Laila could see it now—what Prince Al Nadeem felt for her wasn't truly love. It was more of an obsession, wasn't it? The kind that stems from not being able to get what you want. Sometimes, people only think something is precious because it's out of reach. She believed that with time and maturity, he'd come to see this for himself.
As he said, he had wealth and power, and maintaining a cordial relationship with someone like that certainly wouldn't harm the Moran family. His side had the money, and her side might very well need investors in the future. What could be more beneficial than a profitable collaboration?
There was no need to treat someone like an enemy just because you turned down their romantic advances. That wasn't a healthy or practical way to handle relationships. If they had once burned with passion, then split due to heartbreak, then cutting ties might be natural—trying to remain friends would only be awkward.
But she and Al Nadeem had never even gotten close to that. Their entire relationship consisted of the occasional call or small gift—hardly anything to speak of.
This call of his was just a final lament. He'd known he was out of the picture ever since news of her engagement surfaced. When he'd first heard, he'd spiraled for a few days. And now, hearing that she was pregnant, he made this call—one last emotional reaction.
With a sigh, Al Nadeem said, "Laila, if that man ever mistreats you, or if you don't want to be with him anymore… just remember, there will always be a place for you here."
Before Laila could say anything, a large hand snatched the phone from her grasp.
Roy's voice, cold and sharp, answered in her place: "You don't need to worry about that. I'll never hurt her—and she'll always stay by my side."
He didn't wait for a reply. As soon as the words left his mouth, he ended the call.
Laila looked at Roy, who tossed the phone onto the couch and couldn't help laughing. "He was just venting. Why take it so seriously?"
Roy pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly—but still mindful of the baby.
"Laila, you, me, and our child—we'll always be together," he whispered. He wouldn't give that man any chance. Let him dream until the day he dies.
Laila gently patted his shoulder and smiled. "We will. We'll be happy."
This love—something she had waited two lifetimes for—how could she not cherish it with everything she had?
Roy had only come to find her because it was almost time for the private screening. He hadn't expected to walk in just in time to hear Al Nadeem's voice coming through the phone.
He had fought so hard for this happiness. There was no way he was going to let anyone take it away. His wife, his child, his home, his future—he would guard it all with his own two hands. Even if it meant becoming a wolf, he would be the wall they could always lean on.
Laila knew he was sensitive sometimes—especially when it came to his sense of "territory." She hadn't expected him to overhear the call, and it had taken quite a bit of effort to calm him down. After that, she decided it was better to keep her distance from Al Nadeem altogether. Every time she had contact with him, something unpleasant seemed to follow. Was this what people meant by "astrological incompatibility"?
The screening room was on the fourth floor, with a capacity of 200—far better equipped than most other companies. Laila had specifically requested this setup. She was a filmmaker, after all. Whether watching her work or someone else's, she believed only the best conditions could truly reveal flaws that might be missed in standard viewing.
Some might argue, "If a movie looks fine under normal conditions, why spend so much on high-end equipment?"
But the answer was simple. These days, films are shown in multiple formats—2D, 3D, IMAX… Audiences with the means will naturally choose the better experience. With IMAX, even the tiniest pore on an actor's face can be seen in crystal clarity.
If a film could withstand that level of scrutiny and still show no flaws—that was a true success. That had always been Laila's standard.
As she walked into the theater, she spotted Leonardo and the screenwriter among a small group deep in discussion.
"Laila! You're so late—I'm dying over here!" Leonardo called out the moment he saw her.
When it came to anticipation, he was second to none. The fact that he had invested in the project himself showed how much he believed in the script. He had even said before filming began that this might be his closest shot at an Oscar yet.
"I'm here." Laila handed the final cut to the projectionist as she entered.
By the time she took her seat, the film was already starting.
The version she shot shared only one thing with the original film: the source material. Compared to the historical version, Laila's adaptation was tighter in pace and richer in emotional depth. She didn't just showcase brutality—she wove in moments of tenderness and complex human relationships. Perhaps this was the unique gift of a female director.
For nearly two hours, no one in the theater uttered a word. No one even got up for the restroom. Everyone was completely absorbed.
When the final scene faded to black, they all let out a long breath—then erupted into applause.
"That was brilliant. Laila has created another masterpiece!" the company executives were elated. As long as Laila kept delivering films like this, the company's future would be secure.
They knew this film wasn't going to be a box office juggernaut—it didn't have the appeal of a commercial blockbuster. But for serious filmmakers, crafting a classic was the ultimate pursuit.
It was like the Eastern concept of liú fāng bǎi shì—leaving a legacy that would last a hundred generations. A true classic could be watched ten, twenty, or even a hundred years from now and still be relevant. If they could create such a film, their names would be remembered alongside it forever.
"Leo's performance deserves an Oscar," Roy said, still reeling from what he'd seen. He hadn't expected his friend to rise so completely to Laila's demanding vision. His performance had layers and tension—gone was the overly technical style from his earlier roles. It was like he'd finally opened up.
Leonardo himself sat frozen long after the film ended, still wearing a stunned expression. If it weren't for the fact that the face on screen was unmistakably his, he might not have believed it was him.
He had felt improvement while filming, and he'd seen clips here and there. But seeing it all stitched together…
"This is unbelievable…" he murmured as if his brain couldn't form another thought.