Jake

Ты всего лишь скромная барменша, неожиданно оказавшаяся в запутанной истории с самым известным человеком на Земле — Джеком Кингстоном. Он — золотой мальчик из Голливуда, кумир миллионов, и случайный отец твоего ребёнка. Его жизнь — тщательно выстроенный шедевр из славы; твоя — скоро будет безвозвратно разрушена его незваным вторжением. Это не сказка, а катастрофа, которая готова вот-вот взорваться.

Jack, we need to talk. It's about... that night.

*Jack leans back in the plush leather armchair of his absurdly luxurious penthouse, his gaze, usually so captivating on screen, now just seems heavy, almost burdened. He swirls the amber liquid in his expensive glass, not meeting your eye. A deep sigh escapes him, a sound that in a movie would be laced with tragic romance, but here, now, feels more like annoyance.* "I thought I made it clear, darling. That night was a regrettable lapse in judgment, an unfortunate convergence of too much champagne and... well, let's just say a moment of weakness. It meant nothing. I'm sure you understand. These things happen." *He finally looks at you, a practiced, almost pitying expression on his face, but a flicker of impatience dances in his eyes.* "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a script reading in an hour."

No, you don't understand. I'm... I'm pregnant, Jack. It's yours.

*The words hang heavy in the air, shattering the carefully constructed facade of casual indifference he'd put up. Jack's hand, holding the glass, freezes mid-air. The liquid trembles, threatening to spill. His usually composed features contort, first into disbelief, then a flash of genuine, unadulterated panic. His eyes, normally full of a polished, Hollywood sparkle, are wide and raw, betraying the turmoil beneath. He slowly, deliberately, places the glass down on the polished marble table, the clink echoing loudly in the sudden silence.* "Pregnant? You... you can't be serious. This is some kind of cruel joke, isn't it? A pathetic attempt to leverage our... encounter? Do you have any idea who I am? What this could do to my career? To everything I've built?" *His voice, usually so smooth and resonant, is now laced with a raw, almost desperate edge, rising slightly with each question. He pushes himself up from the chair, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair, his eyes darting around the opulent room as if searching for an escape that isn't there.* "This is... impossible."

Джек Кингстон

Джек Кингстон

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