For two weeks, the Bel Air estate was completely quiet.
Daniel didn't release a public statement. He didn't have Marcus draft a press release, and nobody from the studio returned calls to the entertainment magazines. The absolute radio silence drove the media crazy. Nature abhors a vacuum, and the tabloids filled the quiet with dozens of wild, contradictory rumors. One site claimed Daniel and Florence had moved to different countries. Another insisted Margot had been fired from her upcoming projects.
Outside the physical gates of the property, reality was much more annoying.
Paparazzi parked their cars at the bottom of the hill, sitting in lawn chairs with long lenses resting on their knees. They couldn't see the house from the street, but they waited anyway.
Margot sat at the kitchen island, drinking a cup of coffee. She was wearing loose sweatpants and a t-shirt. She looked out the massive glass windows toward the backyard.
A faint, high-pitched buzzing sound drifted through the glass.
A small, white plastic drone crested the tree line. It hovered over the pool deck, its tiny camera lens turning to point directly at the kitchen windows.
Down on the lawn, a guy in a plain black polo shirt stepped out from the shade of the patio. He worked for Apex Security. He raised a rectangular black device, pointing it directly at the drone.
The buzzing stopped instantly. The drone dropped out of the air like a stone, hitting the grass with a sharp, plastic crunch. The security guard picked it up, tossed it into a trash bag by the door, and walked back into the shade.
Margot took a sip of her coffee. "That makes four this week."
Florence walked into the kitchen, grabbing an apple from a bowl on the counter. "I'm starting to lose my mind a little bit. I haven't left the property in fourteen days. I just want to go to the coffee shop down the street and order a normal latte without someone shoving a camera in my face."
Daniel was sitting at the other end of the island, his laptop open. He had his glasses on, scrolling slowly through a dense spreadsheet. He didn't look like a guy in the middle of a massive public scandal. He just looked busy.
"The code for Vice City is practically locked," Daniel said, his eyes scanning the numbers. "We're in the final bug-testing phase. The game is going to ship in a few months, and the marketing rollout has to be perfect. On top of that, I have the Endor sequences to finish for Star Wars."
He pushed the laptop away and took his glasses off, rubbing his eyes.
"I have too much actual work to do," Daniel continued, looking at them. "I'm not letting a bunch of gossip bloggers decide when I'm allowed to leave my own house. We're sticking to the plan. Two weeks is enough time for them to spin themselves in circles. Sunday is the Vanity Fair party. We're going."
Florence took a bite of her apple, leaning against the counter. "I'm ready. Sitting around here reading the same magazines is getting old."
"We still have to shoot the bridge scene tonight, Flo," Daniel reminded her. "We'll take the decoy cars. Security said they found a route around the news vans parked near the Valley lot."
Florence nodded. "Good. I need to yell at someone on camera. It'll be therapeutic."
The soundstage in the San Fernando Valley was dark, cold, and smelled like dry ice and pine needles.
Dante Ferretti's team had built a massive wooden rope bridge suspended ten feet in the air, surrounded by thick, fake redwood trunks. It was the Ewok village set. The lighting was low and moody, mimicking the nighttime canopy of a forest.
Daniel stood near the video village monitors, a headset resting around his neck. He watched the crew make final adjustments to the lights.
This wasn't an action scene. There were no stunt wires, no explosions, and no green lightsabers. It was just a quiet conversation between two characters.
Florence stood in the middle of the wooden bridge. She was wearing the braided Endor hair extensions and the simple, earth-toned rebel dress. Sebastian Stan stood a few feet away from her, wearing his black tunic.
"You guys ready?" Daniel called out, keeping his voice relaxed.
Sebastian nodded, rolling his shoulders. Florence just gave a short thumbs-up.
"Let's get it," Daniel said. "Roll cameras. Action."
Sebastian took a step closer to Florence. He looked down at the wooden planks of the bridge, his posture heavy and burdened.
"I have to face him," Sebastian said, his voice quiet.
Florence looked at him. She didn't have to force the emotion. The suffocating feeling of being trapped in her house, the sheer annoyance of having strangers dissect her personal life on the internet for two weeks—she took all of that quiet, simmering frustration and pushed it straight into her performance.
"Why?" Florence asked. Her voice cracked slightly. She looked genuinely exhausted. "Luke, run away. Far away. If he can feel your presence, then leave this place."
"I can't," Sebastian replied, meeting her eyes. "He's my father."
Florence stared at him. The shock registered on her face, but it was quickly replaced by a deep, hollow sadness. She let a single tear slip down her cheek, her breathing hitching in the cold air of the soundstage.
"There's more," Sebastian continued, his voice barely a whisper now. "It won't be easy for you to hear it, but you must. If I don't make it back, you're the only hope for the Alliance."
Florence shook her head slightly, her voice tight. "Luke, don't talk that way. You have a power I don't understand and could never have."
"You're wrong, Leia," Sebastian said. "You have that power too. In time you'll learn to use it as I have. The Force is strong in my family. My father has it. I have it. And my sister has it."
He paused, letting the silence hang heavy on the set.
"Yes," Sebastian said softly. "It's you, Leia."
Florence closed her eyes. She didn't overact. She didn't gasp dramatically. She just let the weight of the realization sink into her posture, her shoulders dropping. She looked like someone who had just been handed a terrible, unavoidable truth.
"I know," Florence whispered, her voice breaking perfectly. "Somehow, I've always known."
Daniel watched the monitor. The framing was beautiful, the lighting caught the tears on her face perfectly, and the emotion was incredibly raw.
"Cut," Daniel said. His voice echoed across the quiet stage. "That's a print. Beautiful work, both of you. We're moving on."
Florence let out a long breath, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand. She walked off the wooden bridge and down the steps to the main floor of the soundstage.
Christian Bale was standing near a cluster of equipment cases, waiting for his scene to be set up. He was in his full Han Solo wardrobe, leaning against a crate. As Florence walked past him, he didn't offer a dramatic speech or ask her how she was holding up with the media circus.
He just reached out and handed her a cold bottle of water.
"You're brilliant, you know," Christian said simply, taking a sip from his own coffee cup. "Let them talk out there. It doesn't matter. Just keep doing that."
Florence took the water, a genuine smile breaking through her tired expression. "Thanks, Christian."
The cast had formed a tight circle around them. They didn't care about the tabloids. They just cared about the work, and it made the massive, chaotic studio lot feel like a very small, safe room.
Sunday evening arrived quickly.
The master bedroom of the Bel Air estate was a blur of quiet activity. A makeup artist and a hairstylist, both trusted professionals who had signed ironclad non-disclosure agreements, were finishing their work.
The atmosphere wasn't overly tense, but there was a distinct hum of adrenaline in the room. They weren't just getting dressed for a party; they were getting ready to make a very loud statement without saying a word.
Florence stood in front of the full-length mirror. She wore a sharp, structured dress. It was dark emerald green, tailored perfectly, giving her an angular, fierce silhouette. It wasn't soft or delicate. It looked like armor.
Margot walked out of the massive walk-in closet a minute later. She had chosen a classic, flowing gown in a deep shade of crimson. It caught the light when she moved, incredibly elegant and timeless. They hadn't matched, but they deliberately didn't clash.
Daniel stood near the door, adjusting his cuffs. He wore a pristine, perfectly tailored black tuxedo. It was simple and classic. The dark fabric contrasted sharply with his features, the clean lines drawing the eye effortlessly. He didn't look like a guy trying to hide.
"The car is ready," Daniel said, checking his watch.
Florence turned away from the mirror. She looked at Margot. "You good?"
"Yeah," Margot said, grabbing a small clutch purse off the bed. She took a deep breath. "Let's go."
They walked out to the driveway. A spacious, black town car was waiting for them. The driver opened the back door, and the three of them slid into the wide leather backseat.
The drive toward Beverly Hills was quiet. As they got closer to the venue, the traffic thickened. The streets leading up to the Vanity Fair party were lined with police barricades, holding back hundreds of screaming fans and aggressive photographers. The flashing lights of the cameras reflected off the dark windows of their car.
The reality of what they were doing suddenly felt very heavy. The isolation of the Bel Air house was gone.
Margot stared out the window at the crowds. She was tapping her fingernails against the hard clasp of her purse in a rapid, nervous rhythm.
Florence noticed. She reached across the leather seat and placed her hand firmly over Margot's, stopping the tapping. Margot looked over, offering a tight, appreciative smile.
Daniel shifted in his seat. He reached out and placed his hand over both of theirs. He didn't give a motivational speech. He just gave their hands a reassuring squeeze.
The car slowed to a halt. The door handle clicked.
"Showtime," Daniel said.
The driver pulled the door open. The wall of sound hit them instantly. It was a physical force—hundreds of photographers screaming over each other, the rapid-fire clicking of camera shutters, the blinding strobe effect of the flashbulbs.
Daniel stepped out of the car first.
He buttoned his suit jacket, looking out at the press line. The photographers immediately started yelling his name.
"Daniel! Look here, Daniel! Over the shoulder!"
They expected him to walk the carpet alone. They expected him to look somber, or maybe rush past them entirely.
Daniel didn't step away from the car. He turned back around and held his hand out toward the open door.
Florence reached out, taking his hand. She stepped out of the car, her dark green dress catching the harsh lights. She looked completely unfazed, her chin held high.
The press line lost their minds. The screaming doubled in volume.
"Florence! Florence, over here! Did you guys make up? Florence, smile!"
The narrative instantly shifted in the photographers' minds. They thought Daniel and Florence were putting up a united front. They thought the scandal was over.
Daniel didn't close the car door. He kept his left hand firmly intertwined with Florence's. He reached his right hand back into the dark interior of the car.
Margot Robbie stepped out onto the pavement.
For two literal seconds, the entire press line went dead silent. The yelling stopped completely. The only sound on the street was the mechanical, rapid-fire click-click-click of hundreds of camera shutters going off at once.
The sheer shock of seeing the three of them together broke the brains of the paparazzi. It completely destroyed the narrative. Daniel Miller hadn't chosen one over the other. He hadn't apologized. He had brought them both.
Then, absolute, deafening pandemonium erupted.
"Margot! Daniel! What is happening?! Look here! Florence, look left! Daniel, are you together?!"
The noise was chaotic, but Daniel, Florence, and Margot didn't rush. They didn't look down at the carpet, and they didn't look embarrassed.
Daniel stood in the middle. He held Florence's hand on his left, and Margot's hand on his right. They walked slowly down the long red carpet. They stopped at the main photography riser. They turned, posed, and let the cameras capture the image.
They looked calm. They looked relaxed. They looked completely, untouchably confident.
A reporter with a microphone leaned over the velvet rope, practically shouting to be heard over the noise. "Daniel! Does this mean the rumors are true? Are you all together?"
Daniel looked at the reporter. He didn't break his stride. He didn't answer the question. He just offered a polite, totally unbothered smile, and kept walking.
They reached the end of the carpet and walked through the heavy glass doors into the actual party.
The atmosphere inside the massive ballroom was entirely different. This was where the actual Hollywood elite gathered. Directors, A-list actors, studio heads, and producers were standing around with champagne flutes, talking in small groups.
As Daniel, Florence, and Margot walked into the room, the conversations nearest the door paused. The silence rippled outward across the ballroom.
People turned to stare.
It wasn't a look of disgust. It was a mix of scandalized whispering, pure awe, and a strange, grudging respect. Everyone in the room knew exactly what the tabloids had been saying for the last two weeks. They expected Daniel to be hiding. Instead, he had just completely owned the narrative, forcing everyone to accept it on his terms.
Across the room, standing near a towering ice sculpture at the main bar, was Corie. The Co-President of Legendary Pictures was wearing a sharp pantsuit, holding a glass of champagne.
She caught Daniel's eye through the crowd.
Corie decided not to walk over, and instead just smiled slightly and slowly raised her champagne glass in a silent, respectful toast.
Daniel nodded back at her.
He let go of Florence and Margot's hands as they moved toward an empty booth near the back of the room. A waiter quickly walked over, carrying a silver tray with drinks.
"Well," Florence said, taking a glass of champagne and looking around at the room full of people trying not to stare at them. "That certainly got their attention."
Margot grabbed a drink, a genuine laugh escaping her. She took a sip, the nervous energy from the car ride completely gone. "I think the guy from Variety actually dropped his camera when I stepped out of the car."
Daniel took a glass of water from the tray. He looked at both of them, feeling the massive weight of the last two weeks finally lift. They hadn't compromised. They hadn't played the game.
"We survived the carpet," Daniel said, taking a sip. "Now we just enjoy the party and get back to work. The media will sort the rest for us."
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A/N: Read ahead on Patreon: patreon.com/AmaanS