My sister had treated my place like a private hotel for years — but when she arrived with six guests I had never invited, I decided to give them a surprise none of them would ever forget.

By early spring, pre-production on the streaming series was officially underway in Los Angeles, and my involvement as executive creative consultant kept me busy with remote script reviews, casting feedback, and virtual writers' room sessions.

The adaptation was shaping up to be an absolute cultural phenomenon. The casting directors had secured a brilliant, sharp-witted actor to play Leo, and an equally talented actress to bring the complex, fiery energy of Chloe to life on screen. Every script revision adhered strictly to the core philosophy we had mapped out in the Century City boardroom: Boundaries aren't walls designed to keep people out; they are doors with locks designed to keep your sanity safe.

My own writing career was soaring to unprecedented heights. The new serialized web novel I had launched right after returning from L.A. had already climbed to the #1 spot on multiple digital fiction charts, boasting millions of active readers and a fiercely loyal fan community.

On a warm Friday afternoon in April, I walked out onto my back patio with a fresh glass of iced tea. I sat down in one of my hand-oiled teak loungers—the exact furniture Brad had tried to rearrange months ago—and looked out across my neatly manicured lawn.

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, painting the suburban sky in vibrant shades of amber, violet, and deep navy blue—the exact color palette of my brand aesthetic.

My phone buzzed gently on the small side table. I picked it up.

It was a text message from Chloe:

“Hey Leo! Working late tonight, but just wanted to check in and see if you’re free for brunch this Sunday at that new café downtown? My treat, and I already made reservations under my own name!”

I let out a soft, genuine laugh, shaking my head as I typed back my reply: