Caroline and Max were dead.

  Not literally, but close.

  The diner up had nearly killed them, and after six hours of scrubbing, mopping, ating all their life choices, Han had finally taken pity on them.

  "Here," Han had said, sliding two envelopes across the ter. "sider this hazard pay."

  Caroline and Max had snatched the envelopes so fast they nearly caught fire from the fri.

  Inside?

  Fifty extra bucks each.

  Max looked at Han as if he had just proposed marriage. "Oh my god, are you feeling okay? Blink twice if you're being held hostage."

  Han had just given her a deadpan stare. "You're both unbearable when you're broke. This is self-defense."

  Now, it was the m, and Caroline rawled out on the couch, groaning into a pillow while Max sat cross-legged on the coffee table, aggressively chugging an iced coffee like it taihe secrets of the universe.

  "I swear to god," Caroline mumbled into the pillow, "if I ever have to that diner again, I'm quitting and being a hermit in the woods."

  Max slurped her coffee. "Babe, you wouldn't st five minutes without Wi-Fi."

  Caroline lifted her head. "I could st at least ten."

  Max smirked. "Oh yeah? What about food?"

  Caroline groaned. "Ugh. Fine. A high-maintenance hermit."

  Max patted her shoulder. "There you go. Aim for realistic goals."

  Just then, Caroline's phone buzzed. She grabbed it and squi the s.

  Alex Wilson: Delivery date set: 2 weeks, 10 AM. Lester Street, building 24A.

  Caroliared at the message for a full three seds. The up so fast she nearly headbutted Max. "OH, CRAP."

  Max, who had been mid-sip, nearly drowned in her own coffee. "JESUS—WHAT?"

  Caroliurhe phooward her. "Alex just set the date for the cupcake order."

  Max's eyes widened. "Wait, already? I thought rich people took forever to make decisions! Don't they have, like, seven levels of meetings just to pick the font for their emails?"

  Caroline groaned. "Apparently not this rich guy!"

  Max took the phone ahe message, tapping her . "Hmmm. Two weeks, huh? That's plenty of time."

  Caroline narrowed her eyes. "Max. What's our pn?"

  Max blinked. "Pn?"

  Caroline waved wildly. "FOR THE CUPCAKES, MAX."

  Max blinked again. "ht."

  Silence.

  Caroline leaned forward, deadly serious. "Max. Do you actually have a pn?"

  Max grinned. "Absolutely not."

  Carolihreillow at her face. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN, NO PLAN?!"

  Max cackled, dodging the pillow. "Babe, rex! We've been making cupcakes for years. We just do what we always do, but, like… faster."

  Caroline groaned. "Max, this isn't just any order! This is ohousand cupcakes! We o make sure they're perfect! We should probably take lessons from some professionals to really make sure they're eye-catg."

  Max froze mid-sip of her coffee. Slowly, she lowered the cup. "Carolihink very carefully about what you just said."

  Caroline sighed. "Oh, e on, we could—"

  Max cut her off, shaking her head. "Nope. No way. Not again. The st time we took a baking css, we nearly got mental scars."

  Caroline rolled her eyes. "You're being dramatic."

  Max pointed an acg finger. "AM I?! Or did we spend six hours with those two bitchy pastry chefs from hell who literally tried to psychologically break us over the size of our frosting swirls?"

  Caroline winced. Okay, yeah. That… had been a rough experience.

  "Max," she tried, "not every professional is going to be like those two."

  Max crossed her arms. "Uh-huh. You do remember that one of them looked me dead in the eye and said, 'You spread buttercream like a sewer rat with arthritis'? Because I do."

  Caroline winced harder. "…Okay, so she was a little mean."

  "A little?!" Max threw up her hands. "Carolihat woman tried to gatekeep frosting."

  Caroline sighed. "Alright, fine. Maybe a css is a bad idea. But we still o do something! How are we going to make ohousand cupcakes without help?"

  Max thought for a sed. Then shrugged. "Eh. We'll wing it."

  Caroliared. "We'll wing it?"

  Max nodded. "Yeah. Like always."

  Caroli her head in her hands. "We are so doomed."

  Max grihrowing an arm around her. "Babe, if we haven't burhis busio the grou, we never will."

  Caroline groaned. "That's not f."

  Max held up her coffee cup like a toast. "To winging it."

  Caroline sighed. Theantly, ked her coffee cup against Max's.

  This was definitely going to be a disaster.

  ...

  Max was not an optimistic person.

  She was the type to say, "It'll probably g, and I have nothing to lose, so let's do it anyway," and she had survived this long in life by sheer force of chaotic willpower. But for some ridiculous reason, she woke up that m with an actual, genuine urge to put in the effort.

  She bmed Alex.

  That stupidly handsome billionaire had just hahem twenty grand with ns attached. No creepy rich-man deal. No hidden motives. Just, "Make good cupcakes."

  That kind of trust? It was both fttering and terrifying. So, while Caroline was out doing double shifts at the diner, Max made a very rare decision... She was going to give it her all. And that meant, ditg her m nanny job.

  [9:42 AM – Max's Apartment Kit]

  Max tied her apron, pulled her hair into a messy bun, and stared at the battlefield before her. After Caroli, she went to the market and bought all the ingredients she could possibly need and zero supervision. Bags of flour. Sticks of butter. Bowls of eggs. Chocotes. Jam. Sprinkles and some redients that were missing from her usual baking stock.

  'Time to work some magic,' She cracked her knuckles. "Alright, sugar demons," she muttered to the ingredients, "let's make some history."

  [Attempt 1: The 'Cssic but Better' Approach]

  Max figured she'd start simple, just enhaheir usual recipe. More butter. A little extra vanil. A secret pinch of amon.

  Thirty mier, she pulled the cupcake from the oven, golden brown aiful.

  She took a bite.

  Chewed.

  Then promptly spat it into the sink.

  "What the hell is that?!" she gasped.

  The cupcake was weirdly salty like it had been baked by Poseidon himself. Max frantically checked the ter and immediately facepalmed.

  She hadn't used sugar.

  She had used SALT.

  "Damn you, Caroline. How dare you put salt in the sugar jar?" Max groaned, shoving the tray away. "Okay. Not great. But we recover."

  She cracked her knuckles again.

  [Attempt 2: The 'Fancy Bakery' Experiment]

  This time, she went full gourmet mode.

  She made a chocote ganache filling, hand-piped an intricate buttercream swirl, and even sprinkled gold fkes on top.

  (Where did she get gold fkes? No one knows.)

  She took a bite.

  Chewed.

  Swallowed.

  …Paused.

  Max narrowed her eyes.

  'Tastes good… But is it too good? Like, the kind of "good" that pretentious rich people would call "det" while tilting their heads at a weird angle. Would kids at an orphanage appreciate something this… fancy?' She sighed. "Alright, back to basics."

  [Attempt 3: The 'Max Special']

  Max decided to trust her instincts.

  She baked her signature vanil cupcakes, but this time, she stuffed them with homemade strawberry jam—just a tiny burst of surprise sweetness inside. She topped them with fluffy cream cheese frosting and added little dy pearls for fun.

  Taking a deep breath, she bit into one.

  Chewed.

  Swallowed.

  Paused.

  Then grinned.

  Bingo!

  It was delicious.

  Not too sweet. Not too fancy. Just simple, perfect happiness in a bite.

  Max fist-pumped the air. "YES! I AM A GOD."

  …And then immediately burned her finger on a hot baking tray.

  "OW! I AM A MORTAL GOD!"

  [Later That Afternoon]

  When Caroline finally dragged herself home after her first diner shift from hell, she barely had time to take off her shoes before Max shoved a cupcake in her face.

  Caroline blinked. "Uh. Hi?"

  "Eat."

  Caroline sighed, grabbed the cupcake, and took a bite.

  Her eyes widened.

  "…Holy crap!"

  Max smirked. "Right?"

  Caroline swallowed, staring at her in shock. "Max. This is actually… amazing."

  "I KNOW."

  Caroliook another bite, groaning. "Where was this energy when we were making cupcakes for rent money?"

  Max shrugged. "Apparently, I need 20 grand to feel motivated."

  Caroline snorted. "e really are money-motivated gremlins."

  Max colpsed onto the couch, stretg her arms behind her head. "So. What do you think?"

  Caroline fihe cupcake, lig some frosting off her thumb. "I think we might have a shot at this."

  Max grinned. "Damn right, we do."

  For the first time in forever, they felt like real business owners. And for once? Max actually believed they could pull this off.

  ---

  [Back to Alex] [Bckstar Studios]

  Alex stepped out of his Porsche, adjusting the cuffs of his navy blue bzer as he approached the t gss facade of Bckstar Studios. The massive produ house loomed over the Hollywood skyline, sleek and modern, its tinted windows refleg the te m sun.

  He took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders.

  'Alright, let's get this over with.'

  He had been in far too maings like this before where executives smiled through their teeth, sugarcoating their disapproval while trying to manipute the narrative in their favor.

  And Vanessa Harper?

  She was a master at it.

  As CEO of Bckstar Studios, Vanessa had helped unch his career. She had believed in his talent when others had dismissed him as just another ambitious filmmaker with big dreams and no real es. And iurn, he had given Bckstar five years of gold.

  Blockbusters. Awards. Prestige. Money.

  And now?

  Now, she wao trol him.

  Alex took a deep breath, straightening his posture as he walked through the revolving doors.

  'Not happening, Harper.'

  A receptionist, a young woman with sharp red lipstid an expression of barely disguised terror—jumped to her feet the moment she saw him. "Mr. Wilson! Ms. Harper is expeg you," she stammered.

  Alex smirked slightly. "Of course she is."

  [Executive Office]

  Vanessa Harper's office was as sharp and calg as the woman herself. Minimalist. Sleek. Coldly elegant. A massive bck marble desk domihe room, positioned in front of a sprawling floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked Los Angeles. No personal photos. imental clutter. Just an air of trolled power.

  And there, behind the desk, sat Vanessa Harper.

  Immacutely dressed in a tailray pantsuit, her ptinum blonde hair pinned into a precise bun, she radiated the kind of effortless authority that came with running one of the most successful studios in Hollywood.

  She was scrolling through her phone, long fiapping the s, when Alex entered.

  Without looking up, she spoke.

  "You're te."

  Alex smirked, closing the door behind him. "I wasn't aware this was a date."

  Vanessa sighed, setting her phone aside. When she finally met his gaze, her ice-blue eyes were coolly assessing—always calg, always three steps ahead.

  "So," she said smoothly, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

  Alex sat down across from her, draping an arm over the back of the chair. pletely at ease. Like he hadn't just detonated a Hollywood-level bomb with his decision.

  "I figured," he said casually, "since you've been blowing up Rachel's phone all m, I should stop by and clear things up."

  Vanessa's lips curved into a smile.

  "Ah. So you are aware of the chaos you caused."

  Alex shrugged. "I made a decision about my film. I didn't realize that was illegal."

  Vanessa leaned forward, folding her hands on the desk. "Alex. You know as well as I do that this isn't about the film. It's about your uniteral decision to cut Bckstar Studios out of the equation."

  There it was.

  The real issue.

  Alex tilted his head. "You sound surprised."

  "I am." Vanessa's smile thinned. "We had an uanding."

  "No," He corrected, "we had a tract. Ohat ended with my st film."

  She exhaled sharply through her apping her manicured fingers against the desk. "So you're tellihat after five years of partnership, you're just… walking away?"

  Alex's smirk deepened. "Pretty much."

  Vanessa let out a low chuckle, shaking her head. "You're making a mistake."

  "Maybe," he admitted. "But it's my mistake to make."

  She studied him for a long moment, her gaze sharp, searg. "Is this about trol?" she asked finally.

  Alex met her stare without fling. "It's about ownership. It's about creative freedom. It's about not having to ao people who only care about profit margins."

  Vanessa leaned ba her chair, crossing one leg over the other. "So, what? Yoing full indepe filmmaker now? You think you handle all the logistics, all the funding, all the distribution without Bckstar?"

  "I don't think," He said, standing up. "I know."

  Vanessa sighed, rubbiemples. "Alex, you and I both know how this industry works. Hollywood doesn't reward idealists. It rewards power pyers. And without a major studio bag you, you..."

  "I'll be fine," he interrupted smoothly.

  She exhaled sharply. "Yambling with your career."

  Alex leaned forward slightly, pg his hands on the edge of Vanessa's sleek marble desk. His smirk never wavered, but there was something sharp in his eyes, something unshakable.

  "Five Oscars," he repeated, voice smooth as silk. "Multiple awards. Blockbuster produs. One of the best scriptwriters and directors in the industry. Zero flops." He tilted his head. "If you think I got this far by just gambling, Vanessa, then you haven't been paying attention."

  Vanessa held his gaze, her perfectly posed expression not shifting even a fra. But he could see it. The slight twit her jaw, the way her fiapped just a little too fast against the desk.

  She was calg. Reevaluating.

  She hated losing trol.

  And right now?

  She was losing him.

  Alex straightened, adjusting his bzer. "I'm not some desperate kid anymore, Vanessa. I don't need Bckstar to hold my hand. I built my own produ pany for a reason."

  She exhaled slowly, her lips pressing into a thin line. "You really think you run aire produ by yourself?"

  Alex chuckled. "I won't be by myself. I have my team. People who actually give a damn about making good films, not just marketable ones."

  Vanessa folded her hands, eyeing him like a chess piece she was about to move. "Alex," she said smoothly, "you know how much I respect you. But let's not pretend this industry is a meritocracy. Talent is only half the game. es, power, bag—that's what keeps you on top. If you go solo, you'll be peting with giants."

  "I am a giant," Alex shot back without hesitation.

  Silence.

  Vanessa Harper, the woman who had once championed his career, now sat across from him, trying to salvage what little trol she had left. Alex could see it... the calcuted restraint, the iposure of a woman who never lost.

  Well, there was a first time for everything.

  Alex adjusted the cuff of his bzer, Vanessa a polite, almost amused smile. "Well, Vanessa," he said smoothly, "it was nice w with you. As long as it sted."

  He turned on his heel and walked away.

  No lingering looks. No sed-guessing.

  Just a , fi.

  As he reached the door, Vanessa's voice rang out—cool, crisp, and dripping with certainty.

  "Lost in Transtion will never work."

  Alex stopped.

  Her chair creaked slightly as she leaned back, her voice carrying the weight of someone who had seen Hollywood crush dreamers before.

  "You think you're making something profound, something different," she tinued. "But let me tell you how this really ends. Your 'quiet, introspective romance' will bomb at the box office. Critics won't be able to decide if they love it or hate it. Audiehey'll barely notice. And then?"

  She let out a soft, almost pitying chuckle.

  "You'll e crawling back."

  Alex didn't move.

  For a moment, all he did was stand there, his haing against the etal of the door handle.

  Then, slowly he turned his head, just enough to g her over his shoulder.

  His smirk was still there. Unbothered. Unshaken.

  But his eyes?

  His eyes said watch me.

  "We'll just see about that, won't we?"

  He walked out the door, never looking back.

  [Parking Lot]

  Alex stepped out of the gss tower, inhaling the fresh Los Angeles air.

  It was funny. He should have felt nervous about what he had just done. Cutting ties with Bckstar, burning bridges with one of the most powerful studios in the industry.

  But instead?

  He felt lighter. Like he had just dropped a hundred-pou off his shoulders. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number.

  Rachel picked up immediately. "So?"

  Alex smirked. "We're officially flying solo."

  There ause. Then a deep sigh. "…Jesus Christ, Alex."

  He chuckled. "That's the spirit."

  She groaned. "Do you have any idea how pissed off you just made the entire Hollywood elite? Vanessa Harper is going to turn you into a cautionary tale."

  He leaned against his car, gng up at the t Bckstar Studios building. "Let her."

  Rachel muttered something about stress ulcers before exhaling. "Alright, what's , genius?"

  Alex grinned. "We make a movie."

  ----

  Support link: .patr eon./UnknownMaster

  [8 advance chs] [All chs avaible for all tiers]

  ----

  AN: That's it for today. I might take a little break tomorrow. Well, depends on how many chs I mao write tonight. See ya.