The gang leader stared at the newspaper, his eyes flickering with greed. "So, if she agrees to make a movie for me, she could earn me hundreds of millions?"
The man nearly laughed out loud. 'Getting Hollywood's top director to make a movie for some underground gangster? Is this a joke?'
But of course, he couldn't say that out loud—unless he wanted to find out whether the gun at his waist would end up pressed against his temple.
"If she agrees, then of course it's possible."
*But who is she, and who are you?* The money she made from a single film was more than he'd earn in a lifetime. Why would she ever work for him? The man had heard from his girlfriend that this director wasn't just rich from movies—she owned a company and came from an insanely wealthy family. She lived in a completely different world! And yet, the boss thought he could get her to make movies for him? Was he joking?
But the gang leader was dead serious. He was barely literate, a man who lived in a world of diamonds and bullets. The people he dealt with were either rivals fighting for the same business or underlings who submitted to his violence.
Movies, directors, actors—all of that was completely foreign to him. In his mind, the cheap, boring films shown in small theaters couldn't have cost much to make. He never imagined they could bring in such insane profits!
At this point, he no longer cared about retrieving the lost diamond. Compared to the temptation of billions, a missing gem worth a few million had lost its appeal. Now, he had only one thought—to invite Laila over and have her make a movie for him. If it earned hundreds of millions, he'd keep her working for him forever!
'One movie could make billions—how much could she earn in a lifetime?' He'd be set for life! Why bother with diamonds?
Meanwhile, Laila, resting in her hotel room, had no idea that the security threat she'd worried about—Leonardo—had already been dismissed by the gangster. Instead, *she* had become his new obsession.
But the gang leader hadn't risen to his position by being completely delusional. To survive in this world, one needs both brute force and brains. So before making a move, he decided to gather more intel on his target.
---
The next morning, Laila woke to the sound of Roy getting out of bed.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you." He had tried to move quietly, but she was a light sleeper.
She shook her head and sat up. "It's not your fault. I didn't sleep well."
"Then rest a little longer. You barely slept last night."
"I won't feel at ease until we leave this city." Especially after last night—she had tossed and turned, unable to shake the unsettling feeling that someone was watching her.
Roy leaned down and kissed her forehead. "You're overthinking it. This country isn't as bad as you think. If Leo and I hadn't gotten tangled up in trouble, we would've had a great time here."
Laila knew he was just trying to comfort her, but it didn't help much. Still, she didn't argue—she didn't want him worrying about her any more than he already was.
---
That morning, Laila spent her time coordinating the crew and planning the next steps for filming. In the afternoon, the same official from yesterday arrived to escort her to the press conference they had scheduled.
"About the security personnel—has your side still not finalized the arrangements?" Laila was used to a fast-paced workflow, and the delays were grating on her. If one of her employees had dragged their feet like this, they'd have been sidelined long ago.
The official sensed her irritation but wasn't bothered. "Don't worry, everything will be ready by tomorrow."
'Another day wasted.' Laila's expression darkened.
"It seems your country is very confident about its security."
The official grinned, flashing a set of gleaming white teeth. "Well, our crime rate is much lower than America's."
"..." Laila had no rebuttal. The crime rate in the U.S. was something only those who lived there could truly grasp. On TV, American nightlife might seem glamorous, but how many ordinary people wander the streets after dark?
Just look at how Batman's parents died—armed robbers were *everywhere*. Cities like Chicago and London reported shootings daily. The chaos was something Laila, in her past life, could never have imagined.
Seeing that he'd stumped her, the official's smile widened with a baffling sense of pride, as if he'd just defeated the great American empire.
---
The press conference was held in the hotel's first-floor ballroom. Since morning, reporters—including foreign journalists—had been gathering, all hoping for exclusive details about Laila and her new film. After all, she was *the* hottest director in Hollywood right now.
Whoever got the scoop stood to make a small fortune.
Unfortunately, Laila's notorious dislike for interviews meant most requests were rejected before they even reached her. The reporters had no choice but to wait, hoping to dig up something explosive during the Q&A.
So when Laila finally stepped onto the stage, she was immediately bombarded by a blinding storm of camera flashes.
The host was a stunning woman with chocolate-brown skin, pearly white teeth, and a radiant smile.
'Then again, Charlize Theron is also South African,' Laila mused. *No surprise to see another beautiful local.*
The host gave a brief introduction, summarizing Laila's career highlights. She could have gone into more detail, but if she had, the presentation might have lasted an hour—and the impatient journalists would have torn her apart.
After all, they hadn't flown all the way here to listen to a host ramble, no matter how pretty she was.
Once the formalities wrapped up, the reporters finally got their chance.
Laila had already set the rules with the host: 'Each journalist could ask only one question.' Otherwise, they'd swarm her endlessly, and the conference would drag on forever.
This was standard practice for her press events. Those familiar with her work weren't surprised, and newcomers didn't care—as long as 'someone' got to ask the burning questions. If they didn't get a turn, they could always spin their own stories from others' answers later.