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Chapter - 157
🕑 Added 2025-06-15 17:48:27 +0000 UTC[Title : Whiplash]
….
Los Angeles.
The small apartment was quiet, save for the rhythmic ticking of a wall clock and the occasional honk drifting in from the street below.
Stephen Jr., sat stiffly in a cushioned chair across from her - the same woman whose life he had once tried to reroute with a single sentence.
January Jones.
But not the one the world would come to know.
This January was younger.
Early twenties.
Blonde hair loosely pulled back, not styled for the camera but clipped up in a way that suggested she had just needed it out of her face.
Her skin had no makeup, just that natural, unfair kind of glow.
She wore a soft oversized cardigan and sat with both hands tucked under her thighs, shoulders slightly hunched - as if trying to make herself smaller.
They hadn’t said anything for a long while.
Stephen had already done the talking.
He had apologized.
Fully.
Without excuses.
He told her about his past - things he had never told anyone in Hollywood.
About the screaming in the next room when he was a child.
About the closed doors.
About the terror of becoming that kind of father, even unintentionally.
He had told her the real reason he had said those words to her - those awful, thoughtless words that still echoed in both their lives.
"You should abort."
And then he stopped.
He hadn’t expected her to forgive him.
He didn’t ask her to.
January didn’t speak.
She hadn’t since he had sat down.
She just listened.
Eyes on him the whole time - pale blue, wide and unreadable.
She looked at him not like he was a villain, or a stranger, or even a mistake.
She looked at him like he was someone who had already shaped her future before either of them truly understood what they were doing.
And then, just when the silence became too much to hold -
She stood up.
Walked to the door.
Placed her hand on the knob.
Stephen rose slowly too, but didn’t move toward her.
He waited.
She opened the door, still saying nothing.
Her fingers lingered on the edge.
Stephen sighed.
It was quiet. Almost gentle.
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t beg.
“I understand.” He said. “I will see you soon.”
And then, as if he always knew it would end like this, he placed the brown paper bag on the nearby table.
Inside - prenatal vitamins.
Ginger candies for nausea, two soft maternity shirts, a used copy of What to Expect When You are Expecting. And an unopened letter - addressed simply:
For Later - Stephen
He gave her a slight nod, turned, and walked down the hallway without looking back.
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
…..
Inside the Apartment.
January stood at the door for a while, hand still resting on the knob, as if frozen in the act of maybe opening it again.
But she didn’t.
Her throat tightened.
She leaned her back against the door and slid slowly to the floor, knees drawn up.
Her hands shook.
Not out of anger or even grief.
But from everything.
She was new to this city.
New to the business.
Still learning which smiles were real, which compliments meant something, which parties weren’t worth the heels.
She had come here for dreams, not… this.
A child?
The thought was terrifying.
But even more terrifying was how Stephen had looked at her - like he wanted to be better, even if he didn’t know how.
She looked over at the paper bag on the table.
It hadn’t been shoved into her hands.
It was just… been left, like a quiet offering.
She stared at it for a long time.
Then - carefully, hesitantly - she reached into it.
And pulled out the book.
Her fingers ran along the worn spine.
She wasn’t ready to forgive him.
But part of her… believed he would be back.
And maybe part of her didn’t hate the idea.
….
After that day… Regal left Stephen on his own without much drama.
Just a pat on the shoulder, a glance that lingered too long, and a quiet. “Take care of yourself.”
Then the door closed, he was gone and Stephen was alone.
Or so he thought.
But of course, Regal being Regal, he didn’t just leave.
That man didn’t do anything halfway.
By the time the elevator hit the ground floor, Regal had already set up the next stage of Stephen’s life.
Stephen found out exactly after a day later.
He was sitting at his dining table, halfway through reheating leftover stir-fry, when there was a knock at the door.
He opened it to find Alexander - Regal’s assistant director when he was working for [Death Note] movie is now standing there - a duffel bag over one shoulder.
They stared at each other for a second.
“Alex?” Stephen blinked.
Alexander gave a small nod, as if he wasn’t sure he belonged here either. “Hey.”
Then he pulled out his phone and tapped to answer a call already ringing. “Yeah, I am at his place, Regal… Want me to hand over the phone to him?”
Stephen’s stomach tensed.
Through the speaker, Regal’s voice came in smooth and unbothered. [“No. You will be staying with him for now.”]
There was a pause. Then, almost as an afterthought.
[“Also, you are fired.”]
Stephen’s jaw dropped. So did Alexander’s shoulders.
“What—?” Alex said slowly. “Wait, what?”
[“You heard me.”] Regal said calmly. [“Effective now. Don’t ask. You will understand.”]
Stephen stared at the phone in stunned silence. It felt like a prank, but the tone was too clean.
Alexander looked devastated.
It wasn’t loud - he didn’t yell or protest - but Stephen saw it.
That split-second stiffening in his eyes.
“I…” Alexander started, then gave up.
Stephen watched as the color subtly drained from his face. Regal didn’t sound angry. Which somehow made it worse.
Alex nodded - almost automatically.
“Understood.” He said softly.
Stephen knew that tone. It was the same tone people used at funerals. Not out of grief, but because they didn’t have the space to process the loss in public.
[“And.”] Regal added with zero warning. [“I sent you something. Check your inbox. Talk later.”]
That was it.
No thank you or an exit interview. Just another Regal-style sleight of hand: dismissing a man while setting up his future in the same breath.
And the call ended.
Cruel bastard, Stephen muttered.
If Regal had some issue with Alexander’s work, he should have taken him aside.
Not to blindside the guy at his front door.
Alexander stood there for another second, just blinking.
Stephen didn’t know what to say, so he stepped aside. “Come in.”
They sat on the couch - Alexander wordless, Stephen glancing at him every few seconds. It was tense.
Not hostile, just… tight.
For the next few minutes, they didn’t talk.
Finally, Alexander opened his laptop mindlessly, went to his email, and clicked on the message with the subject line.
Stephen stood behind him, not sure whether to apologize or disappear.
[#18 Movie Script]
Stephen leaned slightly, peering over his shoulder.
“A script?” Alexander said under his breath.
He clicked the attachment. A PDF loaded.
The title page slid into view.
====
TITLE: [Whiplash]
WRITER: Regal
NOTES: For Alex to Direct. Produced by LIE Studio.
Suggested Lead: Stephen (Optional)
====
There wasn’t much more in the email.
Just a short note: Will produce. Up to you if you want to do it.
Stephen frowned. “He fired you so you could direct?”
“Apparently.”
“And you are not mad?”
“I was.” Alex replied. “For two whole minutes. Now I am just… trying to breathe. Realizing I couldn’t remember the last time someone trusted me with something this big.”
He scrolled a little further.
They read the script in silence - page by page - and slowly, the air in the room began to shift.
The story wasn’t ….complicated. A young man trying to become who he wanted to be. Another man helped him - in ways that were quiet, broken, beautiful.
But the way it was written?
It breathed. It bled.
The dialogue wasn’t flashy, but it knew people.
It breathed like conversations you only remember years later. The structure was clean.
Regal had written it with restraint - which was the hardest thing for any writer to learn.
By page thirty, Stephen had leaned in holding his breath.
By page seventy, he had stopped blinking and was rubbing his eyes.
By the last ten pages, both of them were quiet for entirely different reasons.
…half way through Alex opened his mouth staring at the screen. “Stephen.”
“Hm?”
“I want you to play the lead.”
Stephen blinked. “Me? I mean… I would love to, but shouldn’t you, I don’t know, think about it a bit?”
Alexander tilted the screen slightly and pointed.
Suggested Lead: Stephen. Optional. Director’s discretion.
“Optional, my ass.” Alex muttered. “This whole damn role was written with your face in mind.”
Stephen exhaled and took a seat beside him.
“I want to audition.” He said finally.
Alexander didn’t even blink. “Audition huh?”
.
….
[To be continued…]
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