harvey. But if you want to be one, I'll make sure your next movie is a courtroom drama starring you as the defendant."

Harvey's hand trembled. He knew what was at stake.

Nate smiled. "Or… you can back off. Let me take my place in Hollywood. And you keep your legacy intact."

A long silence.

Then—Harvey sighed, defeated.

"You win, Whitaker."

Nate leaned back, victorious. "I know."

Hollywood was a jungle.

And Nate Whitaker was proving—he wasn't prey. He was a predator.