Martin gently patted the hand holding his dagger with the other, flashing a cold smile. "As expected of Director Moran, raised in a prestigious family. You certainly know how to talk." As he spoke, he walked around to face Laila, the smile on his face gradually turning sinister as he pressed the dagger lightly against her neck.
"But I want you to understand one thing: if you make films for me, you live. If you can't—then you're useless to me. And I'll make sure you sleep here forever."
Laila's heart clenched. She knew he wasn't bluffing.
"I understand. But I can't shoot a film empty-handed."
Martin did a quick mental calculation of his funds. "I'll give you five million. Make one for me first." He didn't dare offer less, especially after hearing about budgets in the tens or hundreds of millions. Five million was already a huge sum for him—Laila could tell it would hurt him to part with that much.
Sure, with five million she could shoot a film that might earn hundreds of millions in box office returns. But she loved film far too much to let one be tainted by something so dirty and violent.
What she needed now was time—to stall until someone came to rescue her. She believed her people wouldn't abandon her. They'd be searching relentlessly. Her only job was to stay alive until they found her.
When she didn't immediately respond, Martin's tone darkened. "Don't tell me even with that much money, you still can't make a movie?"
Laila nodded slowly. "I can."
"Ha!" Martin laughed heartily, withdrawing the dagger and giving her shoulder two pats. "That's more like it! Work well for me and you won't lack a thing—food, clothes, whatever you want. Even men, if you need them—I can get you the best!"
Laila's mouth twitched. Only someone like him could shamelessly say something that ridiculous. The best man? That was hers already, thank you very much.
Thinking of Roy made her heart ache…
He must be heartbroken knowing she was taken. She could almost picture him suffering in silence, enduring the pain alone. Hopefully, those around him were keeping an eye on him, so he wouldn't spiral too deeply.
The next day, Laila was taken to a car. After a long, winding drive, they finally stopped. When she got out, she was escorted into an empty warehouse.
Martin arrived soon after, gesturing proudly at the space. "Nice, right? I figured this could be your soundstage."
Laila glanced at him, surprised he even knew the term soundstage.
She played along and looked around. Truthfully, there was nothing remarkable about the place—just some dirty straw on the floor and bare walls and ceiling.
"What do you want me to film?"
Martin spread his arms magnanimously. "Whatever you want! I trust you can turn my five million into a few hundred million!"
Laila pressed a hand to her throbbing temple. "Before filming, I need a good script."
"A script?" Martin hadn't thought that far ahead. "Just write one yourself. Aren't you a director?"
"…" What could she even say to that level of ignorance? Yes, she could write scripts—but that didn't mean all directors could or should! "Mr. Martin, are you sure you want me to write it? My last script took me several years to complete."
"Really?" Martin blinked, glancing reflexively at the man standing not far behind him.
Laila knew that was his advisor—the "brains" of the operation. Worried he might not be as ignorant as Martin, she pressed her advantage. "The Lord of the Rings. You can look it up. I've talked about it in plenty of interviews—I spent years writing that screenplay."
Martin turned to his scheming advisor, who gave a confirming nod.
That made Martin visibly uncomfortable. Years just to write a script? That was way longer than he expected.
"So how do you usually get your scripts?"
Laila had been waiting for that question. "Usually, people send scripts to me for consideration. If you don't have one, I suggest buying one from a screenwriter. The quality of the script is crucial. A good script is already half the success of the film."
"I see." Martin felt things were drifting further from how he had imagined them. He had thought making money from movies would be a straightforward affair. But now it sounded like a hassle. Still, the idea that his five million might soon become hundreds of millions soothed his frustration.
"Someone will take you to a nearby house to settle in. This entire area belongs to me, so don't even think about running. If anyone who doesn't know you finds you outside, I can't guarantee they'll be as polite as I am."
Laila lowered her head, hiding the glint in her eyes. Her voice softened to sound more fragile. "I understand."
Martin left, satisfied, and Laila was escorted under guard to a nearby house. The place was relatively clean—certainly better than the tiny, windowless room she'd been in before.
Maybe they thought she had no way to escape because the doors and windows here were wide open. The house was in the middle of a tightly packed cluster of buildings, surrounded by other structures. There were people everywhere—some standing, some sitting. Judging by the bulges at their waists and their rough appearances, they were all Martin's men.
With that many armed guards around, Laila wouldn't be able to escape even if she had wings. And the guns at their waists were not props.
After a round of observation, she gave up on escaping—for now. She shut the door and turned her attention to the interior.
It was a main bedroom with a private bathroom. The bedding wasn't new, but it had clearly been washed—she could still smell the faint scent of detergent. That small comfort was a surprise blessing. Even though summer meant she didn't need blankets, having clean sheets at least made enduring this environment a bit easier.
Meanwhile, in the United States, the team dispatched to South Africa to assist in Laila's rescue had just arrived. They immediately contacted local authorities upon landing.
Back in Laila's absence, Roy had become the emotional pillar of the film crew. Everyone was scared. They feared for Laila's safety. At this point, only her fiancé, Roy, could hold the team together and keep things functioning.
But Roy didn't want to manage anything. His mind was filled only with Laila. Every time he closed his eyes, he could almost hear her calling his name in pain.
"Roy, come with me for a moment." Xiao Ye pulled him aside and brought him into a separate tent.
Inside, Roy saw several unfamiliar faces. He immediately realized—these must be the new people who had just arrived.