Dominate Showbiz: Media Tycoon Discovered My Talent-Chapter 40: Just Don’t Get Yourself into Trouble

How many times had she seen a movie where the kidnapper asked their victim to forgive them? Zero.

Yep. That explained exactly how unbelievable Juho’s words sounded to her ears right now. He even had the nerve to say it right after admitting it was his idea in the first place.

"No." The single word slipped out of her.

His hand tightened around her wrist, though his face stayed calm, as if he’d already expected that answer.

"Can we just get this over with?" she asked coldly, her gaze dropped to his hand, still gripping her wrist.

A few seconds later, he finally let go. She walked toward the white backdrop, her voice composed again like that conversation never took place. "So, what do we do today?"

He dragged the chair he’d been sitting on over and set it neatly in front of her. "Have a seat. Let’s start."

She sat down, and the session began. They didn’t mention a single word about what had happened between them outside this studio — just focused on the poses and angles like true professionals. Or so she thought.

Though her face stayed composed, her chest sank the entire session. Her gaze kept flicking to the faint blue marks on his face and that small cut on his lip whenever he came closer to adjust her pose, fix her hair, or lift her chin.

The gentle way he did those simple things kept pulling her back to those moments in that prison bedroom, when he’d come three times a day, just to carefully smear that thick balm over her bruises with a tenderness she’d never expected from him.

What scared her more was how comfortable he’d grown with his touch, this closeness. She hardly felt the nerves that used to twist her stomach and got her all trembling during their earlier shoots.

As they gathered their things and cleaned up the studio after the session, something suddenly came to her mind. "Hey, I’ve got something to ask..." she said. "Your men took my bag when I first got to your house. My phone and wallet were in there. Can I have it back?"

"Right, I completely forgot about that." He smacked himself lightly on the head. "Can’t promise, but I’ll try to get it for you."

She frowned, considering his words. It suddenly hit her that maybe she’d put him into more trouble if someone found out her bag had magically disappeared. "No, actually... you know what, forget what I just said. I’ll get a new bag."

He raised a brow at her sudden change.

"I really mean it," she added, waving him off. "Just keep it. I’ve been wanting to get a new bag anyway." She hurried toward the door.

"No one will notice if I just get you the phone and the wallet," Juho said calmly behind her, his tone assured.

Her footstep halted at the threshold. She let out a quiet sigh. She didn’t expect him to see through her like that. "Just don’t get yourself into trouble," she said without looking back. Then she quickly disappeared from the room.

When she got back to her room, the first thing she did was the last thing she should’ve done: she started researching Simo Isota. The more she thought about the whole revelation that her ex-colleague slash photographer Juho Maley was actually Juho Isota, the more confused she got.

She knew being a flight attendant paid well in S Country, but come on. When someone were a politician’s son, why on earth would they take such a labor-heavy service job? And on top of that, this random photography gig?

Those two fields had absolutely nothing to do with each other, except maybe the abundance of good-looking people. She wouldn’t dare be so naive to believe that Juho had picked those jobs purely out of passion or boredom.

His father owned the most extravagant mansion she’d ever seen, had more men in black suits working for him than any mafia movie, and was apparently successful enough to be running for president now. There had to be something deeper going on that she hadn’t caught onto yet.

Hours of googling later, Kaija only got more confused. So, this Simo Isota guy — sixty-five this year — had an unbelievably clean record. Well, at least according to everything she could find online.

He’d held countless high-ranking positions, from city mayor to state governor, and was heavily involved in charity work and human rights advocacy. Not a single scandal. Or maybe not yet.

It seemed the media outlets controlled by the Kosonen Group hadn’t released any evidence Charles had mentioned about Simo Isota’s involvement in drug dealings. Or maybe Charles was planning something he hadn’t told her about.

Anyway, the biggest blunder was this: there wasn’t a single mention anywhere that Simo Isota had a son named Juho.

The man had three publicly known sons — all older than Juho, and all active in politics like their father. They appeared in photos together, went to events together... but Juho was nowhere in sight.

It was almost like his existence had been erased, like they had decided to keep him a secret, for reasons she couldn’t yet understand.

She shut the laptop with a frustrated sigh and rubbed her face. That wasn’t exactly helpful. Maybe she should just shift her focus back to the KE Festival competition instead of messing her mind up further with something so far out of her reach.

For the rest of that week, she got busy with keeping up with the training classes she’d missed and writing the song for the competition.

Every time she walked down the corridor to her floor — once in the morning when she left, then again in the evening when she came back — her gaze drifted toward Room 2 sitting quietly at the far end.

Its door stayed locked, with no light seeping through the thin gap underneath. Charles hadn’t come back to that room since their last night together. Maybe he was busy. Maybe he was avoiding her. A part of her hoped it was the first reason.

Days passed in that same quiet rhythm, until that Sunday evening, just as she stepped out of the elevator, she heard the soft click of a door shutting on her right side. Her gaze automatically shifted toward the sound.

A single name flashed through her mind. But the person stepping out wasn’t the man she was thinking of. It was Camille.

Camille was still wearing that austere grey suit, just like the last time she’d seen her, but her composure was gone.

Her hair, usually pinned up neatly, had come loose, with a few strands falling around her face. Her cheeks were faintly flushed, so unlike the cold, severe image Kaija knew of her. She was panting lightly, her red lipstick smeared slightly at the corner of her lips.

Kaija’s breath slowed. She turned away immediately and started toward her room.

Suddenly, Camille’s stern voice cut through the quiet corridor. "Miss Sepala."