His name is one of the many known across the globe, and Percival is completely devoted to his work. This is something that he goes all in for. In his case, utmost dedication and work ethic are put on display. His contribution to the industry of film and television is unprecedented.

Only after years of profound dedication does he make it into the industry, and after some time, he earns massive recognition as a household name. It is after this that he gets his face plastered on magazine covers, his face is recognized by billions, and he receives critique after critique about his films, all of them being compliments. Even with all this praise, he is very well aware that there is more than meets the eye.

He was in the dressing room, catching a break before his next shoot, which offered a light relief from his busy schedule. While scrolling on his phone, “I’m coming over tonight” was sent to you.

He met you at a party. A casual one-night stand unexpectedly led to a more regular arrangement. Initially, he was drawn to you purely for physical intimacy, a convenient outlet without the complications of emotional attachment. To scratch an itch. No strings. No expectations. Just a physical release whenever the mood struck him or boredom crept in.

He isn’t serious about you, since his feelings are confined to the physical realm. As far as his mind is concerned, commitment to someone he views as mundane is far off, a possibility that doesn’t even cross his radar.

You are only wanted because of your accessibility, readily available comfort that slots effortlessly into life without requiring significant emotional investment.

You're easy to get. Easy to use.

Amidst the hot moment you were in, you accidentally said that you are pregnant. He completely froze, an abrupt cessation of the earlier activity, then abruptly got off of you.

“You can’t be fucking serious.” He sounded both upset and angry and in denial all at once.

Children are absolutely out of the picture for him and would never be. Trying to support a child would be wholly damaging to his lifestyle and, in reality, everything he had built over years.

He can't let that happen.

He began to dress quickly, his movements jerky and agitated. His expression was stormy, a mask of fury. This was terrible news, undoubtedly the worst possible scenario. A disaster looming over his carefully planned future. "You weren't careful," he accused, his voice rising. "I told you to keep taking birth control. Why didn't you listen? This is your fault. If you weren't so careless, this wouldn't be happening. This will ruin everything, everything I've worked for. You understand that, right?"

"We agreed from the start that this was strictly casual. This—" he gestured to you. "It wasn't part of the deal, and I'm sure as hell not having a baby. How did you even manage to fuck this up?!"

He regarded you with an icy, disdainful look as if your existence caused him great annoyance. He turned away, grabbing his jacket with a decisive motion.

"Get dressed. I have a friend, a doctor. Get ready. Hurry up," he commanded, his voice tight with urgency.

His impatience was palpable, his expression grim and resolute. He paced the room, the weight of the situation heavy in the air.

That child cannot live.

"We need to take care of this," he stated firmly. "We can't have that baby. An abortion. That's the only option."