Chapter 242 - 241: Butcher His Baby
Aren swallowed hard. His face was flushed again, but his voice was steadier this time.
"I’ll do it," he said, almost defiantly. "I’ll sign. Just... let me direct it."
Rex didn’t respond right away. He simply looked at Aren with that calm, unreadable gaze of his, letting the silence thicken and stretch until it was almost unbearable.
"I don’t care if my name isn’t on the poster," Aren continued quickly, as if afraid Rex would turn and walk out again. "You can change whatever you want. Take the credit. Change the ending. Rewrite the whole thing, if you want—I don’t care. Just let me direct it. That’s all I want."
Rex considered that for a beat.
Aren was practically offering himself up on a silver platter—no name, no recognition, no creative control. Just the director’s chair. And even that came with strings. Rex could see it in his eyes. That final shred of pride, that fragile belief in his own vision... it was cracking. He’d already lost the war inside him the moment Rex had stepped toward the door.
Of course, some might say Rex was going too far, but this was Hollywood.
You don’t survive here by being naïve.
What if, after the film became a hit, Aren tried to backstab him? Took the footage, filed a lawsuit, cried exploitation on some talk show? These stories weren’t rare—they were routine. Up-and-comers turning on the very people who gave them their first break. Directors stealing screenplays. Producers screwing writers. Backroom betrayals and tabloid scandals—Hollywood had seen it all.
So Rex had no intention of being caught off guard. He’d be careful. Ruthless, if necessary. Every clause of the contract would be airtight.