After snapping a photo of the strange symbol, Becky followed Tee back to the main area where the rest of the crew had gathered. Staff members greeted her with warm smiles, and she returned the gestures politely. Meanwhile, Becky opened her phone, searching Google for clues about the symbol she had just photographed.
But before she could dig deeper, she was interrupted.
"Becky, where were you? I've been calling, but you didn't answer," Mee said as she approached with the scriptwriter in tow.
"Huh? Why?" Becky asked, confused.
"We've been looking for you. There's a meeting with the production crew and the director—it's urgent."
"I'm sorry. Tee and I were just walking around. We didn't realize there was a meeting," Becky replied, guilt creeping into her voice.
"It's alright," the scriptwriter said. "The writer of the novel finally showed up. He's asking for revisions—says some parts don't meet his standards. We have to rewrite sections before filming resumes."
Becky followed them through the hallways of the mansion until they reached a room where the meeting was to be held. Inside, everyone had already arrived—including Tee, who had apparently gotten there before her.
As she stepped in, Becky overheard Director Nuttapong speaking to a man in a white long-sleeved shirt. She didn't pay much attention; his face was obscured, and she couldn't make him out. The room was still settling down, no one properly seated yet, indicating the meeting hadn't officially started.
She wondered—Is he a new cast member or a guest?
"Beckzy, sit with us!" Jim called out cheerfully. Becky smiled and joined them.
Then the room fell silent as Director Nuttapong stepped forward.
"The author of the novel we're adapting is finally here," he began. "He's agreed to join the project fully, to help bring the story to life in the best way possible. We're lucky to have his input—he wants the adaptation to stay true to his vision."
All eyes turned toward the man beside him. He was still wearing a hat, mask, and sunglasses—disguised entirely.
"I bet he's hiding because he's ugly," Kirk whispered to Saint, smirking. "And now he shows up after all our attempts to invite him?"
Saint didn't look amused. "I didn't ask for your opinion."
"I was just jok—"
"Get your mouth away from me. Shut it." Saint leaned away, covering his nose in disgust.
Kirk recoiled, then subtly checked his breath. His face twisted in realization.
Director Nuttapong continued, "Let me formally introduce our writer—Mr. Cute Guy, the creator of this beautiful story."
There was awkward applause. Everyone was still trying to figure him out.
"Sir Cute Guy, maybe take off the mask?" Kirk joked. "If you don't mind, of course."
"Yes, please! We want to see your face!" Kade chimed in. Others agreed. Even Jim was nodding excitedly.
Nuttapong and Saint exchanged nervous glances. The writer had requested anonymity from the start. He'd even provided the mansion for the shoot and invested significant money—without asking for anything in return. Nobody knew his real motives.
But to their surprise, Mr. Cute Guy nodded. "Oh my, of course—I don't mind."
Gasps echoed through the room as he removed his hat, glasses, and finally, his mask—revealing a face so striking it left everyone momentarily frozen.
Ext. Far upper corner of a parking lot with a clear shot of the mansion
The photographer's camera dropped. He hadn't managed to capture the moment—he was too stunned.
"Hey, what happened? Did you see something?" his colleague asked.
The man gave the camera to his friend and got out of the car where they posted; his colleague was left inside, dumbfounded, with the food he had just bought for the both of them.
"Bright? Where are you going?" his partner called after him, holding their untouched food.
"What the heck just happened to him?" he muttered, left in the dust.
Later that day
In mansion
Saint laughed along with the crew as Kade and Jim flubbed their lines again. His phone buzzed—an unknown number. He ignored it until he could get to a quiet room. By the time he answered, the call had ended.
He walked onto the terrace, breathing in the warm air. The sky was a soft, radiant blue. The sun cast golden light over the ocean in the distance.
"What a view," he murmured, hands in his jogger pockets. He wore a black t-shirt, gray joggers, and white sneakers—casual and effortless.
Suddenly, his head spun. Voices buzzed inside his skull—loud, chaotic.
He gripped the terrace door, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a bottle labeled Prozac. He swallowed a pill, gulping water from his bedside table.
Lying on his bed, he watched the sky outside. Birds chirped, and the voices slowly faded.
Then—his phone vibrated again.
"Hello?" he answered groggily.
"She's gone," the voice said.
"What are you talking about?" Saint sat up fast.
"She vanished. Like she was never here."
"Why the hell are you asking me if she's back?! You were with her! FIND HER!" Saint yelled, heart pounding.
"Where are you? I'm coming now," he barked into the phone, grabbing his keys.
But something felt wrong.
He checked his watch. 10:00 AM.
Yet, when he stepped outside—it was sunset.
"Where are you? I'm going there right now."Saint's voice was sharp with anger as he paced across the room. He checked his watch—10:00 a.m.
His brows furrowed. Why does it feel like that's not the real time?He shook the thought off and grabbed his keys from the table.
But when he stepped outside, the world was drenched in the warm gold of late afternoon light.
Confused, Saint looked up. Wasn't it just morning? The last thing he remembered was sitting on the terrace under a bright blue sky. He realized he must've lost track of time… or perhaps something stranger had happened.
He muttered under his breath, "Maybe I dozed off..." and slid into his car.
But his smartwatch caught his eye.
It was glitching—digits spinning rapidly. Then suddenly, it stopped.
5:30 p.m.
His heart rate appeared next on the screen—spiking.Saint stared, uneasy, but shook it off again. Focus.
He was about to drive when something outside caught his attention.
Becky was laughing with Kade and Jim as they rehearsed again. But it wasn't them he noticed.
It was Tee.
She stood beside Becky, staring directly at him. Not just looking—watching.There was curiosity in her expression… and something else. Something unreadable.
Saint blinked and looked away.
He turned the key. The engine had been running all along.
"That woman is up to something again and not telling me..." he muttered, then dialed Freen's number.
No answer.
He tried again. And again.
Still nothing.
His worry deepened. He knew this pattern. Freen never answered when she was doing something dangerous. Something she didn't want him to stop.
The phone finally connected—to Mr. Jaa.
"Hello? Have you found her already?" Saint's voice was tight.
"What do you mean?" came Mr. Jaa's calm reply.
Saint narrowed his eyes. "Don't play dumb. I know she's gone. I sent someone to follow them—both of them. I knew this might happen."
There was silence on the line.
Mr. Jaa finally sighed. "You're right. I've also lost her, Saint."
His honesty was bitter.
Saint gritted his teeth. He knew Jaa loved Freen too much—enough to lie for her.But this time, the weight of truth had crushed even him.
"No. Nothing, sir. We haven't found her yet," Mr. Jaa added, answering Saint's first question directly now.
Saint slammed the steering wheel. "What the hell are you saying?!"
He left a voicemail next, fury and desperation thick in his voice."Freen, where are you? If you don't tell me where you are, I'm calling the police. You know I will."
He redialed Jaa. "Have you tracked her phone already?" he asked. "She's not answering."
"That's where I'm headed now," Mr. Jaa said quietly.
"Send me the address."Saint didn't wait for confirmation before ending the call.
His knuckles were white on the wheel."Where are you, Freen...?" he whispered.