The limited-edition stretch limousine sped into the night, its taillights leaving a streak of crimson in the darkness.

Sophia Laurent withdrew her gaze, fingers absently tracing the edge of her phone.

The sudden ringtone startled her.

An unfamiliar number flashed on the screen, making her frown slightly.

"Miss Laurent, this is Zack Keane."

The legendary name sent a jolt through her fingertips.

Zack Keane—the visionary director, a perennial favorite at international film festivals—was calling her personally?

"What... can I do for you?"

"There's a role for a cultural relic restorer in my new film. I'd like you to make a cameo."

Her first instinct was to hang up, assuming it was a scam.

Only when her mentor Michael Gao called did she realize her mistake.

"Director Keane says no one's hung up on him in ten years," Michael's amused voice came through the receiver.

The windswept sands of the Northwest Film Studio stung her face.

Zack's sharp eyes lit up the moment he saw Sophia.

"You're perfect!" He clapped excitedly. "No audition needed."

On the night of filming, moonlight bathed the set.

The male lead's fingers brushed lightly over Sophia's hand.

Behind the monitor, Zack nodded approvingly—until an icy presence made the hairs on his neck stand up.

"This is your so-called stand-in?"

Ethan Sullivan's glacial tone froze Zack mid-breath.

"Mr. Sullivan, this is just—"

"Pull funding, or replace her." Ethan's gaze pinned their joined hands like daggers.

In the makeup room, Sophia removed her stage makeup.

The assistant director entered, wringing his hands. "Miss Laurent, the investor wishes to meet you."

"Drinks? The casting couch?" Her laugh was brittle. "Tell your investor I don't need the paycheck that badly."

"You misunderstand—just a casual dinner..."

When the door opened, revealing that familiar silhouette, her nails dug into her palms.

"Ethan Sullivan, are you toying with me?"

The man studied her with deliberate slowness. "I thought you understood how this industry works, Miss Laurent."

"You—"

"Didn't Kyle teach you how to handle propositions?" Ice crystallized in Ethan's eyes.

Her hand flew up—only to be caught mid-swing.

Their locked gazes sparked like flint striking steel.