CHAPTER 308: CHAPTER 307: WHERE SMOKE CURLED, TONGUES LOOSENED

And with that, he hurried out, phone pressed tightly to his ear.

Rex stretched his arms, the faintest smile lingering on his lips as Steven hurried off to take his phone call. Finally. The guy’s constant stream of flattery was suffocating... like being force-fed syrup nonstop. Sweet at first, but after a while, you just wanted to puke.

He let out a long breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. Pretending to be someone else all the time was exhausting. The act, the posture, the carefully chosen words... it wore him down faster than any physical fight ever could. Still, he couldn’t deny one thing. That respect, that eager attention, the way people bent themselves into knots just to please him... it was addictive. He finally understood why so many people clawed their way up just to sit on top, no matter what it took.

With Steven gone, Rex finally felt a weight lift off his shoulders. No more nodding and smiling through empty flattery. No more pretending to be cold, high and mighty. Now, with nobody breathing down his neck, he could finally relax... and actually wander around at his own pace.

He shook his head and stretched, hands sliding into his pockets as he strolled out of the office area, pretending to be just another visitor killing time. His footsteps were unhurried, but his eyes were sharp, quietly soaking in every detail... the posters of past movies framed on the walls, the stale scent of burnt coffee wafting from a nearby kitchenette, the faint hum of air conditioners battling against the California heat.

The building wasn’t exactly grand, but it had that lived-in, slightly worn air of a mid-tier entertainment company. The kind that wasn’t swimming in money yet still busy enough to look important. The place buzzed with activity... keyboards clacking, phones ringing, the hum of printers going off in the corner. People hurried past with stacks of paper like their lives depended on it.

Still, Rex could tell. Half of them weren’t actually working that hard. They were just moving fast enough to look busy. It was obvious why. The boss was around today.

Every now and then, a few employees would sneak a glance at him. Their eyes would widen for a split second before they snapped their heads down and pretended to type like their souls were on the line. The scene was almost funny, like catching kids pretending to study right after being caught playing games.

Rex drifted through the floor, hands in his pockets, letting the atmosphere sink in. It was a mix of ambition and exhaustion. Posters of old projects clung to the walls, some faded and curling at the edges, reminders of the company’s better days.

After a while, he found himself drifting toward the back of the building as he noticed a couple of employees slipping out toward the balcony, cigarettes already between their fingers. And of course he followed, there wasn’t any reason, he was just bored.

He followed, but not too close. Just as the door swung shut, he spotted the faint glow of cigarettes and the lazy drawl of voices. Perfect. He stopped by the old vending machine tucked near the corner, half-hidden in the shadow it cast. The thing hummed faintly, lights flickering like it hadn’t been serviced in a decade. From here, he could hear them clear as day without being seen.

The smoking area wasn’t glamorous... just a cracked open sliding door, just a couple of plastic chairs, an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts, a vending machine, and a view of the busy street below. A cluster of employees leaned against the railing, exhaling smoke in lazy circles.

Two employees leaned against the railing, both already mid-drag. Their ties were loose, shirts slightly wrinkled, the kind of look that screamed "overworked but underpaid." One had dark circles like he hadn’t slept in a week; the other looked way too young to already be chain-smoking.

Where smoke curled, tongues loosened.

For a moment, no one spoke. Just the soft crackle of burning cigarettes and the hum of the city below. Somewhere in the distance, a car honked like it was swearing at the whole world.

"Busy day, huh?" the older one muttered finally, smoke curling out of his nose.

"Every day’s busy," the younger one replied, deadpan. "But today’s different. You know, because he’s here." He jerked his chin back toward the building, meaning Steven.

The older guy chuckled. "Man, you’d think the devil himself was doing rounds. Everyone’s running like headless chickens. "Every damn time he shows up, the whole place turns into a circus. Half the people in there haven’t touched their actual work since morning. They’ve just been pretending."

"Better to look alive than get chewed out," the younger said, flicking ash.

Rex smirked quietly, listening. He didn’t say anything, but the way these two vented told him more than any official report ever could.

Their conversation drifted for a while... complaints about deadlines, about some singer who threw a tantrum over bottled water not being "imported enough," about the endless chaos of scheduling shoots. It was ordinary workplace chatter, sprinkled with frustration and dark humor.

Rex leaned casually against the vending machine, fishing out a soda, feeling bored just as he was about to tune it all out, the younger one lowered his voice, and suddenly, the conversation shifted, which piqued his interest and stopped him on his tracks.

"...did you hear about the pay raises?" one of them, a middle-aged man with tired eyes and nicotine-stained fingers, muttered between puffs. "Upper management’s practically swimming in bonuses this quarter."

A younger employee laughed bitterly. "Of course they are. It’s not like they earned it. Anyway, what else do you expect when they practically snatched that company out of the rightful heir’s hands. Easy money when you don’t build something yourself."

Rex froze. His hand tightened against the soda can . He didn’t move, didn’t react outwardly, but inside?

Wait. Company? Heir? Don’t tell me...

Another voice joined in, this one quieter, almost cautious. "You’re talking about Crescent Studio, right? The one his parents used to run? Everyone knows what happened. Family colluded with outsiders, pushed the kid into a corner until he had no choice but to sell."

A silence fell, broken only by the sound of another drag being taken.

"Yeah," the first guy muttered. "Losing your parents like that, then having sharks circling? Anyone would’ve crumbled."

Rex didn’t know these words, hit like a brick to his chest. He forced a sip of soda just to keep his face neutral, but his insides were anything but calm.

Crescent Studio... That’s my family’s company? No... his family’s. The previous Rex’s. Damn it, this isn’t just some story someone made up. These people are spitting out my history like it’s gossip to kill a smoke break.

His grip tightened on the can until the aluminum groaned. A sharp, metallic tang touched his tongue as soda fizzed against his lips. He wasn’t sure if the anger boiling inside belonged to the previous Rex, whose memories faintly pulsed within him, or to himself, unable to tolerate injustice no matter whose life it stained. Either way, his chest burned with a dull rage.

(End of Chapter)