Chapter 53
Noah arrived half an hour early at Bluegate Entertainment with Daryll and Monica. Today, he was scheduled to have his contract and career plans reevaluated by the CEO herself, along with the company lawyers.
As soon as he stepped out of the car, he entered the building through an entrance far from the public eye, intended only for VIP guests and the company’s top talent. A privilege Noah had gained only five years ago. Access, once earned, came with expectations that didn’t need repeating.
Security recognized him immediately and tapped their access locks to give way. None of them greeted him, nor did they stop him for small talk. Seeing a celebrity in this place was already routine.
The checkpoint barely slowed them down. The guard glanced once at Noah’s face, once at the credentials on his tablet, and waved them through without comment. There was no second look, no pause long enough to invite conversation.
This entrance wasn’t designed to impress. It was narrow, with matte walls and muted lighting—the kind of space meant to move people efficiently from one point to another without drawing attention.
Noah adjusted his pace to match Daryll’s. No one rushed them. No one waited for them either.
Noah removed his sunglasses as they entered the familiar hallway where portraits of Bluegate Entertainment’s top-rated and most popular talents were displayed. Bluegate Entertainment was the third label to handle Noah’s career—and would likely be the last.
The portraits followed a consistent pattern: clean headshots, neutral expressions. Names and years were printed in small, uniform text beneath each frame. Some faces were familiar. Others had been replaced since his last visit. Absence accelerated turnover.
Noah didn’t slow down to look closely. The portraits were updated as needed, removed when necessary.
They reached the end of the hallway and waited for the elevator. It took longer than expected. The digital indicator above the doors ticked down one floor at a time.
Noah used the wait to observe the movement around them—assistants passed by carrying folders. A production team crossed the corridor, voices low, steps quick. No one stopped. No one altered their route.
When the elevator arrived, its doors opened immediately, as if timed for their arrival. They stepped inside without exchanging a word.
The ride passed in silence. When the doors opened again, they were greeted by the CEO’s assistant, who led them to a conference room.
Noah took a seat without comment. Daryll and Monica followed his lead. The assistant placed the necessary folders on the long table and handed Noah one before leaving the room.
Noah skimmed the documents while waiting. Several scripts were included, with roles specifically marked for him.
The folders were color-coded, their edges aligned precisely. Tabs marked different sections. He flipped through them once, noting where pages had been flagged for review.
He closed the folder and rested his hand on top of it, waiting.
He gave Daryll an inquisitive look, but his manager didn’t answer before the CEO and two lawyers arrived.
Daryll immediately stood and greeted Lena Quinn, Bluegate Entertainment’s CEO. Noah and Monica stood as well but remained silent.
“Ms. Quinn,” Daryll said with a polite nod.
Lena inclined her head before turning her gaze to Noah, assessing him without expression.
“Let’s get started,” she said, opening the meeting.
“Mr. Hart, we need to review your contract,” one of the lawyers stated. “But first, can you clarify your current condition p>
Daryll cleared his throat and answered on Noah’s behalf.
“Here’s Noah’s current medical report,” he began. “As you can see, the surgery was successful, and he’s on the final stage of therapy. The doctor recommends three months without strenuous activity p>
Lena and the lawyers reviewed the report in silence. It stretched until they reached the last page.
“The company covered half of Mr. Hart’s medical expenses for surgery and rehabilitation,” the same lawyer continued. “Moving forward, we’d like to update the insurance clauses p>
He slid another folder toward Noah.
Noah picked it up and read. As expected, his injury was treated as a liability. The company might have covered half his expenses, but the hiatus had cost them millions in lost contracts and endorsements.
He stared at the pages for a moment longer. Each clause accounted for a different contingency—delay, damage, loss. Risk was no longer abstract when his name sat at the top of the page.
“Since your recovery can’t be assured within three months, you’ll need to choose the project you’d like to take,” Lena said, indicating the scripts. “We’ll focus on guestings and brand endorsements for now. The public needs to see you’re back p>
“Do I only take one script?” Noah asked at last, eyes still on the pages.
“These are for a TV series—one season,” Lena replied. “Renewal isn’t guaranteed. It would be best to focus on one p>
Noah nodded and didn’t ask any further.
This was a meeting he had no power to lead.
Daryll took over negotiations on the revised clauses. The language specified that in the event of another serious injury, expenses and losses from canceled contracts and endorsements would be renegotiated.
Noah used the time to read the scripts one by one. He selected the one that aligned with his preference—a medical television series in which he would play an eccentric top surgeon. Unlike his last role as a military hero, this one required too few stunts from him, except for occasional running.
Accepting it would commit him to filming and promotional shoots in the coming weeks. Recovery and responsibility would now overlap.
“We’ll take these endorsements. As for the series, I’ll let Noah attend a few workshops and consultations to ensure he would portray the role accurately p>
Daryll’s voice pulled Noah back into the discussion. He glanced at Noah, who gave a brief nod of approval.
Daryll passed the folders to Monica, who immediately began updating Noah’s schedule.
The meeting moved toward final confirmation and concluded with signatures on another document.
The room cleared quickly. Momentum moved on without pause.
By the time Noah stood, the meeting had already ended—replaced by the next item on the schedule.