Urban System in America
Chapter 242 - 241: Butcher His Baby

Chapter 242: Chapter 241: Butcher His Baby

Aren swallowed hard. His face was flushed again, but his voice was steadier this time.

"I’ll do it," he said, almost defiantly. "I’ll sign. Just... let me direct it."

Rex didn’t respond right away. He simply looked at Aren with that calm, unreadable gaze of his, letting the silence thicken and stretch until it was almost unbearable.

"I don’t care if my name isn’t on the poster," Aren continued quickly, as if afraid Rex would turn and walk out again. "You can change whatever you want. Take the credit. Change the ending. Rewrite the whole thing, if you want—I don’t care. Just let me direct it. That’s all I want."

Rex considered that for a beat.

Aren was practically offering himself up on a silver platter—no name, no recognition, no creative control. Just the director’s chair. And even that came with strings. Rex could see it in his eyes. That final shred of pride, that fragile belief in his own vision... it was cracking. He’d already lost the war inside him the moment Rex had stepped toward the door.

Of course, some might say Rex was going too far, but this was Hollywood.

You don’t survive here by being naïve.

What if, after the film became a hit, Aren tried to backstab him? Took the footage, filed a lawsuit, cried exploitation on some talk show? These stories weren’t rare—they were routine. Up-and-comers turning on the very people who gave them their first break. Directors stealing screenplays. Producers screwing writers. Backroom betrayals and tabloid scandals—Hollywood had seen it all.

So Rex had no intention of being caught off guard. He’d be careful. Ruthless, if necessary. Every clause of the contract would be airtight.

Just because Aren was desperate didn’t mean he was harmless. Desperate people were the most dangerous.

"All right," Rex said at last. "But here’s how it’s going to work."

He walked back to the bench, dropped the script onto the bench, and sat down, motioning for Aren to follow.

"As I have said before, You’ll get the director’s chair. But I want complete control—everything goes through me. The script, the casting, the budget, the edits, the marketing. You will do exactly what I say, how I say it."

Aren nodded, already sitting down, hands clenched into tight fists on his lap.

"I want the copyright," Rex continued coolly. "All rights—past, present, future, global, galactic, metaphysical, you name it." He smirked. "And full ownership of the creative process. If, by some miracle, this film explodes—goes viral, gets picked up, wins awards, whatever—then all the profits will belong to me. Of course, you’ll get your director’s cut."

"I know," Rex said smoothly, watching the battle unfold on Aren’s face. "It’s hard. But think about it like this—you’ve got nothing right now. No job, no connections, no budget. This is your one shot at directing something that could actually exist, not just rot on a hard drive."

Aren exhaled slowly.

"I know," he said. "And I won’t screw it up."

After wielding the stick, it was time for a little sweetness. f.r e\ewebnov(e)(l).c om

"Okay," Rex said, leaning back in his seat with a more relaxed smile. "I get your concerns."

Aren looked up, wary but curious. His brows lifted cautiously, waiting for the catch.

"I know I said I want full creative control," Rex continued, "but that’s just a precaution, it doesn’t mean I’ll micromanage you.

"You’ll still be directing. You’ll be in charge on set, running the show, making it your vision, and calling the shots. I’m not here to take your baby away—I just want to make sure it grows up right. The clause is just a precaution. You know how Hollywood works. People change after success. But hey, let’s talk about this script of yours."

Then Rex pulled the script toward him and began flipping through it casually. "And we can’t just shoot with a draft like this," he said, tapping a page with a knuckle." "Look here—in this scene, the build-up is good, but the reveal’s too soon. You need tension, Aren. Dread. Make the audience question every creak and flicker before the payoff." f r\eeNovelFire.c(o)(m)

Hearing this, Aren almost laughed—except it wasn’t funny. It was ridiculous. Utterly, insultingly ridiculous.

Even though he had just accepted Rex’s deal and was ready—on paper—to give up all creative control, that had been in theory. In his head, it was the price of admission. But now, actually sitting here and watching Rex—the so-called backer—start flipping through pages, casually pointing out problems, offering suggestions like some seasoned producer... it grated on every last nerve.

A layman was going to tell him how to improve the script?

Seriously?

This script. The one he had written, rewritten, then torn apart and written again over two soul-crushing years. The one he’d bled over in empty coffee shops, hunched in dim-lit corners of his apartment. The one that got him laughed out of agencies, ghosted by producers, and eventually drove him to sneak into this godforsaken party like a criminal.

He might not have work to show for it. Might have been rejected a hundred times. Might be wearing the same suit he’d borrowed for his last interview. But none of that changed the fact that he was a professional. He had studied this craft. He was a top student, a festival darling during his short film circuit days. He had won actual awards. His thesis had professors using words like "visionary."

And now Rex—a guy who hadn’t even introduced himself with a last name—was about to tell him what worked and what didn’t?

At first, Aren had assumed Rex meant they’d bring on professionals to revise it. That made sense. Polishing from experts was fine. Necessary, even. But this? This felt like a slap. And an arrogant one at that.

For a moment, Aren’s jaw clenched. His fists tightened under the table. He was boiling inside, burning with humiliation and a sharp tinge of betrayal. If this was the direction things were going, he’d walk. No matter how slim the chances of another break might be, anything was better than watching a clueless investor butcher his baby.

(End of Chapter)