Franz’s study was different from Arianne’s.

Where hers was sparse and functional, his was lived-in. The shelves were lined with awards—some from his early career, small indie trophies from festivals she’d never heard of, and larger ones from the industry recognition that came later. Framed movie posters hung on the walls, each one representing a project he’d chosen, a character he’d built, a piece of the Noah Hart persona he’d constructed over more than a decade. The desk was cluttered with scripts and notes. The chairs were comfortable, arranged for conversation rather than intimidation.

This was the room where Franz Rochefort became Noah Hart, and it was here that he’d chosen to plan Noah’s next evolution.

Daryll and Monica arrived at ten in the morning. Aunt Estella showed them to the study and then disappeared, leaving behind a tray with coffee and a plate of the small pastries she insisted on making whenever anyone visited. Monica took a seat on the couch with her tablet already in hand. Daryll settled into the armchair near the window, his expression the particular blend of focused and relaxed that came from years of managing crises before they happened.

Arianne sat beside Franz. She wasn’t here to lead the meeting—this was his career, his decision, his team. Daryll had specifically asked her to be present, and she’d agreed. Her role was strategic partner, nothing more.

Daryll got straight to business. He didn’t waste time on pleasantries. "Bluegate Entertainment is expecting an answer soon about your contract renewal. I’ve been putting them off, but Lena Quinn isn’t patient. She wants to know if you’re staying or going."

He paused. "I’ve done some research on how agencies operate. The logistics, the legal requirements, the overhead. It’s not simple, but it’s not impossible. What I need to know is whether you’ve made up your mind."

Franz didn’t hesitate. "I’m leaving. I want to start my own agency. But I don’t want Bluegate to know what I’m planning until I’m ready to announce it. The transition needs to be clean. No drama. No burned bridges if I can avoid them."

"That’s going to be difficult." Daryll set his coffee down. "Starting an agency requires paperwork. Registrations. Office space. Staff hires. Lena Quinn has connections everywhere. She’ll hear about it before you’ve signed the first document."

"Then we need to be careful about how we move."

"We need to be invisible. That’s different from careful."

Arianne spoke for the first time. "How much influence does Bluegate have in the industry?"

Daryll turned to her. "Significant. They’re not the biggest, but they’re well-connected. It took a long time before they signed Noah—he was an independent for years before Lena made an offer. This is his sixth year with them."

"And Lena Quinn herself? What’s she like?"

"She’s capable. Very capable. She built Bluegate from a small talent agency into what it is today. She knows everyone. She remembers everything." He paused. "She can be petty and vindictive if she feels crossed. I’ve seen her freeze out actors who left her agency for competitors. Not publicly—she’s too smart for that. But quietly. Roles that suddenly became unavailable. Directors who stopped returning calls. A slow, careful strangulation of opportunities."

Arianne absorbed this. Her expression didn’t change. "Then we need to make sure she doesn’t feel crossed."

"That’s the challenge. She’s going to feel however she feels regardless of what we do."

"Not necessarily." Arianne leaned back in her chair. "Feelings can be managed. It depends on the narrative."

Monica looked up from her tablet. "The new agency can’t be tied to Noah immediately. We’d need to launch it under a different structure—a shell company, or at least a separate brand. Once his contract with Bluegate officially ends, he can make the connection public. But before that, there needs to be distance."

Arianne nodded. "That’s a good start. But even if the contract ends cleanly, if Bluegate feels betrayed, they could still pose obstacles afterward. Lena could blacklist him quietly. Spread rumors. Make sure certain doors stay closed."

"She’s done it before," Daryll said.

"Then we need a strategy that makes retaliation harder. If she attacks Noah after he leaves, we need the industry to see her as petty. We need to frame his departure as something she can’t oppose without looking bad."

Daryll set his cup down and looked at her directly. "If you were in Noah’s position, what would you do?"

Arianne didn’t answer immediately. She was thinking, turning the problem over in her mind the way she turned over hostile contracts and aggressive competitors. When she spoke, her voice was calm and certain.

"First, you keep silent until the contract ends. No hints. No whispers. No one outside this room knows what you’re planning. Complete professionalism. You fulfill every obligation, attend every meeting, show up for every commitment. Lena should have no reason to feel you’ve been dishonest."

Daryll nodded. "That’s already the plan."

"Second, once the new agency is public, you frame it carefully. Don’t announce it as a competitor to Bluegate or anyone else. Don’t position it as a power play. Instead, announce that the new agency will focus on giving opportunities to new talent. Young actors trying to break into the industry. Older actors who want a comeback. People the bigger agencies overlook."

Franz leaned forward. "So it’s not about me leaving. It’s about me mentoring."

"Exactly. You’re not a rival. You’re a talent developer. You’re giving back to the industry that gave you a career. Who can oppose that? If Lena attacks you after that announcement, she looks like she’s attacking new talent. She looks like she’s threatened by opportunity."

Daryll said nothing for a stretch. Then a slow smile crossed his face. "That’s good. That’s really good. It reframes the entire conversation."

"It minimizes the threat perception," Arianne said. "Other agencies won’t see you as competition. They’ll see you as a feeder system. A place where talent gets developed before moving on to bigger things. And if any of those talents end up staying with you, that’s just a natural consequence of good mentorship."

Monica was already typing notes. "We’d need to announce specific programs. A mentorship initiative. Maybe a showcase for new talent. Something concrete that backs up the narrative."

"Yes. Details matter. If you say you’re focusing on new talent, you need to actually focus on new talent. Sign a few unknown actors. Give them real opportunities. The story only works if it’s true."

"It will be true," Franz said. "I meant what I told Monica. I want to build something that matters. Something that helps people the way Alex helped me."

Daryll leaned back in his chair. "I’ll keep researching the logistics. The legal structure. The overhead. We’ll need a business plan before we move forward with anything concrete."

"Arianne’s going to help with that," Franz said.

Daryll glanced at her with something that might have been approval.

"Good. Then we have a strategy. Silence until the contract ends. A clean departure. A public focus on new talent. And a narrative that makes retaliation difficult."

"One more thing," Arianne said. "Lena Quinn. You’ve worked with her for six years. You know her better than anyone in this room. When the time comes to tell her, don’t let her hear it from anyone else. Tell her yourself. In person. Make her feel respected. It won’t eliminate the sting, but it might reduce the impulse to retaliate."

Daryll nodded. "That’s going to be an uncomfortable conversation."

"The most important ones usually are."

The meeting wound down shortly after. Daryll and Monica gathered their things—tablets, notes, the last of the pastries Aunt Estella had provided. At the door, Daryll paused.

"One question," he said, looking at Arianne. "You could have advised Noah to stay. To play it safe. Why didn’t you?"

Arianne met his eyes. "Because playing it safe isn’t what built his career. He took risks when he chose acting over the family business. He took risks when he separated Noah Hart from Franz Rochefort. This is the next risk. It’s the right one."

Daryll nodded. Then he and Monica were gone, their footsteps fading down the hallway.

Franz turned to Arianne. The study had emptied out, the coffee cups drained, the morning light coming flat through the windows.

"You’re good at this," he said.

"I’ve had practice."

"I know you have. I’m still grateful."

She didn’t answer. Her hand found his on the desk—quick, light—and then she withdrew it. Outside, the twins were at school. The estate had settled into the rhythm of late morning, and what came next would take time to shape.