UNDER THE SPOTLIGHT Chapter 7

In the afternoon, I found Serena and relayed Mr. Warren’s message to her. She was touching up in the dressing room; in the mirror, her face was as beautiful as a painting, yet there was a trace of fatigue between her brows.

Hearing me, her hand paused, her gaze dimmed for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure.

“I know. When?” Her tone was flat, as if discussing something trivial.

“Tomorrow night, eight o’clock, at Elysium in downtown Seattle.”

I gave the location, my voice a little tight, my throat feeling clogged.

She nodded and kept applying her lipstick, her movements as elegant as a born star.

I stood by, watching her practiced motions, my heart prickling like pins. “Serena, are you… really going?” I couldn’t help asking.

She turned and looked straight into my eyes, a weary tenderness there that made my chest ache.

“Liam, this industry is what it is. You’re not used to it, but you have to learn to adapt. Otherwise, you won’t even have a place to stand.”

She paused, her tone softening. “I know you worry about me, but some things—you’re still too young to understand.”

Her words landed like a heavy punch, leaving me speechless.

Maybe she was right. I really was too naïve. I lowered my head, my voice barely above a whisper:

“I just… don’t want you to be wronged.”

She smiled, a trace of bitterness in it.

“Silly boy, what’s a little humiliation? If it buys an opportunity, it’s worth it.”

She rose and patted my shoulder; the warmth of her fingers bled through my shirt to my skin, making my heart skip a beat.

The next night, I accompanied Serena to Elysium.

The club was one of Seattle’s notorious money pits, decked out like a palace. The air was a heady mix of alcohol, perfume, and cigar smoke, cloying enough to make you dizzy.

A server led us into a private suite. When the door opened, Mr. Dalton was already inside, a cigar between his fingers, smiling like an old fox.

His eyes swept over Serena as if appraising a priceless commodity.

“Ms. Serena, there you are. Sit, sit.”

He stood with exaggerated warmth, his gaze glued to her, greed laid bare.

Serena wore a deep purple bodycon dress, the neckline low enough to show a delicate collarbone. The hem hugged her thighs, tracing curves that set blood racing.

Smiling, she sat and replied politely, “Mr. Dalton, you’re too kind.”

I stood off to the side, clutching Serena’s phone, ready to handle anything that came up.

Mr. Dalton flicked a glance at me, smiling. “Liam, you handled yourself well at drinks last time. You’ve got potential.” It sounded like praise, but the look in his eyes was taunting, like he was watching a performing clown.

I forced a smile and kept my head down.

His attention returned to Serena. As he poured the wine, he said,

“About the third-billed female role in Starlit Romance—I’d say it’s yours. Strong acting, and the, the poise is there. I just don’t know if you’ve got the ‘heart’ for it.”

The insinuation was naked, the tone so suggestive it turned the stomach.

Serena lifted her glass, took a delicate sip, and smiled with effortless allure.

“Since you think so highly of me, Mr. Dalton, of course I’ll do my best. I just hope we can have a pleasant collaboration.”

Mr. Dalton laughed, letting his hand rest casually on the back of her chair, a finger’s breadth from her shoulder.

“A pleasant collaboration is a must. But you know how this town works—it’s all about trading favors. You give a little, I give a little, and everyone’s happy.”

His hand slid lower, nearly brushing her shoulder, his fingertips grazing her skin.