Chapter 3: The Interview That Changed Everything
1317 Words
LENA'S POV
I barely slept after the premiere.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Adrian Knight's face.
Not because he was handsome—although denying that would be a lie—but because he hadn't reacted the way I expected.
Most celebrities either got defensive or stormed away when I asked uncomfortable questions.
Adrian had done neither.
He answered every question with unnerving calm, as if he'd been expecting me.
That bothered me more than it should have.
I took another sip of coffee as I stared at my laptop. My article from last night's premiere had already gone live.
"Adrian Knight: Too Perfect to Believe?"
It wasn't an accusation. It was an observation.
Still, the comments were divided.
Leave him alone.
Finally, someone is asking the right questions.
She's just looking for attention.
I closed the page before I could read another comment. Ugh my head is killing me over this.
My phone buzzed.
Harold.
"Get to the office," he said the moment I answered.
"Did I do something wrong?" My voice apprehensive.
"No."
A pause.
"Adrian Knight requested an interview."
I nearly dropped my phone.
"Wait what?"
"He specifically asked for you."
...
Twenty minutes later, I was standing in Harold's office, trying to convince myself I'd heard him wrong.
"You're joking.Tell me you're joking"
"I wish I was."
He slid a printed email across the desk.
It was from Knight Studios.
Mr. Adrian Knight has agreed to an exclusive interview regarding your recent article. He requests that Miss Lena Carter conduct the interview personally.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
"This doesn't make sense."
"I agree."
"Why would he do this?"
Harold leaned back in his chair.
"Maybe he wants to clear his name."
"Or maybe he wants to intimidate me."
"That's possible too."
I folded the paper and slipped it into my notebook with a sigh.
"When?"
"Today."
"Today?"
"Three o'clock."
I looked at the clock on the wall.
Eleven-thirty.
Four hours.
Four hours to prepare for the biggest interview of my career.
...
Knight Studios was exactly what I expected.
Massive.
Modern.
Expensive.
The glass building reflected the afternoon sun, making it impossible to see inside.
The receptionist smiled politely when I introduced myself.
"Miss Carter, Mr. Knight is expecting you."
Of course he was.
A young assistant escorted me through long hallways lined with movie posters.
Every single one starred Adrian.
Award-winning dramas.
Action blockbusters.
Romantic films.
The man seemed incapable of failing.
We stopped in front of a large wooden door.
The assistant knocked once.
"Come in."
His voice was calm.
The assistant opened the door and stepped aside.
"This way."
I took a deep breath before walking inside.
The office was larger than my apartment.
Bookshelves covered one wall.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city.
A grand piano sat in one corner.
And standing beside the window...
Was Adrian Knight.
Without the cameras and flashing lights, he looked... different.
Less like a celebrity.
More like a man carrying invisible weight.
He turned as I entered.
"Miss Carter."
His voice was smoother than I remembered.
"Mr. Knight."
He gestured toward the chair opposite his desk.
"Please."
I remained standing.
"I prefer interviews where both people stand on equal ground."
The corner of his mouth lifted.
"I had a feeling you'd say that."
So he stayed where he was.
Neither of us sat.
Interesting.
He hands me a cup of coffee.
"I don't drink coffee from billionaires."
One eyebrow lifts.
"Why not?"
"Because if I suddenly disappear, everyone will assume you poisoned me."
He takes a slow sip from his own mug.
"That's disappointing."
I narrow my eyes.
"What is?"
"I spent a fortune on the poison."
I stare at him.
He stares back.
Three long seconds pass before the corner of his mouth twitches.
"...You're joking."
"I thought investigative reporters were better at spotting sarcasm."
I accidentally laugh.
"You requested this interview," I began, pulling out my recorder and going straight to business. The sooner I start, the sooner I'll be gone from his presence.
"May I?"
He nodded.
I pressed Record.
"This interview is now being recorded."
He folded his hands behind his back.
"Ask whatever you came to ask."
I just asked the very thing that was bugging me as I came here.
"Why me?"
His eyebrows lifted slightly.
"Why request me?"
"Because you're the only reporter asking questions no one else will."
I wasn't expecting that answer.
"You don't seem upset by my article."
"I've read worse."
"So you don't mind being investigated?"
"I mind being lied about."
His answer was immediate.
I studied his face.
Not a flicker of hesitation.
"Then let me ask directly."
I met his gaze.
"Have you ever paid someone to hide a scandal?"
"No."
"Bribed anyone?"
"No."
"Covered up a crime?"
"No."
"Had an affair with a married actress?"
A faint chuckle escaped him.
"No."
"You answered those awfully fast."
"Because I didn't need time to invent answers."
Touché.
I hated that he'd scored a point.
"So," I continued, "you're telling me you've lived a completely clean life?"
"No."
That surprised me.
"I've made mistakes."
"What kind?"
He looked toward the city through the window.
"The kind I have to live with."
His voice changed.
Just slightly.
It wasn't guilt.
It sounded more like regret.
Before I could ask what he meant, someone knocked on the door.
A woman stepped inside.
She looked to be in her early sixties.
Elegant.
Warm smile.
"Adrian," she said softly, "your grandmother is on the phone."
His expression softened instantly.
"I'll call her back in five minutes."
She nodded before noticing me.
"Oh."
Her smile widened.
"You must be the reporter."
I stood politely.
"Yes, ma'am."
"It's lovely to meet you."
She smiled at Adrian before leaving the room.
The door clicked shut.
I looked back at him.
"You seem close to your family."
"I am."
"That's rare."
"It shouldn't be."
Again...
Not the answer I expected.
I glanced around the office.
Everything was perfectly organized.
Except for one photograph lying face down on the bookshelf.
Curiosity got the better of me.
"Why is that picture turned over?"
His expression changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
"That's not part of the interview."
"So it means something."
"It means some memories are private."
For the first time since I'd walked in...
He'd built a wall.
A real one.
I switched off the recorder.
"I think we're done."
"So soon?"
"I've learned everything I needed."
"Have you?"
I slipped the recorder into my bag.
"I learned that you're very good at answering questions without revealing yourself."
He smiled.
"And I learned that you're determined to believe there's something wrong with me."
I walked toward the door.
"I don't believe anything yet."
I reached for the handle.
"I just haven't found the truth."
I sling my bag over my shoulder.
"For the record..."
He looks up from his desk.
"I still don't like you."
"That's unfortunate."
"Why?"
"I was planning to invite you to my birthday."
I fold my arms.
"I wouldn't come."
"I know."
"I wouldn't even send a gift."
His expression remains perfectly serious.
"Now I'm hurt."
I point at him.
"You're smiling."
"Billionaires heal quickly."
I shake my head, trying—and failing—not to smile. What?
"This interview is officially over."
"Until next time, Miss Carter."
I scoffed and roll my eyes as I walk out.
"He's either the most irritating man I've ever met or..."
I mutter under my breath.
As I opened the door, his voice stopped me.
"Miss Carter."
I turned.
"If you keep digging..."
His expression was unreadable.
"...be careful what you uncover."
A warning.
Or advice.
I couldn't tell.
But as I left Knight Studios, I couldn't shake the feeling that Adrian Knight hadn't been trying to protect himself.
He'd been trying to protect me.
And that frightened me far more than any scandal ever could.
- Writer
