Chapter 54: Anna was our classmate too
[Daniel’s Office]
"As expected, Boss, Mr. Bennett is trying to trace which investor Mr. Smith partnered with," Henry reported, watching closely for a reaction.
But Daniel gave none. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. His gaze seemed fixed on nothing at all.
Henry’s brows furrowed. Boss... zoning out? I’ve never seen him this distracted.
Then a thought struck, and he almost snorted. Heh. Must be the effect of marriage.
His silent laugh died in his throat the second Daniel’s sharp eyes flicked to him.
"What?"
"N-Nothing!" Henry straightened like a rod, face pale. Can he read my mind? Oh God, of course he can.
Daniel didn’t pursue it. His voice returned to its cool authority. "Make sure Hugo finds nothing. I want him to burn through every resource he’s been secretly hoarding to leech money. Starve him out until he’s desperate."
"Yes, Boss."
Dismissed, Henry left, and the room returned to silence.
But Daniel’s mind refused to be still.
The taste of Anna’s lips haunted him. Soft. Sweet. Addictive. The way she’d shivered against him, the way her breath hitched as though she might surrender—
He hadn’t slept a wink. Tossing. Turning. Fighting himself.
At one point, he’d almost gone to her room. Almost given in to the pull that gnawed at him like hunger. But in the end, he’d stopped, forcing himself back to his own bed.
And now he regretted it.
"I should’ve stolen another kiss," he muttered, the rare note of disappointment rough in his voice. Because deep down, he knew—whatever this was—resisting her was no longer possible.
His hand reached for his phone, thumb hovering over her name. The urge to call her clawed at him, sharper than logic.
"Should I check on her?" he murmured, remembering the way she’d bolted after their kiss.
She hadn’t slapped him. Hadn’t pushed him away. She’d just... run.
Daniel’s jaw tightened, frustration prickling his chest.
"Was I that bad?" he muttered, a dangerous thought twisting through him. ’Or was it because she felt something too?’
***
Meanwhile, Anna reached Plaza Studio, confusion still clouding her mind.
’Why would Ethan suddenly summon me? And more importantly—how the hell did he even get my number?’
She pushed the thought aside as she stepped into the building—only to freeze at the sight before her.
Two people were already there.
Mr. Wilsmith... and Fiona.
Anna’s lips twitched, a scoff threatening to slip. Of course. ’No wonder she ran crying to my mother, hoping she’d stop me. So childish.’
"Miss Anna, you’re here," Wilsmith’s voice broke through her thoughts. Anna quickly forced a polite smile and stepped toward them.
Fiona’s gaze slid to her, sharp and glinting beneath a mask of sweetness. Her lips curved, but her eyes flickered with something venomous.
Anna met her stare head-on, unflinching, before turning deliberately to greet the man.
"Mr. Wilsmith," she said smoothly, then let her eyes drift to Ethan, who stood nearby, calm as ever.
"I’m sorry for summoning you all on such short notice," Wilsmith began, clasping his hands. "But since the three of you are the leads of this project, I wanted to discuss your roles together before the table read next week."
Anna felt Fiona’s gaze searing into her, and when she looked back, Fiona offered her brightest fake smile.
"It’s not a big deal, Mr. Wilsmith. In fact, I’ve been eager to meet everyone in person," Fiona cooed, her tone honey-dipped but cold underneath. Then her eyes shifted to Anna, her smile sharpening. "Especially Miss Anna. I heard she almost missed the audition... yet still managed to charm you with her performance."
Anna’s brows furrowed as the words sank in. How would she even know that?
And then it clicked.
’So it was you.’
Her jaw clenched, fury sparking in her chest, but outwardly she remained composed, her face unreadable.
Fiona caught the flicker in her eyes and smirked, triumphant at striking the nerve she aimed for. Still, she kept up her act, the picture of innocence before Wilsmith.
"So, let’s begin," Wilsmith said, gesturing for them to settle. The four of them took their respective seats around the table.
Ethan slid into the chair beside Anna. His gaze briefly flicked to her hand before he asked, low and calm, "How’s your hand?"
Anna blinked, caught off guard. Her lips parted before she nodded slowly. "It’s fine now," she whispered, almost as if the words weren’t meant for anyone else to hear.
Before the silence could stretch, Fiona leaned forward with a bright smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "By the way, Ethan, it’s been a while since we met."
Wilsmith raised his brows, surprised. "Oh? You two know each other?"
Fiona turned her head, meeting his curious gaze. "Yes," she said smoothly, "we studied at the same school."
Wilsmith chuckled in disbelief. "Well, that’s unexpected. Then I suppose you’ll get along quite well."
Ethan’s lips curved faintly, his tone casual, but the weight of his words carried across the table. "Not just us. Anna was our classmate too."
Anna froze, her fingers tightening into a knot under the tablecloth. Her jaw clenched as she cursed him silently. You didn’t have to say that.
Wilsmith’s eyes widened, clearly intrigued. "Ha! So the three of you have known each other far longer than I realized." His gaze flicked to Fiona. "But if that’s the case, why did you say earlier that you were looking forward to meeting Miss Anna? Did you not recognize her?"
The color drained from Fiona’s face. For the briefest moment, her composure cracked before she let out a light laugh, airy and dismissive. "It’s been so long that I hardly remember most of the faces from school. I didn’t recognize her at all."
The dismissal was sharp, deliberate. As if Anna wasn’t worth remembering.
Anna’s lips twitched, her chest tightening, but she forced herself to stay composed, swallowing down the sting.
"Oh, well," Wilsmith said cheerfully, oblivious to the tension simmering under the surface, "it’s great that you three already share a history. That familiarity will only make the shoot smoother."
His attention returned to the script in his hand. The matter was closed in his eyes.
But Ethan’s eyes lingered on Anna. He could see her shrinking into her chair, her silence screaming louder than words. He knew Fiona was lying—knew that once, Anna and Fiona had been close. Childhood friends, until something broke them apart.
He thought of calling Fiona out then and there, but when he saw Anna deliberately refusing to correct the lie, choosing instead to keep her head low, he held his tongue.
For now.
"So these are your character profiles. I want each of you to study them carefully and understand every trait before bringing them to the screen," Wilsmith instructed, his voice slipping into the firm cadence of a director.
Anna lowered her gaze to the folder placed before her. The name printed on the front made her breath still.
"Olive – Second Female Lead."
Her eyes traced the description. Olive—the character of Ethan’s deceased wife. A woman who lived her life suffering from a one-sided love, who gave everything to her marriage only to be forgotten in the end.
A humorless chuckle escaped her thoughts. ’Why does she sound so familiar?’
It was almost uncanny. Olive’s tragedy mirrored her own. The neglect, the silent ache of loving someone who never looked back. Anna felt as though she was staring into a reflection of her past life, scripted and printed neatly on paper.
The only difference was cruel. Olive’s husband realized too late that he loved her, grieving once she was gone.
But Anna... Anna had never even been given that much. She had been nothing more than a shadow in her own marriage. Daniel had never loved her—could never love her. His heart had always been occupied by someone else.
Her lips pressed into a thin line, the bittersweet sting clawing at her chest before she shoved it down. Absurd. Completely absurd. To even wish for something like that.
Because in her world, there was no hidden love waiting to be discovered. Only rejection. Only the truth—that Daniel Clafford’s heart belonged to her sister.