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The heavy door of the black car opened, and Michael stepped out onto the damp grass of the Somerset countryside.
The air was cool and smelled of rain and wet soil. Behind him, Evans climbed out, carefully stepping over a puddle to protect his expensive Italian shoes.
"Evans," Michael asked, adjusting his jacket, "do the director and the studio representatives actually know we have arrived?"
Evans checked his phone. "They should. I sent a message ten minutes ago, assuming I haven't lost my mind from the stress of international travel."
Michael looked around the massive base camp of trailers and equipment trucks.
Before he could ask where to go, a small electric golf cart came buzzing down the gravel path.
Two middle-aged men were squeezed into the front seat. They parked the cart with a sudden jerk and scrambled out.
"Mr. Owen! Evans! Welcome to Somerset," the first man said, out of breath. "I'm Andrew, the representative from the Netflix. And this is Greg from BBC."
Greg gave a nervous, tight smile. He was sweating bullets, nervously dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief despite the chilly English weather.
"Please, hop in," Andrew said, gesturing to the back of the cart. "We'll take you down to the main stage."
Michael and Evans squeezed into the back seat, and the golf cart hummed to life.
As they bumped along the path, Andrew made polite small talk about the flight and the local weather. Greg, however, looked like he was preparing to jump out of a moving vehicle.
Finally, Greg turned around in his seat, clutching his handkerchief.
"Mr. Owen," Greg started, his voice shaking slightly. "I know this is highly unusual. We all know you prefer your privacy, and everyone in the industry respects that the 'little genius' doesn't like to show his face to the public. But... the marketing team was wondering. Would you be open to doing a short video interview? Just you and the cast? It would be massive for the show's publicity."
Evans immediately opened his mouth to shut the idea down.
He knew Michael's strict rules about avoiding the cameras.
But Michael held up a hand, stopping his manager.
He thought for a few seconds.
He remembered the quiet intense situation during his interview. He remembered the promise he made to Thomas LeClair. "I want unyielding success. I refuse to waste a single second."
Those were not empty words. If he wanted to build an empire, he had to step out of the shadows.
"I will do the interview," Michael said calmly.
Greg almost dropped his handkerchief.
Andrew hit the brakes a little too hard.
"You... you will?" Greg asked, his eyes wide with shock. "Mr. Owen, thank you. Thank you so much for understanding and agreeing to such an unfair request. You have no idea what this means for the network."
"Just make sure the lighting is good," Evans chimed in, quickly recovering from his surprise and slipping back into manager mode.
The golf cart rolled to a stop outside a massive cluster of lights, cameras, and thick black cables.
"We are here," Andrew announced happily.
Evans hopped off the cart and clapped his hands. "Alright. Andrew, Greg, take me to the production tent. We need to talk about interview dates, syndication rights, and payment options before my client gets anywhere near a microphone."
Evans looked back at Michael. "Just roam around for a bit, Michael. Don't sign anything. I'll come find you, and then we will meet the director."
Michael nodded and slipped his hands into his pockets.
As Evans and the two happy representatives walked away, Michael turned and walked quietly onto the actual set.
It was completely silent.
Nobody stopped him. Nobody asked for his autograph. He wasn't wearing a name tag, and because he had kept his face hidden for so long, to the crew, he was just another young intern or extra wandering around.
The set wasn't quiet because the famous author had arrived. It was quiet because they were rolling.
Michael stood behind a row of tall canvas chairs, looking past the camera operators.
He saw the familiar setting of the Bell house. And then, he saw them.
Pip and Ravi. Emma Myers and Zain Iqbal.
Michael stood perfectly still. His eyes grew wide.
It was the climax of the season. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife.
Zain stepped forward, his expression soft and vulnerable. Emma looked up at him.
Michael couldn't move his eyes away from her. Emma's bright, expressive face was captivating.
They moved closer. The camera tracked their movement smoothly.
He watched, as Emma leaned in and kissed Zain.
If this was an anime you could literally hear Michael face cracking like a glass.
"Why do I feel pain?" Michael thought.
The pain was so intense that Michael had to get out of there and wear some sunglasses so that people would not see his red eyes.
"Cut! Print that!" the director's voice suddenly echoed through the quiet room.
"Beautiful job, you two!"
The whole cast was there; they found themselves cheering at the kiss.
"Okay, it's lunchtime. Eat up; we have more work to do after this," the director said while asking his assistant in a low voice, "Did Mr. Owen come to the set?"