I Was the Wrong Girl in His Bed, Now I Own His Empire Chapter 06

I Was the Wrong Girl in His Bed, Now I Own His Empire Chapter 06

After that day, Ventresca Films not only cleared all my debts to my original agency, but also forcibly bought

out my entire contract for a sum in the eight-figure range.

On the day the contract was signed, my former boss went pale. He didn’t even dare to say a word in

objection.

No one dared to compete with the Ventresca Family.

By now, the Ventresca Empire was no longer just a mafia dynasty ruling Boston’s underground.

Film, finance, port trade, private security… every profitable industry had traces of the Ventresca name.

And Bryson Ventresca was the youngest man to ever sit at the top of it all.

To the outside world, he was simply the CEO of Ventresca Films.

But anyone who truly understood the structure knew that was merely the least significant of his many

identities.

I became a heavily promoted newcomer under Ventresca Films.

The only condition I personally requested was to bring Vera with me.

Bryson only glanced at the contract once.

“Fine.”

No hesitation at all.

One week after joining Ventresca Empire, I was in the makeup room on set when my phone suddenly popped

up a friend request.

Just two words.

Bryson Ventresca

My hand holding the water bottle shook so badly I almost spilled it onto my costume.

Then I hurriedly tapped accept.

Ironically, ever since I entered Ventresca Empire, everyone from vice presidents to production coordinators had treated me with exaggerated respect.

On my first day on set, even the other actors casually surrounded me and joked.

“Sienna, when is Mr. Ventresca coming to visit the set?”

“I heard an award-winning actress once tried to throw herself at him and got kicked out of a private club on

the spot. How exactly do you know him?”

“You’re not secretly the future Mrs. Ventresca, are you?”

I explained it more than once.

Bryson was just my boss.

No one believed me.

After all, the entire industry knew Ventresca Films was only a front.

Behind it stood one of the most dangerous mafia families in Boston.

Who would dare offend Bryson?

And who would he personally recruit for no reason?

Yet the truth was painfully ironic.

What kind of “lover” only adds their sugar daddy on WhatsApp a week after being signed?

After I accepted the request, Bryson sent a message almost immediately.

[Getting used to the set?]

I lowered my head and replied.

[It’s okay. Not many scenes today.]

This film was a new project from a famous director. With my current status, I naturally couldn’t get the lead, only a supporting role with standout screen time.

After a few seconds, Bryson replied.

[Got it.]

Short. Minimal.

Then the chat fell silent again.

I didn’t think much of it, handed my phone to my assistant, and went back to filming..

After several emotionally draining scenes, I was exhausted. The moment I sat down in the resting chair, a bottle of ice water was handed to me.

I took it absentmindedly and drank.

Then a low, magnetic voice came from above me.

You’re Sienna Davenport?”

“Not bad.”

I almost spat the water out.

Standing in front of me was Brandon Whitford.

The youngest Golden Award-winning actor in Hollywood.

And the man I had admired for years back in university.

When I accepted this film, I had been so excited I barely slept for a night, precisely because Brandon was part

of the cast.

And now he was personally handing me water.

I almost didn’t want to drink it anymore.

“Brandon, you’re flattering me,” I said quickly.

Brandon looked at me, the corner of his lips lifting slightly.

“I heard you’re a new signing under Ventresca Films.”

“Bryson has always had good taste.”

That sounded harmless at first.

But given the increasingly outrageous rumors on set, my scalp instantly tightened.

I almost instinctively raised my voice to clarify.

“Brandon, you misunderstand. Mr. Ventresca and I are really just in a boss-employee relationship.”

The moment I said it, the entire set fell into an eerie silence.

Even the crew carrying lighting equipment stopped moving.

Brandon raised a meaningful eyebrow and looked past me.

“Ah.”

“Bryson, you’re free today? Came to visit the set personally?”

My heart dropped.

Slowly, I turned around.

Not far away, Bryson stood behind the monitor.

A black coat wrapped around his tall, lean frame. Several bodyguards in black suits stood behind him.

The harsh set lights fell of his face, unable to soften the cold, dangerous aura around him.

And he was looking straight at me.

Expressionless.

“Brandon,” Bryson said flatly. “You’re overthinking it.”

He slowly removed his black leather gloves, his gaze landing on me.

“I’m just here to check on my employee.”

“Nothing more.”

The car ride back was suffocatingly silent.

The armored Maybach cut through the night, but the atmosphere inside felt frozen.

I could tell Bryson was angry.

But I had no idea why.

From start to finish, we hadn’t even held hands, let alone defined anything between us.

After a long silence, Bryson suddenly spoke.

“You like Brandon?”

I paused, then nodded honestly.

“Yeah. I liked him back in university.”

Back then, Brandon had just won the Golden Award for Best Actor for an art film and was at the peak of his

career.

Bryson let out a low laugh.

But there was no warmth in it at all.

“You really have no fear saying that.”

He tugged his tie loose, his Adam’s apple shifting slightly.

Then, almost casually, he added,