1. Eric

Chapter 1

Eric

The wind outside picks up, banging against the thick walls of my secluded cabin, and sending a chill through the large living room. It’s peaceful here, a far cry from the chaos of Hollywood. Silver Spoon Falls, my personal haven, is where I’ve blended in, becoming invisible among other defunct celebrities and highflyers who decided they’d had enough of the relentless circus.

I stretch out on my overstuffed sofa, nursing a coffee that’s long gone cold, but I don’t mind. The quiet is a luxury I savor. After years spent under the harsh glare of studio lights, peace is a commodity more valuable than any multi-million-dollar contract. My once long, trademark golden hair is now cropped short and dark—the way it was before the films, before the fandom, before the bullshit. Out of sight, out of mind. Here, I’m not Rylan Rhodes, Hollywood's golden boy. I’m just Eric, the grumpy recluse.

The phone rings, jolting me back from my thoughts. A quick glance at the screen confirms it: Ace Gray, my former agent. Persistent bastard.

With a resigned sigh, I pick up. “Ace, if you’re calling to drag me back to hell, don’t bother.”

“Rylan, come on,” he wheedles, a blend of desperation and charm. “You’ve been off-grid too long, man! There are offers—big ones. An action movie that’s practically written for you.”

“Call me Eric,” I remind him, sticking with my decision to leave my entire life, including my stage name, behind. “There’s no fucking way I’m ever coming back,” I reply, settling back into my comfy spot on the couch. “I’m done with that shit. I like it here. Simple town, simple life.”

“Oh, come on, you can’t be serious!” he protests, the pitch of his voice climbing. “You’re the hottest name in Hollywood, and you’re just gonna throw it away for some backwater life?”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing.” A smirk tugs at my lips at the thought of Ace pacing in some sterile L.A. office, probably sweating through his overpriced suit. “I’ve got everything I need right here.”

And I do. The little house is surrounded by thick woods, with just enough space and solitude to keep me sane. The townsfolk, jaded by their own brushes with fame, don’t look twice at me. I can grab groceries without getting mobbed and drink a beer at a local bar without a whisper of recognition. It’s bliss.

“You’re really not coming back?” Ace asks, and there’s something softer in his tone now. He’s known me long enough to know I don’t change my mind once it’s made up.

“Nope,” I say, allowing myself to stretch further into the embrace of the life I’ve carved out for myself. “Look, Ace, tell them I said thanks but no thanks. I’ve found my happy place—and let me tell you, none of that glitz and glamour holds a candle to this.”

He sighs a sound that’s more understanding than frustrated. “Alright, alright. But don’t say I didn’t warn you when the itch to act again gets too much.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I chuckle, finding amusement in the idea. “If I ever get the urge, I’ll be sure to give you a call.”

We hang up, and the silence returns, wrapping around me like a comfortable old coat. I glance out the window at my little property on the edge of Silver Spoon Falls. On nights like these, I appreciate the nothingness most—the absence of constant noise, of eyes watching my every move.

Here, I don’t have to be anyone except the man I choose to be—a foul-mouthed, grumpy bastard who’s content in his own skin. I have no scripts to memorize, no public to appease. Just me, my thoughts, and the simple joys that come with them. In this quiet retreat from a world I once conquered, I’ve found the one thing none of the blockbusters or awards could give me: peace.

And so, as the evening settles in, I kick back and raise my mug in mock salute to the whispering trees and open sky. Silver Spoon Falls might be a sleepy little town to some, but to me, it’s the backdrop of my new life. A quiet existence without all the limelight bullshit, where I finally feel free.

If there’s one thing about Silver Spoon Falls that I can’t help but appreciate, it’s the low-key charm of the 5th Avenue Diner. One step inside, and I’m hit with the familiar scent of coffee that’s been brewing since the crack of dawn and bacon that’s one hundred percent grease, but damn if it doesn’t taste just right with a side of crispy hash browns. It’s the perfect kind of joint for a man like myself, trying to dodge the spotlight.

Sliding into a booth, I spot Roman Sterling—an old friend, a partner in crime from way back when, and the owner of The Sterling Rope, the BDSM club that guarantees discretion among those seeking its particular brand of freedom. Roman’s sitting there halfway through a cup of coffee, his sharp eyes scanning the room until they land on me.

“Eric,” he greets, using that old name, the one that doesn’t come with the baggage of Hollywood. Rylan Rhodes might be lying low, but Eric is a different story. “Good to see you, man.”

“Roman.” I nod, easing into the opposite seat. I give a quick nod to the waitress for my usual, then turn my attention back to him. “Still running the show at The Sterling Rope, I see.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he says with a grin, gracing me with that smirk that never entirely leaves his face. “And speaking of running the show, I’ve got something we need to discuss.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” I mutter, leaning back with a wary eye. Roman’s got a way of roping you into things without you even realizing it until it’s too late.

“Oh, come on.” He laughs, a gleam in his eyes. “You know me. I’ll make it worth your while.”

The waitress drops off my coffee, and I take a long pull, savoring the comfort of the bitterness. “Spit it out, Roman. What’s got you all excited?”

“There’s a bachelor auction at the club in two weeks,” he starts, a hint of mischief in his tone, “and I think you’d be perfect for it.”

I almost choke on my coffee. “Hell no,” I retort immediately, shaking my head. “You know I’m laying low. No way in hell I’m putting myself on display like some piece of meat.”

“Easy, tiger.” Roman chuckles, holding up a hand to stave off my objections. “It’s anonymous. We’ll refer to you as Eric. No one needs to know you but the highest bidder and, trust me, the crowd we pull is discreet.”

I narrow my eyes, trying to see the angle he’s playing at. “What’s in it for you, huh? Why me?”

“You'll bring big bids.” He shrugs, casual as ever. “Plus, it’s all for charity, man. And you might actually enjoy yourself... Consider it doing a favor for an old friend.”

I grit my teeth, weighing the annoyance of the idea against the logic of what he’s proposing. Going by Eric could be the perfect way to sneak under the radar, even satisfy a bit of that curiosity that never entirely fades from being a former actor. The allure of something unexpected scratches at the part of me that’s always been drawn to the thrill.

“Look,” Roman continues, “it’s not like you have to go all-out. Just get your ass up there, smile a bit, and let the money roll in. If nothing else, it’s a night out.”

I shake my head, exhaling, and a reluctant smirk tugs at my lips. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

“Guilty as charged.” He grins, clearly pleased with himself for so easily wearing down my defenses. “So, we’ve got a deal?”

With a reluctant sigh, I give the bastard what he wants, nodding despite my better judgment. “Fine, fine. I’ll do your damn auction. But if this blows up, I’m holding you accountable, Sterling.”

Roman chuckles, lifting his coffee in a mock salute. “I’m worried. You pay for everything on the date and that’s your donation. What do you want to offer your lucky winner?”

“I don’t care.” I really don’t. I’m not looking for a happily ever after.

“You might regret letting me choose.”

I roll my eyes, masking the spark of irritation with a grumble. Sure, living under the radar has its perks, but there’s something about the promise of the unexpected that sets my blood thrumming again. Besides, in a town full of secrets and whispers, what’s one more night of raising hell under the guise of charity? Even a grumpy bastard like me can’t resist that kind of gamble. And maybe, just maybe, it’ll lead to something—or someone—worth breaking my seclusion for.