For the briefest second, Fiona’s perfect smile faltered—just enough to betray the crack in her mask. But she was quick, smoothing it back into place as if it had never slipped.
"You’re so funny, Anna," she said sweetly, though her eyes glead with poison. "Did you not read the board outside? It’s a mock test for fresh faces... not for so fatty, ugly has-beens like you."
Anna’s lips curled. There she goes. Back to being the bitch she always was.
Once upon a ti, Anna might’ve believed the act—might’ve let Fiona’s sugar-coated venom burrow under her skin. But not anymore. Not after she’d seen Fiona’s real face years ago.
"And what about you?" Anna shot back, her tone laced with mock pity. "Still stuck auditioning for scraps? How many supporting roles does it take before you finally get a lead? Or is smiling pretty your only talent?"
The flash of fury on Fiona’s face was instant, her mask crumbling like glass.
"You..." she hissed, her voice low and sharp. "How dare you talk to like that? Don’t forget your place, Anna."
Anna chuckled, the sound light and cutting. She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper ant only for Fiona but loud enough in its weight for the nearby crowd to feel.
"My place isn’t for you to decide. But you? Be careful. Push too hard, and you might end up exposing that little face you’ve been hiding behind."
Her gaze swept deliberately toward the room, where several sets of curious eyes lingered on them. Fiona froze, realizing too late that people had been watching—listening.
Years in the industry had won Fiona her fans. Not just for her beauty, but for the polished illusion she wore so flawlessly: the radiant, kind-hearted star. But Anna knew the truth. And for the first ti, Fiona felt the crack in that mask widening.
Fiona blinked rapidly before forcing a brittle laugh, her smile stretching too thin. "Hahah... best of luck, Anna. I hope you get selected."
Her words were sugar, but her eyes—dark, burning—betrayed her as she brushed past Anna with a swish of designer fabric.
Anna didn’t move, didn’t flinch. She only smirked to herself, the victory already hers.
Ti ticked by, the weight of the mock test pressing heavier on Anna’s shoulders as she sat among the other hopefuls, waiting for her na to be called.
Her phone suddenly buzzed. She glanced down, and the screen lit up with a ssage.
"All the best, Big Sis. I know you can do it! "
Betty.
A warmth spread through Anna’s chest, chasing away so of the nerves that had been clawing at her. Her lips curved into an involuntary smile as she quickly typed back.
"Thank you. And after I get selected, let’s celebrate it."
She hit send before she could overthink it and slid the phone back into her pocket.
The small exchange soothed her, but reality pulled her back the mont her eyes flickered toward the list. Ten nas still stood between her and the stage. Ten nas until her chance.
Anna inhaled slowly. Her palms felt clammy, her throat tight. If I sit here any longer, I’ll suffocate on my own nerves.
"I should go freshen up," she muttered under her breath, rising from her chair.
Her steps echoed faintly as she slipped out of the waiting hall and headed toward the restroom, her reflection already haunting her thoughts before she even reached the mirror.
However, little did Anna know... every step of hers was already under soone’s watchful eyes.
From a distance, Fiona’s lips curved into a venomous smirk. Ugly, fat bitch. Let’s see how you make it to the mock test now.
With quiet, calculated steps, Fiona followed her into the restroom. The mont Anna slipped inside one of the stalls, Fiona’s eyes glinted with mischief. She glanced over her shoulder—making sure no one else was around—before bending down and tugging the cubicle door shut.
Click.
She twisted the lock from the outside, trapping Anna inside.
"Perfect," Fiona whispered, satisfaction dripping from her tone as she straightened and smoothed her hair, her mask of elegance slipping back into place. She gave one last look toward the cubicle before walking out, her heels clicking against the tiles like a victor leaving the battlefield.
Inside, Anna was still oblivious, washing her face and trying to calm her nerves. She had no idea the door she would soon reach for... wouldn’t open.
***
anwhile, inside the rehearsal room, Wilsmith leaned back in his chair and let out a long, exasperated sigh.
"I never realized auditioning would be this stressful," he muttered, irritation flickering in his eyes. "Not one of them has managed to charm so far."
Across from him, Ethan chuckled softly. He wasn’t surprised. Surpassing Wilsmith’s standards was no easy feat. The man never cared for pretty faces or fleeting fa—he hunted for sothing deeper, sothing raw. A talent that could grip an audience and hold them captive.
"Then why force yourself?" Ethan said, his voice calm as his sharp gaze remained on the stage. "You could’ve let your staff handle this part."
Wilsmith turned his head, studying him with amusent. "I could ask you the sa."
He leaned forward, resting an elbow on the armrest, his brow cocking with deliberate curiosity. "I never asked you to sit through this. The role was already yours. Yet here you are, wasting ti with ."
For the first ti, Ethan’s smile faltered. His eyes drifted past Wilsmith, scanning the line of nervous candidates clutching their scripts. But the face he wanted to see most hadn’t appeared yet.
He wasn’t a fool. He already suspected why Anna had been in Wilsmith’s office yesterday. It wasn’t coincidence. Wilsmith had taken an interest in her.
"I just need to make sure," Ethan said flatly, his tone unreadable, "that the person I’m paired with can keep up. If the rhythm doesn’t match, the entire performance crumbles."
Wilsmith chuckled knowingly, his eyes glinting as if he’d unearthed a secret Ethan refused to admit.
"You were never this picky before," he teased, his voice low and deliberate. "I can’t help but wonder... what made you change your mind?"
Ethan didn’t answer. His jaw tightened ever so slightly as his gaze returned to the entrance.
Still waiting. Still searching for her.
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