My Hollywood Life Is Not That Easy!

4 pm.

The sun hung high over Santa Monica, where the pulse of Los Angeles reached its peak.

DCPI Studios, situated in this lively part of the city, was surrounded by the constant energy of West Hollywood, streets filled with hopeful stars, business-minded individuals, and aspiring actors all chasing the same dream.

Just outside the studio, the Pacific breeze failed to dampen the ever-present honking taxis and loud conversations spilling from open windows, blending into the noise of a city that never paused.

Vincent stepped out of the studio, the sting of another rejection heavy on his chest, the ache pressing deep into his ribs. The door slammed behind him, leaving only the distant sounds of LA to fill the silence.

At that moment, across the street, his blue eyes met her dark gaze. Rose Mary leaned against her Honda, looking both out of place and completely at ease.

Late thirties, unremarkable at first glance, the kind of woman who could vanish into a crowd. Her face was forgettable, except for the ink curling around her neck.

A black dolphin tattoo, sharp and fluid in its design.

She wore a white coat over a simple black dress, her short hair neatly styled with a subtle edge of professionalism Vincent was starting to recognize.

Vincent took ninety seconds to cross the busy road, weaving through honking cars and impatient pedestrians before finally reaching her.

"You blew it. Again."

No greeting. No sympathy. Just another cold, clinical fact from a woman who never wasted words.

Vincent swallowed the frustration rising in his throat but said nothing. He was used to her bluntness by now.

Rose Mary never sugarcoated the truth. To her, he wasn't a person—he was a product, a tool. And if that tool wasn't sharp enough, she wouldn't hesitate to toss it aside.

This woman was his CAA agent.

In this era, Hollywood's agency world was ruled by a handful of powerhouses: Creative Artists Agency, William Morris, International Creative Management, and United Talent Agency.

But among them, CAA stood as the undisputed kingmaker.

It wasn't just an agency, it was a machine.

A machine that didn't just find stars but built them.

To be signed with CAA meant stepping into a world where every audition, endorsement, and film deal was calculated, designed to mold you into the industry's next obsession.

Once inside, you weren't just an actor. You were an investment. It was about potential, about having the right look, the right marketability, with right promise of return.

A carefully managed piece of Hollywood's ecosystem, shaped and positioned for success.

Their network alone could turn a nobody into a household name, landing roles that mattered, endorsements that paid, and, most importantly, a place at the table where real power played.

When he first time-traveled, Vincent had felt lucky that the original owner of this body had already been signed under CAA.

Until one day, when she asked him to sleep with a casting director so that her other client could get a chance, he realized he was signed because of his looks, and no one gave a damn fuck about his talent.

"I didn't know anything about the script! You told me about the audition today. I didn't even have time to prepare. I did my best…"

He trailed off, feeling the familiar sting of helplessness.

Yes, Vincent had no idea there was an audition until his agent contacted him to prepare.

Perhaps Rose Mary wanted to see if he could turn things around this time.

And so, he prepared for the audition in only four hours and still managed to make it to the last round.

That, in itself, was an achievement, but nonetheless, he failed.

"Excuses!" she scoffed. "You would have succeeded long ago if not for your childish antics,"

Rose Mary said, remembering the influential figure who had taken an interest in Vincent. But the guy had rejected her; otherwise, both of them would have been soaring by now.

Hearing this, the boy with blue eyes stiffened.

She had signed the original owner when she first saw him at that shitty club, back when he was just a lowly waiter with nothing but his face to offer.

But Rose Mary believed he had something special, the type of beauty that could give him everything, as long as she played her cards right.

It didn't hurt that she knew the right people, either.

And when she sent his portfolio, they had even wanted to have a "deep conversation" with Vincent, but his pride never allowed him to be taken advantage of.

"You should've known from the start, Vincent," she continued coldly.

"I brought you in because of one thing, your face. That's all. But you've let me down, over and over. You could've had it all, fame, fortune, the life everyone dreams of, but instead, you keep turning away from the easiest path."

Vincent wanted to curse at this woman.

Just a week ago, she had found a deal for him where he had to sleep with a local business figure, and that figure was a man.

For the sake of fame, did she want him to change his gender?

At this point, it wasn't about simple stubbornness, it was about preserving his dignity, the pride that defined him as a man.

"Mrs. Rose, you know that's not who I am, I trade my art, nothing else."

There had to be a line he wouldn't cross. His dignity was one of the last things that still felt real.

Rose Mary's lips curled into a humorless smile, her gaze turning cold and calculating, like a predator closing in on its prey.

"Really?" she said flatly, as if she were indulging a child's delusion. "You think I'm forcing you into something wrong? You think you're special, Vincent?, Haha! You know what they call you? A gay. A fucking gay, That's how you look."

There was a time when Vincent regretted that his face was just average, but now, having a good appearance wasn't doing him any favors either. Life was even more shitty.

"You think I signed you for your talent? There are a hundred others like you, lining up, dying for what I've given you. So don't fuck with me."

Her eyes flicked over his face, a face still young enough to sell, but not for long.

Before he could respond, her hand shot out, thrusting a business card into his palm.

"Vincent," she continued, her voice dripping with disdain, "I've got three clients who actually bring in real money. You're not even on the same level. Take it. You need it more than I do."

Vincent glanced down at the card, feeling a lump form in his throat.

The hotel name. Room number, and the time: 6 p.m.

"What's this?" he asked, his voice hoarse, but his mind already racing.

"Don't play dumb," she snapped, her eyes narrowing. "There's a client waiting for you at the Sunlight Hotel. I set up an appointment. They're a couple with... When I showed them your photo, they bit. Ten grand."

"Plus a spot in a commercial—so bend a little if you want to grab the stars, if you can't stand being more than just a pretty face."

Vincent felt the bile rise in his throat.

"I can't do this."

"You will," Rose Mary said flatly, her expression turning into a cold smirk. "6 p.m. Show up. Or we terminate the contract. Doesn't matter. You haven't earned me anything anyway."

She turned on her heel, walking away with quiet confidence, leaving Vincent standing there.

He hated everything about this era. He wanted to go back to his own timeline, to a time when things were easier, to a time when he had parents.

"Forget it, I'll just return the clothes for now."

---

( End Of The Chapter)