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SH - Chapter 70: The days go by
🕑 Added 2025-12-05 15:58:43 +0000 UTC“Mind if I sit here?” Jenna asked.
"Sure, go ahead," Owen replied, making a gentle gesture for her to take a seat.
Jenna set down the cup of coffee she’d grabbed from the buffet and settled in across from him.
Only then did she look at him directly, as if reminding herself of basic formality. “Oh, right… good morning.”
Owen was already used to that part of her: polite, composed, slightly distant, but always respectful. It was part of the professionalism that defined her.
“Good morning, Jenna. Sleep well?” Owen asked as he locked his phone screen.
“Yes,” she nodded. “You?”
“Good, thankfully,” Owen nodded back.
A silence followed, one that didn’t feel awkward. Not for Owen, not for Jenna.
During the two weeks of rehearsals, Owen had observed enough to form a clear impression of her, though he wasn’t the type to analyze people invasively. He only took note of patterns when they were relevant to the work.
In Jenna’s case, there were many details that stood out for someone who had just turned twenty.
She was disciplined, punctual, and straightforward. She always arrived with her lines learned, her own analysis of the character, and notes in her notebook that she reviewed carefully.
She made very few mistakes with her lines, if she improvised, it was never because she forgot something, it was because she realized, mid-scene, that a change made sense and improved the moment. Her work ethic was impeccable.
And when they acted together, they elevated each other. The chemistry between their characters had been obvious from the first audition, but now, after two weeks building scenes, adjusting rhythms, refining silences and energies, it was even stronger.
They worked well together, but that connection was strictly professional.
On a personal level, neither had tried to cross that line. They weren’t friends, and neither seemed to be looking for that. They respected each other, worked well together, and kept a natural distance that both seemed to prefer.
They had exchanged a dry joke here and there during rehearsals, small sparks of humor that slipped through unintentionally, but nothing more. Owen would describe it as professional compatibility. Jenna would too.
To Owen, that compatibility was valuable. He’d had co-stars with whom maintaining a steady rhythm or dealing with problematic attitudes was a challenge.
With Jenna, it was different: no drama, no issues. Everything flowed smoothly and efficiently.
The same waiter returned and placed Owen’s breakfast trays in front of him, then took Jenna’s order before leaving again.
“You’re the first one down,” Jenna remarked once the waiter walked away.
Owen aligned his tray with almost symmetrical precision before answering.
He nodded, without needing to look at her directly. “I like being ready early and having a quiet breakfast.”
Jenna nodded too, as if she understood that reasoning perfectly.
Then she hesitated for a moment. “Am I bothering you?”
If Owen wanted to eat alone, she didn’t want to invade his space. But at the same time, arriving and seeing him there, it would’ve felt strange to greet him and sit elsewhere when the place was empty. Besides, they were co-stars, they worked well together, and both were there for the job.
“No. I don’t mean that. I’m talking about the ambient noise.”
The filming crew exceeded fifty people. Eating with everyone around, overlapping conversations, chairs scraping, production orders, voices mixing, wasn’t ideal for someone like him.
It wasn’t that he couldn’t handle it, he simply preferred avoiding it when he had the choice.
That’s why he preferred coming here thirty or forty minutes early.
“You’re quiet,” Owen added. “And we can talk about the first scenes. It’s nice to have company for breakfast.”
Jenna arched a brow, processed the comment, and then nodded. It was a compliment, subtle, perfectly aligned with the way they both communicated. It didn’t feel awkward.
“Are you used to getting up early?” Owen asked.
“Yes. When I filmed Wednesday, the Netflix series I did, I had to wake up at four-thirty in the morning… I didn’t like it, but I got used to it.”
“That’s insanely early,” Owen said.
He knew it was common in film shoots, but he also knew that most productions tried to keep friendlier schedules: call times between seven and eight in the morning, days ending around four or five in the afternoon.
“Yes,” Jenna agreed. “It was intense.”
And it had been.
Waking up early wasn’t difficult for Jenna if the production required it, she was disciplined. But if given the choice, she would never set an alarm for four or five a.m.
She liked staying up at night reading, reviewing scripts or watching a show. Her ideal schedule would be waking up around eight.
Jenna’s breakfast arrived shortly after.
It was placed in front of her with the same quiet discretion as Owen’s, and she thanked the server with a small nod.
They both began eating while talking calmly about the first scene of the day, continuity adjustments, and certain emotional-tone details Elijah wanted to reinforce.
Around six-thirty, the buffet began to fill up.
First came a few members of the technical crew, then several supporting actors who had scenes scheduled for the day. The atmosphere, which minutes earlier had been silent, started to grow livelier and noisier.
Owen and Jenna had already finished their breakfast and were discussing a particular scene. Barely a few minutes passed before several people approached to greet them or ask if they could sit with them.
It was the first day, and it was normal for everyone to seek some interaction with the leads, especially with Owen, who had become the hottest name in the industry over the last few days.
Among those who approached was Madison Iseman, the actress playing Cassidy, an important supporting character, though not with enough scenes to stay for the entire shoot.
Madison was twenty-five and had a solid résumé for her age. Her most recognized roles included:
-Goosebumps 2 (2018) - lead
-Annabelle Comes Home (2019) - lead
-Jumanji: Welcome to the Jungle (2017)
-Jumanji: The Next Level (2019)
In the Jumanji films her role was more secondary, as the main leads were Dwayne Johnson, Kevin Hart, Jack Black, and Karen Gillan, who occupied most of the screen time.
In this reality, both Jumanji and Annabelle still existed.
Owen hadn’t watched them fully in his first life, so the franchises existed here too. He didn’t mind.
In fact, the real Jumanji for him was the 1995 one with Robin Williams, the one he’d watched as a kid. The 2017 reinvention with The Rock had seemed entertaining: a group of teenagers transported into a virtual-game world with completely different avatars. He’d seen it and didn’t remember it as a bad movie.
He never got around to watching the 2019 one. He didn’t find the time, and it didn’t interest him much anyway, people said it was repetitive and that Dwayne Johnson acted exactly the same as always.
Still, both films had been box-office monsters:
2017 → 962 million
2019 → 800 million
An absurd amount of money.
For Owen, that period had been practically the absolute peak of Dwayne Johnson’s popularity. Everything he did was a hit; he even became the highest-paid actor in Hollywood during those years.
His most recent downfall had been Jungle Cruise (2021), which cost around 200 million and barely grossed about 220 million. A massive stumble for someone of his caliber. Many critics agreed: “it’s the same as always, The Rock acting like The Rock.”
Even so, he still carried enormous weight in the industry. And all his fans were eagerly waiting for his next film: DC’s Black Adam, set to premiere that very Friday, October 21st.
As for Jumanji, even if Owen had watched the 2019 film, it would still exist in this reality anyway: it was based on a children’s book he had never read.
Regarding Annabelle, he had never liked its sequels. He only saw the first one, and the second seemed so bad to him that he lost interest in the entire saga. And considering that Annabelle was part of The Conjuring universe, with multiple spin-offs and sequels, he would’ve needed to watch all of those films for them not to exist here.
Returning to Madison, the situation was curious.
She had landed major lead roles and supporting parts where she shared the screen with huge actors. And yet, here she was now, playing a supporting role in a 3 million-dollar independent film.
What had happened?
The answer was simple: time. Her professional momentum had taken place between 2016 and 2019. But after Annabelle Comes Home, her trajectory thinned out.
She had a project in 2021, but it went unnoticed, no media impact, no commercial success and no critical praise.
And although that collection of work was solid, it didn’t place her in the category of “young rising star.” She wasn’t a Zendaya, Tom Holland, or Florence Pugh type, cases where one or two projects are enough to turn them into global faces whose value remains high even if they go two or three years without a major role.
Madison never got that leap, and that’s why her asking price dropped after nearly four years without anything noteworthy.
Joshua Eady and a few other supporting cast members joined as well.
With the table filling up, the noise level in the room rose sharply.
Madison was the first to speak, approaching with overflowing energy.
“Good morning, Owen, Jenna!” she greeted enthusiastically.
Her voice was a bit louder than what Owen and Jenna would’ve preferred at that hour.
Joshua joined in. “Hey, guys! Ready for the big day?”
The rest of the supporting actors greeted them too, all wide smiles, the typical energy of a first day on set, when everyone wants to make a good impression on the leads, the director, or any producer present.
“Hey, guys. Morning. Yeah, a little nervous,” Owen said. His tone was warm and approachable, not exaggerated, but not distant either.
“Whoa, the golden boy is nervous! That’s new,” Joshua joked with a big smile, earning laughter from the others.
Owen laughed as well, lightly. Jenna, on the other hand, made a barely perceptible grimace and lifted her head in a minimal greeting. It wasn’t rude, she simply wasn’t someone who enjoyed having a big group invade her space so early.
In Hollywood, connections matter.
And many wanted to get on Owen’s good side for that very reason. It was almost inevitable: he was the guy whose indie film had already surpassed 75 million and kept climbing.
The one who made it for 20 thousand dollars and kept a percentage of the box office. And the same one who had written the original script for the movie they were about to shoot.
Everyone looked at him with a mix of respect, curiosity, and a desire to impress him.
Owen sensed it instantly.
If he hadn’t been a producer, if he were only an actor, like in his first life, he would probably have been just like Jenna: a brief greeting, basic courtesy, and keeping his distance from overly forward strangers.
But having managed projects, hired people, even on a small scale, since it had only been one feature film and then several short films, all of that had made him more sociable in professional contexts.
The conversation flowed for a few minutes.
Owen finished the last of his coffee without contributing much. Jenna didn’t say a single word.
At one point, Owen looked more closely at Joshua Eady: tall, probably over 6'2", twenty-six years old, muscular, with the perfect look for the kind of young heartthrob Netflix loved to cast.
He searched his memory for Joshua’s filmography. He remembered only one thing: The Kissing Booth 1, 2, and 3. Supporting roles in all of them.
Owen had tried watching the first film. It was a phenomenon when it came out, practically a flagship title for Netflix at the time.
He genuinely tried to get through it, but he couldn’t. The acting, the pacing, the script, the tone… every critical fiber of his being, the part obsessed with improving his own craft, recoiled while watching it. He quit before even reaching the halfway point.
He remembered the exact feeling he had while watching it: How can a project with such mediocre performances exist and still be a hit?
The answer was simple: movies like that worked because they captured a very specific audience.
Mostly teenagers, especially young girls, looking for light romances, simple plots, contemporary fantasies, and aspirational tones.
In fact, the story came from Wattpad, which already said a lot.
The same phenomenon that made sagas like Twilight enormous: works that didn’t stand out for acting quality, direction, or writing, but for the immediate emotional effect they produced on their target audience.
Owen could absolutely enjoy mainstream cinema, in fact, he did, but mainstream with ambition.
Films like Civil War, Avengers: Infinity War, Batman Begins, The Dark Knight, Avatar, The Lord of the Rings, or Joker felt like cultural events to him, well-crafted spectacles with solid narratives and memorable performances.
That was the kind of commercial cinema he admired: entertaining, epic, emotionally powerful, and well-made.
But productions like Twilight or The Kissing Booth had always clashed with him.
Not because they targeted an audience he wasn’t part of, but because behind their success he found nothing to respect: no strong acting, no carefully built stories, no competent direction.
He couldn’t defend them just because they performed well at the box office or on streaming.
“Oh, right, Owen, congrats!” Madison said suddenly.
Owen, still immersed in thoughts far more interesting than the group conversation, looked at her calmly. “For what?”
Madison let out a short laugh, as if the answer were obvious, and gave him a playful nudge on the shoulder. The gesture made Owen raise a brow.
“Your movie passed seventy-five million at the box office. That’s why!”
“Oh, right,” Joshua added as it hit him, “Congrats, man. You must be making a fortune, huh?”
“The movie is great. I’ve already watched it twice. It really deserves it,” another guy said.
Within seconds, everyone began congratulating him at once.
Owen kept a neutral expression, listening without engaging too much, until the wave of compliments slowed and they all looked at him, waiting for a reaction.
“Thanks. It’s great that the movie is doing so well,” Owen said in a neutral tone.
His tone was so reserved that several people looked at him strangely, as if they had been expecting excitement, surprise, or something more expressive.
Jenna, who had been silent for several minutes, lifted her empty cup to her lips to hide a restrained smile. Watching Owen remain so unmoved in the face of such obvious flattery was… slightly amusing to her.
A moment later, Jenna stood up with natural fluidity, like someone who had decided to leave long before actually doing so.
“I’m going to my room to get ready. See you in a bit,” Jenna said, her polite tone directed mostly at Owen.
Jenna was already ready, of course. But she had no intention of spending fifteen more minutes listening to artificial compliments aimed at Owen.
“See you,” Owen replied, tilting his head in a brief gesture.
Jenna left, and Owen remained trapped there. The next ten minutes felt like a small, silent torture. The conversation, which had initially been general, eventually circled back to him.
Now it wasn’t congratulations anymore, it was improvised analysis of his projects:
“Your short Lights Out passed twenty-eight million views, right?”
“Incredible that all your shorts get accepted at Short of The Week.”
“That ending was brutal, man.”
“How did you even come up with One Minute Time Machine? It’s amazing.”
Owen responded with professional politeness, but internally the experience was exhausting. Talking about his work didn’t bother him. What drained him was the insistence, the exaggerated tone, and the obvious need everyone had to impress him.
He began to wonder if it was really worth being so approachable. Fortunately, he spotted an escape.
A few meters away, Elijah called from another table, “Owen, do you have a moment? I want to go over a detail from the second scene.”
Owen stood up immediately, mentally thanking the interruption. “Sure,” he replied, raising his voice.
The conversation with Elijah was concise and professional. Exactly the kind of interaction he preferred.
That’s how the first week of filming went: six intense, efficient days without major setbacks. On Saturday the 22nd, at three in the afternoon, Elijah wrapped the day, a half-day, just as planned.
Tomorrow, Sunday, would be a full day off for everyone.
On the way back to the hotel, the van was full, with an atmosphere far more relaxed than at the start of the week. Some actors chatted about the shoot, others listened to music, several scrolled through their phones.
Owen, seated by the window, watched the scenery pass by. When the van arrived at the hotel, he had barely stood up to head to his room when Madison intercepted him.
“Owen, hey… do you have a minute?” she asked, smiling.
“Yes, what’s up?” Owen asked.
“We’re planning to go out tonight. Watch Black Adam and then get dinner.”
Her tone was lively, as if expecting the idea to sound irresistible. Owen blinked once, analyzing the offer.
'Not even if someone pointed a gun at me,' he thought. But he didn’t say it.
In fact, the idea of watching Black Adam interested him. He wanted to see the movie, just not with this overly flattering group that constantly put him at the center of everything.
“Who’s going?” Owen asked, purely out of courtesy, though in his mind he already had a firm no.
“Joshua, two girls from makeup, three from lighting, and…” she listed several more names.
She did not mention Jenna’s name.
Owen wasn’t surprised. It was obvious she had either already turned down the invitation or they hadn’t even bothered asking her.
“Sounds fun. But I won’t be able to go. I have work to do, and I want to use the night off to get ahead on some things,” Owen said without hesitation.
There was no coldness in his tone, but there was a quiet firmness that made it clear he wouldn’t change his mind.
Madison’s eyes widened slightly, surprised. Not because of the no, but because she had expected at least a hint of doubt, or a somewhat apologetic tone.
“Oh… well. Alright. Your loss, it’s going to be fun,” Madison said at last, trying to keep her enthusiasm intact.
“Probably. Have a good time.”
“Thanks. See you tomorrow.”
Owen went up to his room. He took a hot shower, changed into comfortable clothes, and started a video call with Sophie that lasted over an hour. They talked about their week, the shoot, and everyday things. Then he called his mother, who updated him on the meeting with A3 and bombarded him with affectionate questions. He also spoke briefly with Sarah, who told him some details about her day.
When he finished the calls, he lay down for a moment and watched a couple of episodes of a series. At seven, he ordered room service and ate in peace.
After dinner, he turned on his laptop, opened the project folder, and began working on what truly interested him: Good Will Hunting.
The script was already finished. And even though the money hadn’t arrived yet, there was still plenty he could advance without needing the full budget.
Pre-production could start immediately.
He could break down the script scene by scene, list all the required locations, the number of actors per sequence, wardrobe and prop elements, special props.
He could also create a preliminary shooting schedule, estimate how many days he would need for each block, and organize the timing for exteriors and interiors.
Another thing he could do was prepare a professional initial budget, detailing estimated salaries, equipment costs, permits, logistics, post-production, and marketing. That way, once everything was ready, he could measure the film’s cost with solid precision.
In reality, he could advance a tremendous amount without a single dollar deposited.
While he sank into that focused work mode, hours passed. Until someone knocked on the door. The sharp sound pulled him abruptly out of his concentration. He blinked and looked at the time on the screen: eleven-thirty at night.
Owen exhaled tiredly, irritated by the sudden break in rhythm. He got up, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and walked toward the door with slow steps.
When he opened it, he froze. Standing there was Madison, dressed in comfortable sleepwear, a light set with a robe, casual, nighttime attire, and clearly out of place for a visit at that hour.
'This is not good,' Owen thought with a slight grimace.
Madison was smiling, as if there were nothing strange about showing up at someone’s hotel room door so late on a Saturday night.
Comments
Hannibal St.Michael
Another difference from his previous life was apparently he didn't need a chaperone to protect his virtue like he does now. I can only hope this doesn't blow up on him in some way.
Rivalty
TFTC
