As the city blurred outside the window, George Rowe sat in the back of his Range Rover, his head leaning against the headrest, as Marcus, his driver, navigated through late evening traffic.
"Long day?" Marcus asked, glancing at him through the rearview mirror.
"Yeah." George's voice was low, tired. "Same as usual."
Today's shoot had stretched on longer than planned. Fourteen hours under hot lights, running the same scene until the director was satisfied. The world saw the glamour, the premieres, the interviews, the fans screaming his name, but days like this were the real cost. He was exhausted, yet, his mind wouldn't settle.
It was funny. He had everything now. Fame. Wealth. A big home in LA. The movie deals lined up for years. Yet, sitting in the backseat of a luxury car, with the city he'd conquered outside, George felt detached.
Like a visitor passing through his own life.
His thoughts drifted, as they often did, back to Illinois, where life was simple but heavy. His mother's laugh echoed in his memories, soft and warm. She raised him alone, balancing two jobs, still managing to make their tiny house feel like a home. Until the cancer came. He was ten when she died.
If it wasn't for Grandma Pearl, God knows where he would have ended up. She was nearing seventy when she took him in, running a small town bakery with nothing more than stubborn will. People whispered that she was too old to raise a boy, that she should let the system take care of him. Pearl didn't listen. She raised him with firm hands, a sharp tongue, and a heart big enough to carry his grief.
Even today, she was still his anchor.
Acting wasn't some dream he had nurtured growing up. It happened by chance. A drama teacher bullied him into auditioning for the school play. He hated it, right up until he stepped on that stage and heard people laugh at his lines. At that moment, something clicked. For the first time, he wasn't invisible, and at seventeen, he had scraped together every penny from part time jobs to buy a bus ticket to Los Angeles. He was eighteen when he arrived..broke, stubborn, and too proud to admit he had no clue what he was doing. The first year was hell. Auditions led nowhere. He slept in his car more nights than he could count.
But then came that role. A low budget indie film. No one expected it to be a hit, but it was. Suddenly, George Rowe was one of Hollywood's new and promising actors.
Two years later, at twenty-three, he was at the top.
But success is lonely.
The phone vibrating in his pocket snapped him back. He smiled as the name lit up on the screen.
Grandma.
He answered. "Hey, Grandma."
"Hi, sweetheart." Her voice was soft, but there was no mistaking the steel beneath it. "Will you be home for dinner? I made your favorite, chicken pot pie. Not that fancy nonsense they serve at those Hollywood parties."
George laughed, feeling his exhaustion ease. "You always know how to reel me in."
"I'll keep it warm for you. Don't be late."
"Yes, ma'am."
She hung up without another word. Classic Pearl.
By the time Marcus pulled into the driveway of George's home, his manager Keith's car was already parked out front, alongside his assistant Jenny's sleek sedan. George sighed. He should've known they wouldn't wait until tomorrow.
The front door was slightly open. Pearl never bothered locking it when she knew he was on the way.
Keith was sprawled on the living room couch, shoes off, his tie loosened like he owned the place. Jenny sat neatly in the armchair, tablet balanced on her knee, the picture of professional composure.
"Took you long enough, Rowe," Keith greeted, spreading his arms. "Big things are happening, man. We've got a lot to discuss."
George ignored the theatrics, walking straight to the kitchen counter where Pearl had left a glass of lemonade for him, then he ushered them to his office.
Once inside, Jenny gave him a nod, calm as ever. "We locked in the press tour. Morning shows, late night appearances, red carpets. It's going to be non-stop starting next week."
Keith jumped in. "And we need to talk about Scarlet."
George raised an eyebrow, sipping his drink. "What about her?"
Keith grinned, the kind that meant trouble. "Come on, George. You two are dynamite on screen. The fans are eating it up. There are already rumors floating around. You should take her out, get photographed. Ride the wave."
"No," George said simply.
Keith sighed dramatically. "I'm telling you, it's good PR. She's gorgeous, talented, and she's not bad for your image either. You could—"
"Keith." George's voice dropped, firm. "Stay out of my love life."
Jenny's lips curved into a brief smile, but she kept quiet.
Before Keith could press the issue, a soft knock came from the hallway. George opened the door, and Pearl stood there holding a tray of appetizers.
"I figured you kids might need something to eat," she said sweetly.
George smiled. "Thanks, Grandma. We're about done here anyway."
Keith opened his mouth, but George's look shut him up. Jenny took the cue, rising gracefully. "We'll send you the final schedule tomorrow." She concluded the meeting.
As they left, Pearl set the tray down on the office table. "He's got too much mouth, that one," she muttered once the door clicked shut.
George chuckled. "That's his charm."
Pearl turned, hands on her hips. "Charm's overrated. You need people who care more about you than your face on a poster."
She disappeared into the kitchen, and George followed, the smell of freshly baked chicken pot pie wrapping around him like home.
Dinner was simple, just the two of them at the dinner table, like it had always been. Pearl served him a generous slice, fussing over his plate even as he tried to convince her he could serve himself.
They ate mostly in silence, the kind that was comfortable. Grounding.
"So," Pearl said eventually, eyes on her fork, "how's the film going? Are they working you too hard?"
George shrugged. "Same as always. Long days. A lot of standing around waiting."
She hummed, satisfied with the non answer. She never pushed. She knew he'd talk when he was ready.
Then, after a pause, she added casually, "And how's she adjusting to the set?"
George's fork froze mid air.
Pearl didn't say a name. She didn't have to.