The drive back to the Malibu estate was a suffocating exercise in silence. Harris didn’t mention the script again, and I didn't offer a single detail about the audition. I just watched the sun dip lower over the Pacific, casting long, bruised shadows across the highway. I had been an actress since I was fifteen, long before my mother ever met a billionaire, but sitting in the back of this armored SUV, I felt like a beginner again—one who had just been bought and paid for.
When we pulled through the massive iron gates, the mansion was glowing. It didn't look like a home; it looked like a set prepared for a performance I hadn't rehearsed for.
"We’re here, Ms. Wood," Harris said, his eyes meeting mine in the mirror as he killed the engine. "Mr. Reed is expecting you in the dining room. He’s
