Scotland was quiet in a way that felt ancient.
Mist rolled over the hills beyond the castle set, swallowing the lights one by one as filming wrapped for the night. Julian stood alone on the stone balcony, costume cloak hanging loosely from his shoulders, the chill biting through layers of wool and pride.
A few hours ago, he had been spiraling.
Producers whispering behind his back. A co star pushing boundaries in scenes that were never meant to blur into something personal. Directors reminding him how replaceable he was if he refused to cooperate.
Then Victoria had called.
Grandma Victoria did not yell. She never needed to.
She had listened to his frustration, then said in her calm, razor sharp voice, "You are acting like a boy waiting for permission. You built your name yourself. Why are you letting them write your worth?"
He had not answered.
She continued, "If they want to play chess, then play. But stop letting them move your pieces."
