The cheap ceiling fan in Macy Cole’s apartment rattled like it was seconds away from falling onto her face.
Which, honestly, would perfectly summarize her life lately.
She stared at the eviction notice sitting on the small kitchen table.
Three weeks overdue.
Rent: $1,450.
Her bank balance: $82.16.
Fantastic.
Macy dragged a hand through her messy dark hair and let out a long breath.
Outside, the streets of Los Angeles buzzed with their usual chaotic energy—sirens in the distance, music from a passing car, neighbors arguing through thin apartment walls.
Hollywood glittered only a few miles away.
But here in this crumbling building, dreams went to die quietly.
Her phone buzzed on the table.
A message from the studio.
Her stomach tightened as she opened it.
“We regret to inform you…”
She didn’t need to read the rest.
They were firing her.
The stunt coordinator—Rick, that walking safety violation—had already blamed the accident on “equipment misuse.” Apparently the rope breaking was somehow her fault.
Macy dropped the phone.
“So that’s it,” she muttered.
No job.
No money.
No future.
The dream she’d chased since she was eighteen—becoming a real actress instead of a body hitting the ground for someone else’s fame—felt impossibly far away.
Her gaze drifted to the black card sitting beside the eviction notice.
Nicholas Thorne.
The man who had literally caught her midair.
She picked it up.
The silver lettering gleamed under the kitchen light.
She had spent three days staring at it.
Three days debating whether calling him would make her look desperate.
But desperate was exactly what she was.
Her thumb hovered over the phone.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Then she dialed the number.
The line rang once.
Twice.
Then a calm voice answered.
“Yes?”
Macy froze.
Of course he’d sound like that.
Smooth.
Controlled.
Dangerously attractive even through a phone.
“H-Hi,” she said quickly. “This is Macy. Macy Cole.”
Silence.
For half a second, she wondered if he’d hung up.
Then—
“I know who you are.”
Her heart skipped.
“Right. Of course. Because you saved my life.”
Another pause.
“How is your arm?” he asked.
The question sounded almost… gentle.
“It’s fine,” she said quickly. “Well, not fine. But not terrible.”
“I’m glad.”
Macy stared at the wall.
She had rehearsed a speech in her head.
Now every word vanished.
“So…” she said awkwardly. “I guess I just wanted to thank you again.”
“You’re welcome.”
More silence.
God, this was painful.
Then she blurted the truth.
“I got fired.”
The words hung in the air.
Nicholas didn’t respond immediately.
“That’s unfortunate,” he said finally.
“Yeah.”
She laughed weakly.
“I guess saving my life didn’t come with job security.”
Nicholas’s voice softened slightly.
“Are you looking for work?”
Her heart started racing.
“I mean… yes. Obviously.”
“What kind of work?”
Macy hesitated.
Then decided honesty was her only option.
“I want to act,” she admitted. “Not just stunts. Real roles.”
On the other end of the line, Nicholas leaned back in the leather chair inside his private study at his Hollywood Hills villa.
Sunlight filtered through heavy blackout curtains.
The room smelled faintly of old books and polished wood.
He tapped a finger thoughtfully on the desk.
Across the room, a large painting covered one wall.
It depicted a golden sunrise over the ocean.
Strange.
That warmth again.
He could still feel the echo of it from Macy’s presence.
Her blood carried something powerful.
Ancient.
Dangerous.
Yet somehow… comforting.
Nicholas focused back on the call.
“There’s an audition tomorrow,” he said calmly.
Macy blinked.
“What?”
“A supporting role in Jack Hunter’s new film.”
Her mouth dropped open.
“That’s impossible. Those auditions are closed.”
“They aren’t,” Nicholas said quietly, “if you’re invited.”
Macy nearly dropped the phone.
“You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
“Why would you help me?”
Nicholas glanced toward the window where sunlight pressed against the thick curtains.
Because you feel like sunlight.
But he didn’t say that.
Instead he answered simply.
“Because I think you deserve a chance.”
Her voice trembled.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Then the line went silent.
Macy stared at the phone.
Then screamed.
“OH MY GOD!”
The next morning, the waiting room outside the audition hall buzzed with nervous actors.
Designer dresses.
Perfect makeup.
Expensive heels clicking across marble floors.
Macy Cole sat in a plastic chair wearing borrowed heels and a thrift-store blazer.
Totally normal.
Totally confident.
Definitely not about to throw up.
Beside her, Zoe Miller leaned against the wall scrolling through her phone.
“This place is insane,” Zoe whispered.
Macy nodded.
“Everyone here looks like they walked out of a magazine.”
Zoe glanced around the room.
A flash of irritation crossed her face.
“So how exactly did you get this audition again?”
Macy hesitated.
“I… know someone.”
Zoe’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“Who?”