They hadn’t even made it ten steps when Lena leaned in, whispering close enough for her perfu to hijack Rex’s brain.
"So," she said, cocking a brow, "you gonna tell what’s really going on, or do I have to guess? ’Cause I’m pretty sure normal parties don’t co with flying lingerie models and chest-level assault squads."
Rex sighed, rubbing the back of his neck like a man confessing to a felony. "You really wanna know?"
Lena gave him a flat look. "I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t."
He looked around, lowered his voice like he was about to drop state secrets. Then, with the most serious mock-expression he could muster, he paused dramatically.
Lena leaned in attentively, her expression shifting from playful to serious. She looked like she was bracing for a bombshell—expecting him to confess he was so Hollywood tycoon’s secret heir, or maybe an old-money elite slumming it for fun. Her brows arched slightly, lips parted, eyes scanning his face like they were reading the first page of a thriller novel.
He cleared his throat dramatically, then said, "Well, what can I say? I’m just that handso."
Lena blinked. Her serious, expectant expression hung in the air for a beat too long—until the weight of his words finally crashed into her. She stared at him like he’d just farted in church, caught between disbelief and laughter. and then her serious face cracked. She tried to hold it, tried to stay serious but her lips twitched, cheeks puffed up—and finally, she snorted.
"Get lost," she said, smacking him lightly on the shoulder.
"Already am," he shot back with a grin, rubbing his shoulder like it had seen battle. "Seriously, I’ve been body-checking Victoria’s Secret models all night. Lost in this sea of chaos, perfu, and cleavage like a war hero with no dals."
Lena leaned in again, her brows knit slightly in thought. She looked him over, this ti not with amusent, but with curiosity, maybe even expectation—as if waiting for the real explanation. Sothing wild. Sothing like him secretly being a mogul’s heir, or an industry insider pretending to be ordinary. Rex noticed her change in deanor and smirked.
"You were expecting to say I’m a secret billionaire or sothing, huh?" he teased.
She blinked, caught, then grinned. "Would’ve made the party a hell of a lot more interesting."
Rex chuckled. "Trust , my story’s still being written. But when it hits print—blockbuster material."
Lena rolled her eyes but didn’t pull away. "Seriously though, you looked like you were being hunted. Should I be worried? Should you be worried?"
"Let’s just say... this party’s got more plot twists than a soap opera on steroids."
Seeing his serious expression, she understood the weight behind those joking words, but she didn’t ask. Instead, they stood in silence for a mont, both gazing out at the dazzling chaos of the party—the clinking of glasses, the glitter of chandeliers, the too-loud laughter echoing like a bad soundtrack. It was like they’d stepped out of their own story and were just... watching.
Lena suddenly hesitated, her smile faltering as if her mind had slamd on the brakes. Her eyes dropped—not out of embarrassnt, but like sothing painful had just clawed its way to the surface. She chewed on her bottom lip, caught between wanting to say sothing and holding it back.
Sensing the sudden change in atmosphere, he tilted his head and looked at her expression. He raised his brows and asked, "Hey, what’s wrong?"
She hesitated again, lips parting, then closing. For a second, it looked like she might not say anything at all. Then, finally, she looked up, voice low. "Aren’t you mad that I left you after you helped get in?"
Rex blinked, then suddenly chuckled and leaned back slightly, flashing a relaxed, almost carefree grin. "Nah, not really. Do you really think I’m that petty?
"I helped you, and now—just know—you helped too. So we’re even."
"You..." she said softly, almost to herself.
"What?" he asked, genuinely curious.
She studied his face, then smiled softly. "Now I get why every pretty girl was falling all over you tonight."
"Oh? Why’s that?"
Seeing his naturally handso features twisted into a slightly confused, slightly curious expression made her giggle.
"Can you stop being so cute?"
"Cute? ? Don’t joke," he said, puffing his chest. "I’m handso. Manly handso. Got it?"
"Okay, okay, I know, Mr. Manly. Relax and breathe."
"Why should I? I’m totally relaxed," he said confidently—then imdiately exhaled like he’d been holding it in for minutes.
She smirked. "Uh-huh. Sure."
"Okay, can we get back on track?"
"Sure. So here’s the thing—when you walked in? Almost every girl here took notice. Especially after how you handled that seducing fox at the start. The way you were polite and chill about it, it left an impression. Even though they figured they’d be turned down, they still wanted to shoot their shot."
"So you’re telling ... being nice is the problem? Should I let a few of them fall and kiss the floor?"
She laughed. "You could try. But I doubt it’d change anything."
Just imagining won face-planting left and right made him shudder. "Yeah, no thanks."
Lena chuckled, but then her smile faded and she let out a small sigh, her gaze drifting across the sea of glamorous chaos.
"What now?"
She hesitated again, this ti longer, like she was weighing whether to bother saying it out loud. Then she spoke, voice softer, threaded with a kind of quiet disappointnt.
"I just thought... if I could get in here, maybe et the industry bigwigs and impress them with my talent, sothing good would happen. A role. A shot. Sothing that mattered. But no one’s really paying attention—unless they’ve got ulterior motives." Her voice dropped at the end, tinged with disappointnt, the kind that cos from trying too hard for too long.
Her shoulders sagged slightly, and her gaze seed heavier now—like she was carrying the weight of countless auditions, polite rejections, and invisible walls. "It’s exhausting, you know? Trying to shine in a place where no one’s even looking unless they already think you’re worth sothing—or want sothing from you."
Her eyes swept the room, catching brief flashes of predatory smiles and calculated charm, as she continued with mock chuckle."Hollywood really lives up to its reputation—an industry wrapped in glitter but built on locked doors and whispered deals. The doors aren’t just closed, they’re bolted shut unless you co bearing a golden surna, a scandalous story, or a soul you’re willing to auction off. You don’t just need a key. You need to know who forged it, who’s hiding it, and what they want in return. And sotis, that price is too damn high."
Her tone wasn’t bitter, just tired. Tired of pretending, of hoping. The lines under her eyes weren’t from makeup—they were from late nights, endless auditions, and the ntal toll of rejection after rejection. For a mont, she looked small in a room too big, too loud, too fake.
Rex glanced at her, reading the exhaustion etched between her words. His casual smirk faded for a heartbeat, replaced by sothing gentler, sothing real. He didn’t say anything grand or clichéd—just stood beside her in shared silence, letting her disappointnt settle without judgnt.
(End of Chapter)
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