Chapter 249
Emily Smith stared at the script in her hands, her fingertips lightly tracing the edge of the paper. The air conditioning in Flying Fish Culture's recording studio was set too high, yet her palms felt warm.
"Ready?" Ethan He handed her a glass of water, his voice hushed.
She nodded and flipped to the marked page. The lines she'd received just half an hour ago were already memorized.
The sound engineer gave a signal.
"I thought I'd never see you again." Emily's voice suddenly shifted, trembling slightly but laced with defiance.
The director's eyes lit up.
Her improvised English translation flowed more naturally than the original. When the recording ended, the producer couldn't help but applaud.
"Miss Smith, your performance was stunning." The producer handed her a business card. "We'll get back to you soon."
As she stepped out of the building, the sunset painted the sky. Ethan suggested celebrating, and she didn't refuse.
Neon lights from the street food stalls glared brightly. Ethan shared amusing anecdotes from the voice-acting world, making her laugh uncontrollably. A few drops of iced plum juice splashed onto the tablecloth when their glasses clinked, leaving dark stains.
Her phone vibrated. The caller ID made her smile falter.
"What is it?" She moved to a quieter corner.
Silence lingered on the other end for a few seconds.
"What are you doing?" William Johnson's voice came through the line, deeper than usual.
The aroma of grilled skewers wafted over. Ethan waved a lamb skewer at her, and irritation prickled under her skin.
"I'm having dinner with a friend," she heard herself say. "If there's nothing important, I'll hang up now."
Laughter erupted behind her. Whatever Ethan said had the neighboring table in stitches.
The line remained silent. Emily stared at a crack on the ground, counted to three, and ended the call.
When she returned to the table, Ethan was peeling crayfish. His plastic gloves were slick with red oil, but his movements were deft.
"Work call?" he asked without looking up.
Emily hummed in response and placed her phone face-down.
Meanwhile, in the penthouse of Jinzhou Bay, William glared at the darkened screen, his knuckles white.
The floor-to-ceiling windows reflected his stormy expression. The city lights sprawled beneath him, but their glow couldn't penetrate the icy room.
He dialed Sam Wilson's number, his voice sharp as frost. "Find out who she's eating with."
The video arrived quickly. The sight of Emily throwing her head back in laughter made his eyes sting. When the bespectacled man leaned in to whisper in her ear, William hurled his phone onto the sofa.
A sharp pain twisted in his gut. He remembered the last time at the hospital—Emily had looked at him with the same detached gaze.
Sam called again. "Boss, his name is Ethan He. He's in the same industry. Aside from the audition, Miss Smith hasn't met anyone else these past few days."
William scoffed. The way Ethan handed Emily a napkin in the footage reeked of ulterior motives.
"Keep watching," he ground out through clenched teeth. "Especially that Ethan He."
Outside, lightning split the sky. The summer storm arrived sudden and fierce, raindrops hammering against the glass like the dial tone of a call abruptly cut off.